grace to experiment. On the Warrior's parish dole to the poor and wretched; and head we will not make war.

CCXLII. ELIJA IN THE WILDERNESS.

W. Allston.

the objects selected for this charity, are
marked with every circumstance of varied
misery, both in garb and feature. It is
evident that he has drawn from real life,
and his drama, if not highly finished, has
all the excellence of truth and nature. His
avoidance of positive colour is too singular;
and had his story not carried him out in
this picture, it would have shared the fate of
"Preparing for the fair," which is bald and
unmeaning.
(To be continued.)

inspired by the artist's skill: and who more than Mr. Shee has contributed to "magnify the art, and make it honourable;" or has endeavoured by his literary labours to remove the prejudices against modern painting, and to fix the mind upon the more This proof of wild desolation is another exalted, and less upon the Epicurean, part proof of great talent. In our former notice of the profession? by which we mean all of this artist, we were rather surprised into those minor merits which are to be found admiration, than borne out in a continued in mere combinations of form, or colour, increase on deliberate examination. The or some petty peculiarity, hardly worth style of his Uriel belongs to a school in notice in comparison with the soul of paint- which correctness of drawing was an iming, which consists of much higher attri-portant and essential ingredient. We were butes. therefore willing to hope that this young and aspiring artist may not be misled to suppose that the extraordinary in art can compensate for the want of that accurate knowledge of the human form which subjects of this kind demand. Correct draw-Written on the anniversary of King Charles's martyrdom. ing is a sine qua non.

We are happy in an opportunity of paying our tribute to the literary and pictorial attainments of Mr. Shee. The back-ground of this fascinating performance is sweetly handled; there is a fluency of pencil, and a transparency of colour, which borders indeed a little upon manner in the artist, and upon the artificial in the art; but this clearness of colouring, and purity of pencil, are so difficult of acquirement, that they are equally difficult to forego when once acquired: neither is it an easy matter to fix the precise boundary where these should end, and a more loose and equivocal style be adopted. In that before us there are no concealments; no shrinking from the light into those obscurities which are as often calculated to hide faults, as to produce effect. If Mr. Shee sins, he sins in the face of day.

XXI. THE FOUR EVANGELISTS.

Martin Cregan.

This subject has been treated so often by Italian and Flemish masters, and with so much skill, that if the artist, whose picture is before us, has not seen any of them, we heartily wish he had; and our second wish is, if he has seen them, that he had made a good use of his knowledge. At any rate he ought to have produced characters more suitable to the preconceived ideas of these sacred personages. As it is, we can hardly imagine any thing more foreign, either in person or expression; and there is a quaintness in the principal figure, looking out of the picture, which allies it to the ridiculous. As there is however much talent displayed in other parts of this performance, we venture to anticipate better things from the same easel.

We the more readily allude to defects, as we are not disposed to retract our applause from either that work or from the picture before us, which we have viewed with critical care and attention. Here is a severity of style appropriate to the subject, and the imagination expatiates on the sublimity of solitude. Sterility is a striking feature of the scene; and the rude and scathed branches of the trees flung across the canvas, are brought to contrast strongly with a sky of no mean character; which, while it perfectly accords with the dignity of the prophet's lot, is equally true to nature. There is a little of hardness in some of these branches, which are in opposition to the brightness of the clouds. This seems to us to arise principally from the darkest parts of the shadows being carried to the edges, instead of falling more upon the centre of the substance, from which cause

ORIGINAL POETRY.

SUDDEN DAY.

Rudely above the Eastern hills, the Sun
Burst on the world—no gradual beam he shed,

As to proclaim his coming-no faint streaks
Of morning light (parting the clouds) were seen
To steal along, as by surprise to take
The stars, then lingering in the West-No veil
Of roses (such Aurora scatters 'round
When she unbars heaven's gates) spread its soft

tint

Over the skies—but the dark form of night
Startled, or struck, as by some wizard's wand,
Changed in a moment-The day broke at once—
Swift as he leaves the tropic heavens, the Sun
Rose, and dilated stood upon the mountains
Red-but in full and burning power.-It seem'd
(May this be said?) that God's eternal eye
Widened in horror-or, in angry doubt,
Stared on the deeds of men.

B.

IMITATION OF A SCHOOL OF MODERN POETRY,

An attempt at the Simple.
What! Stranger, have you never heard
Of the Lady under the holly-tree?

