labours, be brought before a jury. For our own parts, our wish is in favour of the authors. In France a dramatic writer is splendidly repaid; every theatre in which his play is re presented yielding him a share of the profit; but in England it is ordered otherwise. We do not know what Mr. Elliston, in his liberality, gave to Mr. Haynes for his tragedy of Conscience; but we have heard, that farces at that house used to produce a matter of ten pounds or more to an author. We hope that tragedies and comedies are not in proportion advantageous.

She Would and She Would Not is a comedy of Cibber's (altered from, or founded on, a play of Fletcher's, if we recollect truly), and a right laughable comedy it is. Harley is Trappanti, and Madame Vestris the Hyppolita of the piece, and they are both excellent. Harley seems always to come amongst the audience, and put himself upon a level with the pit. There is none of the artificial reserve of the theatre about him; he appears to belong rather to the spectators than to the company, while he distributes his jokes and his laughs pretty equally between both. We always expect him to walk forward without any hesitation to the front of the stage and to look at us over the lamps, and we are never disappointed. This person absolutely overflows with fun, and the sound of his voice is an alarm to gravity-there never was, perhaps, such an instance (in appearance, at least), of animal spirits in any man: it amounts to restlessness, and is as perpetual as it is pleasant. Would we could purchase a cup of that fountain whence his merriment springs forth!-Did our readers ever see this actor perform Popolino? Do they remember his countenance and his actions, after he believes that he is poisoned?-if not, it is worth a journey much farther than Drurylane. When the maids affect to pity him, and to lament his early fate, he sighs in sad concert with them, till the laughable almost verges on the painful. His manner of saying, that he is "only thirty-one," after two or three suffocating sobs, and an attempt to

restrain the tremulous motion of the muscles about his mouth, is quite capital. We feel that the world is about to lose a creature that loved it, and the tax on our sympathy is resistless.--Madame Vestris is a charming (Cassio would have called her "an exquisite") actress. Where did she hide her comic spirit so long? She is a treasure to Drurylane, and ought to be the pride of the manager. There is no actress at that theatre at all equal to her, excepting always Miss Kelly; but then she has notes which Miss Kelly cannot rival, and so the matter is even between them.

The Benefits.-We see several of these anounced.--Mr. Macready's (who plays Hamlet for the first time),-Mr. Charles Kemble's (who has not published particulars),—and Miss Kelly's, who intends giving a Concert, and "A Bold Stroke for a Husband," which cannot fail to be attractive. Munden will revive a comedy, and give us to see him once more in Crack, in the Turnpike Gate. Who does not know Munden in Crack? and who that knows him will not wish to meet him once more? We must see him perform his circuit round the mug of beer, and smack. his coach-whip again. If there be a man with a heavy heart, let him go to this worthy for his cure: he is an infallible remedy for all hypochondriacal complaints. The man who is not merry after next(what is the day of the benefit?) must keep his melancholy at home: he will merit no compassion, if he should not go to the theatre; and if he should go, he will need none. When the King went to Drury-lane he was overpowered by the grotesque accomplishments of this inimitable old comedian. Sam Dabbs came upon him, we suppose, like a vision of his youth, when he was wont to mix with the common people at Newmarket and other places. Since that time he has seen nothing but lords of the bedchamber, gold-sticks, and swordbearers,--fine specimens of art, doubtless; but not to be compared to that exquisite specimen of village life,

the industrious Mr. Samuel Dabbs, the country apothecary's apprentices

THE Opera is proceeding with the full gale of the public approbation, and fashion favours enterprize and talent. His Majesty has again visited this theatre, and the presence of Royalty has certainly had a powerful effect; but the vigour which appears in the several departments, we hope, is quite as beneficial as the patronage of the monarch; and although we could by no means undervalue the countenance of authority, it would be a lamentable satire upon the spirit, as well as the taste, of the country, if a visit from the King was necessary to ensure success to art, whatever honour it may reflect upon the undertakers.

