strained his ancle, as it were to spite us; we went out in dudgeon, and were near missing his Imitations, which would not have signified much if we had. They were tolerable, indifferent, pretty good, but not the thing. Mr. Matthews's or Mr. Yates's are better. They were softened down, and fastidious. Kemble was not very like. Incledon and Braham were the best, and Munden was very middling. The after-piece of the Admirable Crichton, in which he was to do all this, was neither historical nor dramatic. The character, which might have given excellent apportunities for the display of a variety of extraordinary accomplishments in the real progress of the story, was ill-conceived and ill-managed. He was made either a pedagogue or an antic. In himself, he was dull and grave, instead of being high-spirited, volatile, and self-sufficient; and to show off his abilities, he was put into masquerade. We did not like it at all; though, from the prologue, we had expected more point and daring.Mr. Kean's Jaffier was fine, and in parts admirable. This indeed, is only to say that he played it. But it was not one of his finest parts, nor indeed one in which we expected him to shine pre-eminently: but on that we had not depended, for we never know beforehand, what he will do best or worst. He is one of those wandering fires, whose orbit is not calculable by any known rules of criticism. Mr. Elliston's Pierre, was, we are happy to say, a spirited and effectual performance. We must not forget to add that Mrs. M'Gibbon's Belvidera was excellent, declaimed with impassioned propriety, and acted with dignity and grace.

66

"And what of this new Opera of David Rizzio, that the New Times makes such a rout about?"-Nothing. Nothing can come of nothing." We truly and strictly could not make a word of sense of it. We wonder whose it can be. It is praised too in the Chronicle; but that is no matter. The story promised much; the music, the old Scotch tunes, more. They were both completely transmographied,-they melted into thin air. The author set aside the one, and the composers (of whom there are no less than five) the other. This required some ingenuity. The plot

turns altogether upon this, that Rizzio (Braham) is supposed and made to be in love with Lady Mary Livingstone (Miss Carew), and by warbling out her Christian name in ballads in the open air, is imagined, by Darnley and the rest, to be in love with Mary, Queen of Scots (Mrs. West), from which strange misinterpretation all the mischief and confusion ensue. We fancy there is no foundation for this in tradition or old records. The author has indeed reversed the method of the writer of the Scotch Novels, for, instead of building as much as possible on facts and history, he has built as little as possible on them-and has produced just the contrary effect of the GREAT UNKNOWN, that is, has spun a tissue of incidents and sentiments out of his own head, worth nothing, unmeaning, feeble, languid, disjointed, and for the most part, incomprehensible. Most of the scenes in the two first acts, consisted of the Exits and Entrances of single persons, who only appeared to deliver an introductory speech, and sing a song, and then vanished before any one else could come on to entrap them into a dialogue-a delicate evasion of the wily dramatist! Mr. Barnard repeated these Operatic soliloquies so often, as to be almost hissed off the stage, and Miss Povey (his sweetheart) by coming to his relief half a minute after he was gone, did not much mend the matter, either by the charms of her voice or person. This young lady is pretty, and sings agreeably enough, but we do not see what she can have to do with romantic sentiments or situations. Some of those in which she was placed, would require the utmost delicacy of the most accomplished heroine to carry them off without an obtrusive sense of impropriety. For instance, after warbling a ditty to the desert air of Holyrood House, she retires into a summer-house, hard by, to keep an assignation with the persuasive Mr. Barnard, and is presently surprised and carried off, instead of the silvervoiced Carew, by a band of ruffians, who-on her making many exclamations, and repeating "Oh! dear me!" and saying she only came to meet a young man-reply very laconically, "Aye, you came to meet one young man, and now you have met with four-that's better!" In the

last scene, the catastrophe is brought about by Rizzio's being discovered by the conspirators at a magnificent entertainment in the apartment of the Queen, which confirms their former suspicions and infuriates their revenge; and he is hurried from her frantic, embraces, which display all the tenderness of a mistress, rather than the attachment of a sovereign, to be despatched in the adjoining chamber. His assassins find their error too late, when, from the passionate declaration of Lady Mary Livingstone that she is his wife, they are convinced of his and the Queen's innocence. The lesson to be drawn from this fiction, seems to be, that ladies (whether Princesses or not) who defy opinion, must take the consequences of their infatuated self-indulgence, or involve others in ruin: for the presumption is, that no woman in her senses will risk her character, unless she has a further object in view, namely, to gratify her passions. This was not, however, the inference drawn by the generality of the audience; for several passages, construed in allusion to passing events, were loudly and triumphantly cheered. They, indeed, saved the piece from final and absolute damnation, for it drooped from the beginning, and to the end, and had no other interest than what arose from the occasional parallelism of political situations. Mr. Braham (as David Rizzio) disappointed us much. He sung the airs he had probably himself selected, without any affectation indeed-" softly sweet in Lydian measures"-but without any effect whatever upon our ears; he fell into simplicity and insipidity, plump together, ten thousand fathoms down. The other singers acquitted themselves very well, but there was nothing to excite an interest in itself, or to answer to the previous expectations arising from the title of the piece. We had hoped.to have been treated to some old Scotch airs, at least but the joint-composers seemed to have a strong aversion to any thing connected with the sound of a bagpipe. This we suppose is a symptom of the progress of a more refined taste among us. The causes of our want of sympathy with it have been explained above. The piece has been repeated once or twice since.