It always does me.

This Lady had a little dog,

they do not appear to separate sufficiently The tale is sad, and will make you weep,—
from the back-ground. The colouring is
simple and judicious; and there is, in truth,
a something of Salvator in this landscape,
which, not reaching his gloomy grandeur,
is so mingled with the Caracci manner, as
to shew us that Mr. Allston at least dips at
the fountain of inspiration, and therefore
affords us high expectations of his future
progress.

'Twas of King Charles's breed,
And she loved him as well, as no tongue can tell,
Aye, very much indeed!

But poor little Pompey was taken ill,

And eke looked wondrous faint;
"Oh! go for the Doctor," the Lady she cried,
"To remove this sad complaint."

So the Doctor he came and felt his pulse,
And held up his watch to his eye,
"Fair Lady, twelve ounces of blood must he lose,
Or your little dog will die."
But poor little Pompey grew very weak,

And eke looked wondrous faint,
"Oh! go for another Doctor, I pray,
To remove this sad complaint."

CCXLIII. THE VESTRY.-CCXLIV. PREPARING FOR THE FAIR.-Wm. Ingalton. Pope Ganganelli, a patron of the arts, though not of Protestant vestries (albeit a No. XVI. EUPHROSYNE.-CXI. HEAD OF liberal pope) when consulted by a young A WARRIOR.-CLXXVII. BACCHANA-painter, whom he protected, gave him this LJANS, a Sketch.-W. Etty. cheering opinion, that having expression, he In all sketches something more or less is possessed the first quality in art, and thereleft for the imagination to supply; and the fore must succeed. Upon the same ground artist or the amateur fill up the voids, and we congratulate Mr. Ingalton on his accommake allowance for all deficiencies. This plishing this indispensable requisite in paint-So the Doctor he came, and felt his pulse, artist has need for these allowances in his ing, not doubting but that the other quali- Some strengthening medicine he must have;" "Fair Lady, he's very ill, Bacchanalians. He has engaged, through ties of colouring, chiaro-scuro, relief, &c. -And he gave him a mercury pill. this sample, in no easy task; and by the will be added in due time The Vestry is violence of his blue, which should serve as of great interest. It is too familiar, we But poor little Pompey still grew weak, a scale to work up to, has much to achieve. fear, to artists, as well as other men, in And eke looked wondrous faint, "Oh! go for another Doctor, I pray, 1 But not to prejudge any performance in more ways than one, not to enter into all this state, we shall leave Mr. Etty, in the our associations, and undoubtedly furnishes To remove this sad complaint." hope that he may acquit himself satisfac-a legitimate subject for the pencil. Mr. So the Doctor he came, and looked very grave, torily, should he think of pursuing his de- Ingalton has, however, forsaken the most And he held up his cane to his nose, sign any further. The Euphrosyne, which hackneyed humorous path. His vestry is "Some opening physic he must have, has been before exhibited, is a sacrifice of held for the purpose of dealing out the His system to compose."

Then he gave him a potion, and gave him a lo- | But Dolly did not complain at all;

tion,

Whilst he gave dismal cries,

And the little dog died as dead as a door-nail,
And twisted his gooseberry eyes!

"Oh! wretched!-that my little dog,
Lately in health so well,

Should thus die suddenly by death!
In-com-pre-hen-si-ble!

"His body shall be opened

To find the dreadful cause;

Pompey shall be buried with great pomp-
Aye! bless his little paws!"

Then the Surgeon came, and he took out his knife,
And made a great hole in his side;

The blood trickled down, and 'tis dreadful to
think.

What a terrible sight he espied!

For out of his stomach a tape-worm there came,
Full seventy yards or more,
And he twisted about the throat of the Surgeon,
And strangled him on the floor!

"Ah! fool that I was," the Lady she cried,
"Ah! silly foolish thing,

Indeed she could not speak:

One eye was hanging against the wall,
And t'other hung on her cheek!
Well!-into one coffin the bodies were placed,
And buried under the Holly;

This excellent Epitaph graved on the grave,-
“The Lady—her Dog-and Dolly ! "

Madame de L-
The young Count de Glancuil, nephew to
called
me this
upon
morning. "I can't account," said he, as
he entered my apartment, "for the way in
which time flies in Paris. I promised myself
We live, as it were, in the same house
we are divided only by a little terrace:
and yet, upon my honour! I thought I

I ought to have known that Pompey had worms, the pleasure of seeing you a fortnight ago.