Since our last report, Madame Albert, Signor Curioni, Signor De Begni, Madame Ronzi de Begni, have severally appeared. The style of the lady first named is very much that of France; and neither her voice, nor manner, was of a kind entirely to refute what has generally been said of French singing, or to satisfy persons accustomed to the Italian school.

On Saturday, May 19, Rossini's Il Turco in Italia, was performed, to introduce the two latter singers. Signor Curioni also sustained a principal character. Nothing can well be more absurd than the plot of this Opera, nothing can be much more meagre and gaudy than its music. The scene is laid near Naples; and the piece opens with a view of the bay, where a company of gypsies are assembled on the sea-shore. A poet, who, it seems, is in search of incidents for a new Opera, enters, and soon after, Geronio, the old husband of Fiorilla, a young coquet, comes to have his fortune told by the gypsies. Zaida, a female in love with the faithless Zelin, and Albuzar his servant, who, being ordered to put her to death, has escaped with her from Turkey, are disguised as gipsies The poet overhearing this relation of her misfortunes, as the mistress and the servant are conversing, is struck with so romantic an incident, upon

which he determines to found the plot of his piece; and this absurd notion (one, however, of which the English theatre in our Dramatist can exhibit the prototype) is kept up through nearly all the remaining scenes into which this personage is introduced, solely that he may be represented as forming the drama, as it were, during its progress. Selim, a Turk and a Prince, lands, just as the gypsies have expounded to Geronio, the character of his wife, for which the poet had previously prepared Zaida. She recognizes her inconstant lover, who is no sooner ashore, than he meets Fiorilla, falls in love with her, and she takes him to her house. Narcisso, her cecisbeo, is perpetually introduced as watching her. The rest of the drama is made up of attempts on the part of Selim to possess himself of Fiorilla, first by purchase, and afterwards by elopement; of the endeavours and hopes of Zaida to conciliate her former admirer; of the follies, and disputes, and miseries of Geronio and Fiorilla; and, finally, the wife is reformed by being expelled by her husband, upon the authority of a divorce fortunately obtained some years before. Selim is reconciled to Zaida. Narcissa declares his purpose to lead a new life: all is as it should be; the poet contemplates the completion and catastrophe of his piece, and anticipates the public approbation. Such is the absurd jumble of which this piece is compounded. The music is slight, and affords the worst specimen of Rossini's mannerism that has yet been exhibited. It abounds in florid passages, but has neither the agreeable melodies, nor the peculiar expression, of most of his pieces. There is certainly a great deal of vivacity, but it s unmeaning, and would parallel as a musical composition with the conversation of such a character as is frequently met in the worlda fool with lively parts.

Signor Curioni is a tenor, with a not very powerful, nor very exten

sive voice; but his manner is pure, his execution neat, and his general style pleasing. His compass is rather confined in the range of his natural voice, but he adds a note or two of falsetto without any very disagreeable effects arising from the junction. His person is fine and manly; and, though not equal in science to Crivelli or Garcia, he is a singer of unquestionable ability. Signor Ronzi di Begni is a Buffo Caricato, and has a free full toned voice, and a good manner. He is a far better singer than Ambrogetti; but though a good and promising actor, is below that admirable performer in genuine play of fancy and comic expression.

Madame Ronzi de Begni has been a great favourite at Paris; but she appears to fail here for want of the volume, compass, and force, necessary to fill so large a theatre. The general quality of her tone seems therefore thin; and it varies, particularly in the higher parts of the scale, sufficiently to indicate an imperfect method both of forming and producing it. Her execution is neat, rather than brilliant, and her power of invention, as to ornament, we should expect to be limited. As a whole, she is below the first rank; and though Il Turco in Italia cannot be said to allow any extraordinary room for display; yet, as the debutante has the liberty of choosing in the Opera in which she first appears, it must be presumed, that Madame Ronzi considers Fiorilla to be the best, or amongst the best of her cha

racters.