Giovanni in London has been happily transferred to this theatre (Drury

Lane) from the Olympic. It was a favourite with the town there; it has become a favourite with the town here. There is something in burlesque that pleases. We like to see the great degraded to a level with the little. The humour is extravagant and coarse, but it is certainly droll; and we never check our inclinations to laugh, when we have an opportu nity given us. We have not laughed so heartily a long time, as at seeing the meddlesome lawyer tossed in a blanket in the King's Bench; and we should imagine there is a natural and inevitable connection between the performance of that gentle but salurary mode of discipline, and the titillation of the lungs of the spectators. Madame Vestris played, sung, and looked the incorrigible Don John very prettily and spiritedly; but, we confess, we had rather see her petticoated than in a Spanish doublet and hose, hat and feather. Yet she gave a life to the scene, and Pluto relented as she sung. There is a pulpy softness and ripeness in her lips, a roseate hue, like the leaves of the damask rose, a luscious honeyed sound in her voice, a depth and fulness too, as if it were clogged with its own sweets, a languid archness, an Italian lustre in her eye, an enchanting smile, a mouthshall we go on? No. But she is. more bewitching even than Miss Brunton. Yet we like to see her best in petticoats. It cannot be denied that Mrs. Gould (late Miss Burrell) of the Olympic, who played it first, was the girl to play Giovanni in London. She had a hooked nose, large staring eyes, a manlike voice, a tall person, a strut that became a rake.

She forgot to be a woman: changed fear,

and niceness, (The handmaids of all women, or more truly Woman its pretty-self) into a waggish cou

rage;

Ready in gibes, quick answered, saucy, and As quarrellous as the weasel.

All this Madame Vestris attempts; but in spite of her efforts to the contrary, she shrinks back into feminine softness and delicacy, and her heart evidently fails her, and flutters, "like a new ta'en sparrow," in the midst of all her pretended swaggering and determination to brazen the matter out. On the night we saw this afterpiece, Mr. Knight played Leporello, instead of Mr. Harley: so that we can praise neither.

L.

We have not lately seen the foundation of an Opera so well laid as in the plot, incidents, and dialogue of Tancredi. The exquisite, yet noble, simplicity of Metastasio has, but too commonly, been cited as the excuse for the meagre insipidity we generally find prevailing in the Italian words for music that singleness of idea, so strongly insisted upon by some; as essential to the concentration of musi cal effect, has been maintained with such constancy, that a vocabulary of a dozen pages, (six tragic and six comic) might almost serve for the translation of the entire bulk of the phraseology of the King's Theatre. Tancredi is an exception,-a creditable, if not a splendid exception; and we must observe, in justice to the admirable devotion to system, manifested by the present management, that this innovation was the introduction of Madame Bellochi. It is understood to be a part of this lady's en gagement, that she should not be called upon to sustain a male character. Her assumption, therefore, of the part of Tancredi, was a voluntary tribute to the patrons of her benefit; and so gratifying has the Opera proved to the public, that it has been repeated, at the express solicitation of the principal frequenters of the house. The story of the piece abounds in those bursts of passionate and various feeling, which are most favourable to the display of a composer's powers. Rossini has the reputation of transfusing a sort of animal spirit into his music, which, like the oxygen of the atmosphere, acts as the supporter of life and flame. He has also the cha racter of embroidering his compositions with an unusual share of orna ments. Thus it is, that loose and general criticism, from a partial acquaintance with his productions, and principally with his comic Operas, is satisfied to describe the works of the man, whose name now chiefly occupies the regard of the musical world, The cities of Italy and Germany, be it observed, are not, like ourselves, content with the old till heaven pleases to send the new :-they address their efforts to rear a successive race of composers, whom they encourage;

and the public exercise of art is with them, a constant theme of discussion, and object of exertion: composers travel from city to city, they are sought according to the report of their merit, and Managers engage a composer to write expressly for themselves. Those of the King's Theatre of England, on the contrary, wait patiently (with a salvo to the honour of Signor Liverati) till the continental cities have approved, and perhaps nearly forgotten, the compositions which we of the second table receive with the humility that becomes us. This economical slowness on the part of our managers, coupled with their own and the public indifference, has so long kept us ignorant of the best of Rossini's works. But for these, Tancredi would scarcely have stood unnoticed and unknown in the windows of the importers of music: but Snarl no more critic, critic snarl no more: thanks to Madame Bellochi, Tancredi has been produced and applauded, and is likely to rival even Il Don Giovanni himself, with the English fair. In this Opera, the composer has availed himself, with great skill, of almost every variety of admissible style; and has, with infinite ingenuity, feeling, and propriety, proved to a demonstration, that even florid passages can be impressed into the service of legitimate, and even oppos→ ing sentiments.