And sent for Doctor Ching.

"If I had sent for Doctor Ching,

I might have blessed the day;

For he would have cured Pompey with his patent never again should have an opportunity of

worm-destroying lozenges,

--I dare say.

"Dolly! deny me to all my friends,

My grief it is increased,

giving you a call."- Indeed, my dear
Count, I have been even more occupied
than you-I run the risk of forfeiting every
pleasure you teach me to expect. But, all

Three nights and three days without sleep will I personal interests apart, you, Count, are

watch

By the corpse of the deceased.

"Go carry the Surgeon into the garden,
And bury him, since he is dead: "
So the gardener made a deep hole with his spade,

And the Surgeon was bu-ri-ed.

So the Lady she locked herself into her room,
For her grief it was increased;

And three nights and three days without sleep

did she watch,

By the corpse of the deceased!

And when the fourth day it came,

Dolly went to her Lady's door,

But found it was lock-ed, and then she knock-ed
Full seventy times or more!

But she did not attend to the seventy knocks,
As she lay upon her bed,
Which is not much to be wondered at-
Poor lady!-she was dead!

Then Dolly forced the door with her fist,
And into the room she went,
[flutter,
And she opened the shutter in a very great
For she was ready to faint.

And ah! and oh! what a sight she saw,
Dear me! 'twas very shocking!
The Lady was dead, as she lay on her bed,
And had stifled herself in her stocking.
Pompey lay stretched within her arms,
Reclined was her head,

His precious limbs were cold and stiff,
And the whites of his eyes were red!
When Dolly saw these doleful sights,
She felt a-shiver-ed,

And went in a fit as dead as a stone,
And pitched upon her head.

And her head it was split into twenty pieces,
Which truckled about the floor,

And from the wound the blood flowed around,
Full seventy yards or more!

independent of every kind of business, free
from all occupation, except such as you
think fit to create for yourself, and the ab-
solute master of your time, and yet you
cannot arrange the use of it according to
your own inclination?'-" Pardon me, I
arrange it in the best possible way; but I
know not how it is, when evening arrives, I
usually find all the plans I had formed in
the morning unexecuted.

"I happened to be out late on the preceding evening; it was half past ten before my valet entered my chamber: I was consequently compelled to renounce the pleasure of waiting upon you that morning. Except in that instance, I was determined not to depart from my arrangements. Particular business, however, rendered it necessary that I should be at the Fauxbourg Saint-Germain at eleven o'clock. "Twas near twelve before I reached the residence of Madame de Berville; unluckily for me, punctuality is one of the many good qualities which distinguish this lady. Instead of a good hour, which I hoped to have spent in her company, by arriving just as she was going to breakfast, I could enjoy only for a few minutes the pleasure of seeing and conversing with that most charming creature.

"As a punishment for my negligence, Fate ordained that, on taking leave of the most lively, elegant, and amiable woman in all France, I should meet with the most extravagant of men. M. d'Aubignac (who has turned military officer since the conclusion of peace, and who fancies himself a profound historian and politician, because he knows by heart the Capitularies of Charlemagne, and the Treatise on Fiefs) took me by the arm, and absolutely dragged me by force to break fast with him.

To those who can for any length of time derive amusement from the contemplation of folly and vanity, carried to the very utmost point of extravagance, a seat at the breakfast table of M. and Madame

Aubignac would prove an infinite gratification. I have long been accustomed to hear absurdities on public affairs; but the conversation of M. and Madame d' Aubignac proved to me that folly was boundless. The Lady endeavoured to convince me that there is no human sentiment which party "For instance, would you wish to know spirit may not annihilate in the heart of what were my yesterday's arrangements? a woman, who is no longer accessible to Here are my tablettes, I will read them: other passions. I might have made an At ten o'clock to call on M-(you see,effort to endure the political absurdities Sir, I did intend to call on you, for it is with which the husband fatigued my pawritten down) at eleven precisely, to pay tience; but I was not prepared to listen to a visit to Madame de Berville, who means all the vile maxims which the wife set forth, to remain only two days longer in Paris, and which she always concluded with, 'Tis and whom I would not miss seeing on any a lamentable reflection, but there the matter account. At one, to go to the College de must end... It certainly did end, in France, to hear the lectures of M.M. An- forcing me to be excessively unpolite. I drieux and Villemain. At three, to call on rose, and rather unceremoniously quitted my attorney, to arrange some family busi- this abode of folly, with a full determinaness of the utmost importance. At four, tion never to enter it again. at home, with my master for the oriental languages-(that's a study to which I have taken a particular fancy of late.) At six, to dine at the Marais, at Madame Reimzey's with some of the most distinguished scholars and literati in town. In the evening, to the François, where Phedre is announced. After the play, to Madame L-'s, where I I am determined not to play; I'll make my escape whenever they sit down to cards. To return home before twelve, and read till three in the morning.