Thus, novelty and variety have been found, rather than very superior excellence, particularly in the females hitherto produced; and as a singer none of them approach Miss Corri, whose exclusion, it is whispered, arises from a determination formed in the interior cabinet, to entertain no talent of English birth or growth. The justice of the principle, as it applies to this establishment, cannot perhaps, be questioned; but where a discretion can so easily be exercised, the public will probably lament that it has not been exerted in behalf of superior and acknowledged ability.

The benefit Concerts have been this month particularly numerous,

but they have hitherto presented nothing out of the common course.

The long promised number, (the eighth) of the Irish Melodies, is at length come forth; and whatever may have been the cause, neither the interest nor the fire is weakened by the delay. It is by far the best of all the numbers. The more we see of Mr. Moore's song-writing, the more impressed we are with the amazing concentration of force and tenderness. His soul is flame, he stirs the spirits like a trumpet, or subdues them, like the swell of that wild music which melts the heart, when zephyrs breathe their softest sighs over the responsive chords of the harp of the winds.

This number contains twelve songs, and four of them are moreover adapted in several parts. There is such a singular felicity, both in the poetry and the music, that those which should seem from their subjects to be fitted only to particular moments, or as ministering to time, place, and circumstance, are yet superior to them all, for the simple reason, that they have our affections at command. The airs are all singular and striking; and whether the words suggested their selection, or the peculiar character of the music gave birth to the poetry, it is impossible for expression to be more quaintly complete.

Mr. T. Rovedino has composed a dramatic fairy scene," which is sent forth with the general elegance of the publications that issue from Mr. Power's house. As a first work it is very creditable, and is light, agreeable, and effective. The subject is, the presentation of his destined bride to an eastern prince by Genii in a dream, and her removal. The fairies who perform this feat relate it to their master. The scene commences with a fairy march, a pretty little variation upon a wellknown theme; but whether consciously or unconsciously adopted, we have no means of discovering. The rest is divided into recitative, song, and trio, for two sopranos and a bass. The first glee, Hither flock the elves of night, is airy and elegant, and the polacca is of the same character. Indeed, the whole is capable of effect; and if it does not rise eminently high in the scale of com

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position, it is yet very pleasing as a cantata, and we may commend it, as a novel, and by no means inelegant, bagatelle, pour le concert de famille. Mr. Wesley Doyle's second volume of ballads has also appeared. This amateur has a natural taste for the species of simple and pensive melody, that affects a mixed audience. He bestows capability upon his songs, and he brings their compass within the powers of almost any singer. His model is quite obvious, for he draws from his own particular objects and attainments. While we praise his music, we cannot help pitying this gentleman for having fallen so frequently amongst poets, who are decidedly " persons of quality."

Mr. Horn's Polacca, introduced by Miss Wilson, into Love in a Village, "O listen to your lover," is so like all other airs of this character, (particularly Storace's No more my fears alarming,) that a critic, who doats upon detecting similitudes, might be pardoned for saying they are all variations of one subject. Mr. Horn's, however, has the recommendation of being very showy, without laying much difficulty upon a singer whose compass is tolerably extensive.

Mr. Sola has an agreeable ballad, "The nightingale." "Light as the shadows of evening descend," by Sir J. Stevenson, is also pretty, but by no means in his best manner. "The Invitation," by Mr. Turnbull, upon words from Shakspeare, is by far the best of this month's collection, which, though numerous, hardly presents another worthy of notice.

Mr. J. B. Cramer's thirteenth divertimento commences with an introduction elegantly fancied, particularly in the cadenza, but the rest of the lesson bears few of the marks of his style: there is little of graceful flow; and though there is that various progression, which characterizes his productions, yet in this instance it lacks the charm of melody, which is so peculiarly the property of his writings. The allegro also wants diversity. It is rather easy of exe

cution, yet it demands expressive performance to render it at all effective.