Force and fire, beauty and pathos arise in rapid succession. So entirely and thoroughly, indeed, is the spirit kept up, that we cannot recollect any part of the performance that languishes. Of course there are lights and shades, parts exalted, and parts kept down; but never, we think, without an intimate knowledge and apprehension of their due proportion and effect.

The principals - Tancredi and Amenaide-have universal importance. Their recitatives and airs abound in the various excellencies of the art, in passion of every sort, from impetuous, sudden, and forceful de clamation,-from dignity, agitation, and disdain, to tenderness and melting sorrow. Melody flows unceasingly, and, as we have said above, one

of the most singular inventions, or ra ther new applications of Rossini's genius, is the conversion of passages, hitherto considered merely ornamental, into phrases expressive, and delicately expressive, of sentiment and situation. We refer the musical reader to the second act for ample illustrations. In this adaptation Rossini has extended the practice of Signor Raer, who himself extended the practice of Paesiello.

The chorusses are not striking from their complication, but from their light, agreeable expression. The finale of the first act is an exception; it is remarkably fine, full, and commanding. They are enlivened, throughout, by the accompaniments, over which Rossini has great control. He employs them in the most masterly way, filling up with strong touches every vacancy. They are not less skilfully managed in the songs, which are most judiciously thinned or enriched, according to sen→ timent, melody, and the ever fluctuating demand of passion and of pathos. His knowledge and application of the distinguishing beauties of the several instruments is not less visible; but he holds, the player to his task, and expects him to trample upon impossibilities. Tancredi is not, however, without prominent marks of the manner of Rossini. We have those gay interspersions of melody, and more particularly the repetitions he is so fond of; which, how ever, have their use in working upon the feelings. We have seldom been so convinced that reiteration does possess such an influence, as from the score before us. As a whole, then, we look upon Tancredi in the light of the performance of a man of undoubted genius and science, and we think it will advance his reputation far above that point where his lighter compositions had before placed it in this country.

The Benefit Concerts have exhibited nothing particularly novel. Mr. Greatorex's, Miss Sharp's, Mr. Bartleman's, Messrs. Cramer's, and Miss Goodall's, took place in May, and were well attended. Mr. Bartleman's was so crowded indeed, that not a ticket could be procured towards the close of the day. Such a tribute of respect cannot fail to be grateful to a spirit of uncommon ardour, rendered more sensible through the bo

dily trials it has so long sustained. We cordially congratulate this justly esteemed singer on his undiminished possession of public regard. The selections at the two latter were of that superior kind, which manifests the solid learning and sound taste of the conductors. We suspect, however, that the continual repetition of the same songs begins to be wearisome to the constant attendants of the concert at Hanover-square. It is curious that Mrs. Salmon should on both occasions be announced for Rossini's Di piacer. Vaughan sung an Italian Canzonetta of Handel exquisitely, and was as exquisitely accompanied by Lindley. At the Benefit Concert of Mr. Begrez, Mr. Kalkbrenner played in so surprising a manner as almost to have borne down competition.

June has been distinguished by the concerts of Mr. Vaughan, Mr. Spohr, and Mr. Bellamy. That of the singer first named was literally an overflow, and the earnestness with which the fashionable world pressed forward on this occasion, is not less a proof of good taste in the art, than of the just estimation which attends private worth and character in professors of eminence.

On the 13th, 14th, and 15th of June a grand musical festival was held at Oxford in honour of the king's accession. The band was complete, and the selections of the highest order. Dr. Crotch's fine oratorio of Palestine was performed entire. We cannot refrain from expressing our surprise, that a work which unquestionably entitles the doctor to take rank before all the composers of his time and nation, should be so seldom heard in the metropolis, and hardly at all any where else. The publica tion of the full score, which is announced to take place by subscription from the Royal Harmonic Institution, will probably give it that publicity which its great merits so well deserve. It blends more sound learning with the graces of modern writing, than any production with which we are acquainted, and though it ranges below the sublimity of Handel, and the elegance of Haydn, yet, while second to these great mas ters alone, it combines no inconsiderable portion of the properties of both.

The music of the new play, Henri