shall meet

"Such were my plans: now Sir, hear how they were executed.

"I next proceeded to the College de France, hoping that the lectures of two celebrated professors would dissipate the ill-humour into which the infatuated couple had thrown me. I arrived just in time to meet the company, who had enjoyed the gratification of hearing their learned discourses. This vexed me exceedingly-I recollected that I had an appointment at my attorney's. The party I found assembled there, were unconsciously laying the foundation for five or six interminable lawsuits respecting an affair which, with a little honesty and common sense, might have been settled in half an hour.

"The vexations of every kind which I had experienced during the morning, so disordered my mind, that I entirely forgot my master of oriental languages. I went to take the bath. I desired the waiter to bring me a book, and the blockhead had the stupidity to give me Lady Montagu's Letters, in which I read such a description of the oriental baths, as served to make me feel all the deficiencies of our own.

"I returned home to dress for the evening. My mother wished that I should dine at home; but I had passed my word to Madame de Reimzey, and I would not, for all the world, have neglected an invitation which was to procure me the pleasure of meeting several men of learning, foreigners as well as French, with whom I felt the strongest wish to become acquainted.

"I unfortunately happened to pass by the Café Riche, in front of which several young gentlemen of my acquaintance were standing to look at a horse, which a groom was pacing along the boulerart.

"One of them immediately recognised me, and begged that I would stop for one moment, first to give him my opinion on the horse, which he was on the point of purchasing, and for which the owner demanded a very considerable price. I was in haste; but among friends there are certain little services which cannot with good grace be refused, particularly when one receives a compliment in the very request that is made.

"I have the reputation of being a great connoisseur in horses; I supported my claim to it on this occasion, by detecting a fault in one of the horse's feet. The disputes to which this discovery gave rise, between the horse-jockey and me, were of tolerably long duration, and from the certainty of being too late for my engagement at the house where I was expected, I determined to dine with my friends at the Restaurateur's.

"Our repast was extremely noisy and disagreeable. The most insignificant trifles were treated as matters of the utmost importance. My friends hoped to avoid all disagreement, by the prohibition of political discussions, yet they contrived to enter into pretty warm disputes about the candidates of the Academy, the fine English horse called the Regent, steam-boats, and Madame Sacchi. I slipt off unnoticed, whilst the champagne was in free circu

lation.

The two first acts of Phèdre were over when I arrived at the Francois, and I consequently lost the admirable scene of the declaration, which Madame Duchenois plays with a superiority of talent, which perhaps no other actress ever attained in the same part. The theatre was crowded to excess; got a very bad seat; and feeling no great inclination to hear the Marivaudage, which was announced for the second piece, I proceeded to the Opera. There they were performing a vaudeville. I went to the Theatre de Vaudeville, where they were playing a farce. I hastened to the Varietés, where they were just finishing a wretched

"At half past ten I proceeded to Madame L-'s, where I hoped to find some compensation for all the ennui and distress of a most insipid and fatiguing day. From a few words which fell from Madame de Sesanne on the preceding night, I learned that she was to spend the evening at her aunt's. I know of no greater happiness than to be near Madame de Sesanne . . . . ; but she never fails to attend a first appearance at the Opera Comique. I therefore thought myself certain of reaching Madame L's before her... But I had now to endure a fresh disappointment, more cruel than all the rest: Madame de Sesanne, who had left the theatre after the first act of the Marriage Secret, arrived at her aunt's a full hour before me; and being piqued at my want of attention, had seated herself at a rerirsi table, in such a situation, that I could not possibly get near her. This bit of caprice, in which I thought vanity had more share than sentiment, induced me to attempt a little act of revenge, of which I was completely the dupe: I seated myself at the farther extremity of the drawingroom, near a young lady, to whom I addressed, with an air of mystery, the most gallant things I could think of; You may go on, Sir, (said she, with a mischievons smile, at the same time casting her eyes towards Madame de Sesanne) 'tis all to no purpose, I assure you we neither of us believe a word you say.' This repartee put me completely out of countenance... I departed, anxiously seeking to catch the glance which Madame de Sesanne cruelly persisted in withholding.