Mr. Meves has composed a divertimento, upon the double themes of "Gente e qui l'Uccellatore ;" and the march in "Il flauto magico." The subjects are happily announced in the introduction; and, perhaps, like Mr. Cramer's, this may be esteemed the best part of the lesson. From the beauty of the airs (particularly the march), the whole is, however, much more attractive; and the last movement, though a little too much broken, is still capable of brilliant effect. Mr. Logier, in his controversial writings, taunted Mr. Neate with having given the world but one composition. Opera 2, has, however, now appeared, and it is A Grand Sonata, a regular, elaborate, singular, and original work. It is written in three movements, and the subjects are very peculiar. They are also learnedly treated, and the entire performance shows the command of his instrument which Mr. Neate possesses. But we think the whole is rather fanciful than pleasing, on account of its characteristic want of melody. It is very long and somewhat difficult.

No. 5, of the Quadrille Rondos, by Peile, is one of the best of the set. It is very elegant and melodious.

The Wild Rose of Dijon, with variations by Klose, and a Venetian air, by Hummel, are of the easiest description of lessons for the Piano Forte and Harp.

Heroic Fantasia for the Harp, on Rule Britannia, by Bochsa. Mr. Bochsa's introduction is richly interspersed with casual gleams of the air, and this is by far the most imaginative, and best part of the composition; for the variations have too little resemblance to the subject. No. 5 is an exception; for here again Mr. Bochsa's fancy has been felicitously applied. The last, too, is well worked up, and the lesson concludes brilliantly.

Peckham, or Camberwell, or Croydon, during the festivities which are annually committed at those respective and respectable villages. He would make a figure there, chained as it were to the dome of the place, writhing about like a serpent, or fixed, like the Prometheus of Michael Angelo, who, when the vulture is making his angry repast, looks sternly and calmly upon it, although cast with his head downwards, and fettered like a felon upon the ridge of the Indian Caucasus. The Sieur Davoust contemplates the pit and the admiring boxes with a similar complacency: he puts his foot to his mouth, he waves a flag, he drinks wine as unconcernedly as though he were still on the earth, banquetting like one of the vulgar. We despair of doing justice to his marche aerienne' without the assistance of a wood-cut, or some of our old friend, Mr. Janus Weathercock's, pictorial faculty. . Besides the Sieur, there have appeared two other exhibitors: one strange and almost deformed, but withal possessing prodigious muscular power; and the other chiselled by nature into proportions, which might have served the Greek statuaries, when they fashioned their divine marbles for all-coming time. They have been, and passed away, like other great spirits; and the theatre is once more reduced to the common attraction of dialogue.

Hallande) pour forth. The voice of the one falling soft as dew, and of a power and compass almost unparalleled in the annals of song; and the other clear, and ravishing, and musical, as is the lute of Apollo. Fit companions are they for the great Prospero, who has the elements at his beck, and Ariel the most delicate of spirits, for his slave. Then there is the princely Ferdinand, a willing servant, and subjected by love as utterly as was Hercules of old at the Court of the Lydian Queen; and Caliban, poetic monster, who is in the woods, and of the woods a part, a thing made up of earth, and rugged as the rock, a little touched with humanity, and with a capacity for art equal to that of the renowned Mr. Samson Rawbold, whose moonlight pastimes every reader of the Iron Chest, and every admirer of Kean's Sir Edward Mortimer, will gratefully remember.

Prospero is the hero of the Tempest. He "walks gowned," with an air and consciousness of power, to which even the Doctors of Civil Law, at either of our learned Universities, may not hope to approximate: he is seen swaying the thunder, and the storm, and bidding the fiery lightning halt in its course; he pours the oil of his words upon the waves, and they are still; yet he has some of the alloy of human nature still, some of the yearnings of the common man, and some of the irritability of absolute power: he is still Duke of Milan in his heart, and father of the fair Miranda,-though Caliban is at his footstool, and the creatures of the air are obedient to his voice.

Macready, who adds a good deal of the imaginative, in acting, to those natural touches which have so much distinguished him, is the worthy representative of the renowned magician. Very tender was his recital of his past life to his wondering child: there are few things, even in Shakspeare, which are more affecting than part of the story which Prospero tells :

Twelve years since, Miranda, twelve years since,

Thy father was the Duke of Milan, and
A Prince of power.

This repetition, "Twelve years since, Miranda, twelve years since," sounds like a sigh to departed great