Walter Scott's novels have been transformed into operas of this kind. The task of arranging these pieces is not very difficult. The principal scenes of the novel are linked together, without any regard to connection, and music borrowed from every nation and composer is adapted to songs which are often utterly inconsistent with the situation and sentiments of the characters to whom they are allotted. The voice of a favourite singer, the performance of one or two clever actors, splendid scenery and decorations, and occasionally the introduction of real horses, wholly supersede the necessity of talent in the compiler. The stage of the English Opera House is not sufficiently spacious to give effect to these melo-dramas, and consequently it is chiefly confined to the representation of Vaudevilles, which, though in the original they form but one act, are here swelled out to two or three, and dignified with the title of comic operas. In general, the music of these operas and melo-dramas no more belongs to the composers than the words do to the writers. But it must not therefore be inferred, that the English think themselves inferior to the French in musical composition. The degree of doctor of music is granted by one of the English universities. Handel is claimed as one of England's sons; and the last century produced Arne, Jackson, and Purcell, whose pleasing and simple melodies often resemble those of the Devin du Village, and who have acquired the honourable appellation of men of genius. Dibdin's operas, too, which have a certain national

character, have been performed with success. Shield and Sir John Stevenson are men of talent; but Bishop is the favourite English composer of the present day. Some of his productions are not deficient in grace and elegance, but they exhibit no traces of originality or genius.

But the English Opera is not visited this season exclusively by the lovers of music and singing. The magnet of attraction is the performance of a little phenomenon about twelve years of age. London has its Leontine Fay in the person of Clara Fisher. I must confess that, in general, I am no great admirer of infantine prodigies, whatever degree of astonishment they may excite; I can never repress a feeling of pain when I seen children compelled to renounce the liberty natural to their age, for the sake of representing characters equally above their comprehension and their stature; I always look upon them as the martyrs of their precocity.

The celebrated Master Betty familiarized the English public with these juvenile efforts. He received enormous sums of money from the managers of the two winter theatres, where he performed Richard III. Hamlet, Macbeth, Orestes, and all the heroes of tragedy, and was for a time distinguished by the flattering appellation of the Young Roscius. Though it is affirmed that Clara Fisher, at three years of age equalled Kean in Richard III., yet fortunately her imitative talent has been more judiciously directed. This miniature actress recites, sings, and dances, in

the most fascinating style imaginable. But her intelligent and expressive countenance, and her natural gaiety of manner, are her principal charms. When she has to enact parts which are unsuited to her stature, she seems to anticipate the moment when her natural expression will fail her, and she defeats the difficulty by some ingenious stroke of humour. But in parts to which her person is adapted, she displays all that childish grace and ease which art can but imperfectly imitate. She is an admirable representative of a mischievous little boy. In characters like this she is no longer an actress, but a most engaging child: she does not surprise, but she interests and amuses.

I cannot bestow a higher tribute of praise on Emery, than by comparing him to Michot. Both are alike remarkable for vigour and sensibility. Emery and Michot, are the only actors I know of, who possess the art of naturally pourtraying rudeness of manners, combined with delicacy of feeling, and the union of passion and simplicity, which are the distinguishing characteristics of men who are called singular, because, amidst the refinements of civilization, they have preserved the primitive energy of nature. Emery particularly reminded me of Michot in Madame de Sevigné, for he excels in the representation of rustic characters, to which he gives a various, but always perfectly natural colouring. There is a certain seriousness in his manner of representing Farmer Ashfield, who often excites a smile by his familiarity and awkwardness, but who, nevertherless, pre

In

serves all the dignity of a man, and commands respect by his noble sentiments and conduct. parts, such as Tyke, in the School of Reform, and Giles, in the Miller's Maid, where passion is excited to enthusiasm, or even phrenzy, Emery is tragical, without losing sight of the vulgarity which belongs to his character, and he produces the liveliest emotions of terror and pity. Finally, he is exclusively comic, when the originality of his part consists in external manner, rather than in any peculiarity of sentiment or character. But even in this line of parts, Emery never degenerates into caricature; he still remains true to nature, when he excites the loudest bursts of laughter.

Emery speaks in perfection one of those provincial dialects, which produce as ludicrous an effect on the English stage as the Auvergnat or Gascon accent do on ours. He excels in giving a comical turn to the Yorkshire accent; but, before his time, the Somersetshire dialect was usually employed on the stage for the amusement of the London cockneys, who, like their Parisian brethren, are very much given to ridicule every jargon except their own."

* Emery died since this letter was written,

LETTER XXXVIII.

TO M. CH. NODIER.

YOUR interesting account of Miss Kelly, rendered me so curious to see her, that I cannot deny myself the pleasure of describing to you the impression which her acting produced on me. I have not your letter before me, and I may, perhaps, differ from you on some points. But you have accustomed me to speak my mind candidly, because I know you attach more value to friendship than to complaisance ;-and we shall still be friends, in spite of little differences of opinion.

For some time I was induced to believe, that Miss Kelly was a mere creation of your fancy. I sought and enquired for her every where, without success: she was neither at Drury Lane nor Covent Garden. At length, some one who apparently recollected her by an effort of memory, informed me that she was a melo-dramatic actress, who had enjoyed a temporary degree of celebrity in the Maid and the Magpie, a translation of our Pie Voleuse. This, I was certain, could not be the Miss Kelly I was in quest of. I almost de