show, unworthy of a party of mountebanks | meets Chloris, a sylvan beauty; he wanders
at a provincial fair.
round her, beguiles her with inimitable
dancing; so are ladies won; and succeeds
in inspiring her, as is his talent, with sud-
den passion. She devotes herself wholly to
her admirer, and they pass their time in
twining arms, and rosebuds, and the usual
wise employments of secure fondness. But
Zephyr is a proverbial flutterer, and from
Chloris, or to give her a higher title to
captivation, from Milanie, he wings his
way to the first nymph who crosses his
path. Nothing could be a clearer proof of
his fickleness, for the new enchantress is
no less than Mademoiselle Volet, on whom
so many wagers are nightly laid in the pit,
"whether she dances asleep or awake."
This fair Somnambulist carries him off, and
he floats round her like a dream. But even
her soporifics cannot tame his pinion, he sees
another who seems the very antipodes of the
pure and pacific Volet, and is instantly in
full flight. What may enamour him in
Mademoiselle Lebreton must be left to
himself to discover. But Milanie had ex-
hausted all the charm of bright eyes and
brilliant movement, and olet had left all
the languors of all the languid at an im-
measurable distance. Yet there was some
interest in the new fascinator, for his wan-
dering spirit; extreme delicacy of limb
might have urged him into the opposite
passion for extreme solidity of pedestal,
and olet's Roman magnitude of nose
might have exhausted him into extravagant
admiration of its total absence. At all
events he falls in love, portentous as it
might appear in a mortal, with Lebreton.
Here again he grows weary, and after
having worn out all the miracles, and all
the monstrosities, falls in love with the
whole corps de ballet," the general
camp, pioneers and all." Cupid descends
indignant at the monopoly, scizes him,
binds his wings, gives him over to the jus-
tice of the women, those natural tyrants,
and only pardons him on condition of his
marrying Chloris, who becomes the god-
dess Flora.

"The Chevalier de Glayener quitted the drawing-room immediately after me. You are departing betimes, Count,' said he, as we descended the staircase,-" Yes, I have several letters to write this evening"

Come, come, my dear Count, are you silly enough to pout like a child, about an affair of this sort-I will furnish them with a hearty laugh to-morrow, depend on it. Take my advice: Come along with me: This is a remarkably pretty dancing you shall run halves with me at play-we pantomime, the scenery graceful and inshall each of us win fifty louis, and we'll at genious, and some of the dances admirable. least shew these Ladies that we are not at Milanie exhibits to peculiar advantage; the mercy of their caprice.' Partly through Baptiste, with the ugliest visage of even vanity, partly through persuasion, I yielded any Frenchman we have seen, is unfit for to this invitation: I played, and, like a block- Zephyr, except for his showy legs, which head, lost three hundred louis. I returned make him fit for any thing in the style of home at three in the morning, without having female captivation, pirouettes superbly. supped, out of humour with myself, dis-The rest are as usual, and the whole effect satisfied with every body else, and tormented is picturesque and popular. by the vexatious reflection, that my whole life is, in a great measure, composed of days similar to the one which I have just described to you."

THE DRAMA.

-

KING'S THEATRE.-The novelty of this Theatre is a Ballet.-Zephyr, or " Le retour du Printemps," a trifle, but with the elegance of French trifling. Zephyr, who has the misfortune to be always in love,

DRURY LANE.-The Bride of Abydos was so replete with attractions on Tuesday last, that the bills of that day stated, that

"In consequence of the increasing and almost unprecedented demand for places, and the great overflow of the audiences on the nights of the Bride of Abydos, WHICH will be repeated on every night till further

notice."

Not expecting grammar from the erudite Committee, we will not quarrel with their which' being a relative pronoun indepen

dent of all relation, nor argue that the judges of dramatic literature should be able to express a simple advertisement intelligibly. We only quote their announcement to express our wonder that a play so prodigiously run after by crowded houses, should have been preposterously dismissed, as appears from the bills of the ensuing night of performance, Thursday, which, as if bent on giving the lie-circumstantial to their immediate precursors, tell us, that,

Sings like an Angel, but acts like poor Poll."

On the merits of Zuma we are better

utmost that could be done, has been done | of Miss Stephens, who, to parody the line for Zuma. The original tale is very simple. on Goldsmith, The Peruvians are bound by an oath to destroy the entire generation of that person If the defect be in the author, he will do who reveals the virtues of the Quinquina, or well to reconsider nearly all the imposing Jesuit's bark, to their detested conquerors, situations in this part. The restoration of the Spaniards. A benevolent Viceroy at her child, as in the original, might add to this period governs them: he has an the pathos of the denouement; and it would amiable lady, and she has attached to her certainly be an improvement to remove the Zuma, the wife of Mirvan, a person of considerable rank among the native families, and shew it as far from the spectators as burning pile to the distance upon the stage, On account of the varied succession The vice-queen languishes to death, and the perspective art of scene-painters can of novelties about to be brought forward, her Spanish attendants impute her ma-accomplish. The usual advice from critics, the tragic play of the Bride of Abydos lady, as they do all the diseases with which to curtail, we leave to the author's own dismust be laid aside for the present." a tropical climate afflicts them, to American cretion; for though we should prefer someWhat, Messieurs Commitee! lay aside poisons. Nothing can save her but the thing shorter, we are not prepared to say the play which produced an "increasing bark; and Zuma, attempting to administer where to cut. and almost unprecedented demand for it secretly, is detected-the medicine is places"-not only overflows, but " great supposed to be poison-and she and her pleased to dilate. It stands on honourable overflows of the audiences," and was to be husband, who confesses his complicity, are "repeated on every night!"-Surely you condemned to the stake. The dread of in- honestly dull, if dull that can be called, grounds, without trick, and is at least do not well to banish so productive a piece, volving their child in their fate, prevents even for the varied succession of novel- them from disclosing the justificatory se- dialogue, superadds admirable scenery, and which, to an agreeable plot, and unaffected ties" (novelties being in fact generally cret, and they are on the eve of being sathe finest music, taken as a whole, which varied, or they would not be novelties) crificed, when the Vice Queen learns their which is promised. 'Pon honour, you danger, and rushes to save her favourite since 1800, upon the English stage. The we have heard this century! i. e. produced seem capriciously tired of "the nights of the Zuma. This trait of attachment and hu- latter is indeed the chief matter to which Bride," so facetiously written down as if your manity unlocks the bosoms of the Indians, we have to look in a work of this class; honey-moon could not exceed twelve days. and they divulge, in return, the wonderfully and we have no hesitation in pronouncing, Fie, Gentlemen! it is seldom you get hold healing properties of the Tree of Health. Such that it is in the very best style-not withof a good thing, and it is wrong to aban-is Madame de Genlis' tale: Mr. Dibdin has out scientific ornaments; but free from don it in this way. To be sure you would called his imitation a Comic Opera, and, in that tawdry overloading, which fritters away not say the house was full when it was order to sustain the comique, has introempty or perhaps instead of the ordinary duced a young Spaniard, in love with a Pe-cution. The first song by Braham (after a the soul of melody in the dilemmas of exeOpera-glass, you use Dolland's Multipliers, ruvian girl, through whose agency the qua- clever overture, &c. by Bishop) is exquior possibly you get tipsy, a fine way of in-lities of the bark are discovered. He has sitely sweet: he is giving his child as a creasing numbers to the eye-if not to the also thrown an air of duenna-ish ridicule hostage that Zuma will not betray the secret over the character of Beatrice, one of the of her country, and the words, so beautiladies of the court who suspects Zuma; fully set, are these: has made the physician a little facetious; imparted high-life humour to a few domestics, and created a negro servant as the Mungo of New Spain. This comic machinery does not fit well, and the least favourable parts of the piece were those in which it was introduced. Not even the graces of Liston's face could render his love scenes entertaining; and Blanchard (the negro, Cæsar) with all his talent, could hardly raise a laugh. Fawcett, as the physician, was the most effective; while Mrs. Davenport bustled exceedingly through the unamiable character of Beatrice.

treasure-cye.

As this Theatre has furnished us with nothing of novelty, except in the Bills, to criticise, we shall not detain our readers with further remarks. If they want to find that Miss Smithson is more attractive than Miss Kelly in the Inn-keeper's Daughter, or superior to Mrs. Davison in Lady Racket, they may read it in the puffs which these impartial records contain.-A new Comedy is announced for Monday: It is called Castle of Glendower,' and is from the pen of a Mr. Ryley, who is well known in the Provinces as an erratic actor. He has published no fewer than six volumes of his own Adventures, under the title of the Itinerant, and if his theatrical exhibition be as like real life, as his real life is like theatrical exhibition, it will at least have the merit of being a picture of the manners of the age.

COVENT GARDEN.-On Saturday the new opera, entitled Zuma, or the Tree of Health, was produced at this theatre with effect and success. That we think the story beautiful and interesting may be inferred from our having caused it to be translated into the Literary Gazette (Nos. 25, 26) on the first appearance of Madame de Genlis' work; and that it is susceptible of dramatic application, we have the guarantee of the skill and experience of Mr. T. Dibdin. Yet with all the merit of the groundwork, and with all the scenic knowledge of the author of the play, it does not seem to us that the

But even in reviewing this production as if it were a regular and bona fide tragedy or comedy, we acknowledge its superiority to most of the things which the name of opera shrouds from criticism under the protection of contempt. In our opinion it deserves this pre-eminency, for if there are some defects, there are also many beauties. We will, however, disiniss the former first, in the hope that our counsel may be taken for a few amendments, especially as we are the foster-fathers, after a sort, of this tale, in its English form. The scene in which the escape of Picquillo (Liston) is effected by his mistress, Chinchilla, (Mrs. Garrick) is very clumsy; it ought either to be made more probable, or aftogether omitted. We are not sure but that we should attribute the abruptness and want of keeping in most of Zuma's scenes, to the indifferent acting

His dearest mother's joy,

His anxious father's pride,
This pledge, our much-loved boy!
We to your care confide.
(To Zuma.)

Nor let a fear be felt by you,
For he is safe, while we are truc.

(To the Child.)

Adieu! my boy, adieu!

Your mother's speaking charms
Reflected thus in you,

I press within my arms!
His mother's dearest joy, &c.

It is impossible to describe the touching
power of Braham's notes in this air. To an
echo duet with Miss Stephens, of which he
is also the composer, it is equally out of
our power to do justice. Both performers
were excellent, and the harmonious treat
perfect in its kind. The third of the coups
was a parody on the too famous Marseillois
Hymn; the words, if we are not mistaken,
are selected from a longer chanson of the
late Mr. Sheridan's, and the music is ar-
ranged by Braham. It had a prodigious
effect, and was (though not without some
opposition to the second repetition) sung
three times. The singer threw more appro-
priate and spirited action into it than we
ever saw him display upon the stage before:
had he varied it a little the second and third
times it would have been better: semper
idem has been whimsically, but aptly trans-
|lated worse and worse.

Mirvan's song,

ous.

as a melo-drame in three acts, at one of the
minor Paris theatres, but failed.

66

"The Sun his bright beams may with-
hold, love," is pretty, and very Moore-ish
for Peru. Of the rest of the music, we
ORATORIO. DRURY LANE.-On Wed-
should especially notice an air by Zuma nesday, Beethoven's fine Oratorio, the
(Bishop), No voice endearing;" a trio, Mount of Olives, was ably performed at
While mirth without alloy;" the songs this Theatre; and a fine Concerto on the
of Chinchilla, in which Mrs. Garrrick Violoncello, by Lindley, at the end of the
proved herself an acquisition to the theatre; first part, enhanced the charms of this
and, let us not forget our comic friends, treat.
Miss Byrne sung, Angels ever
Blanchard did the most for a Congo love bright and fair" most angelically. The
song, and Fawcett got an encore by his other vocal delights of the evening were
whimsical delivery of the following, which too numerous for minute notice. Mrs. Sal-
we copy as the best sample of the humor-mon, and Braham, were exquisite in the
Duet "
Together let us range the fields;"
the lady alone in the Cavatina" Tu ch'
accendi questo core," and Braham (accom-
panied by Lindley) in "See from the si-
lent grove Alexis flies." Miss Corri greatly
distinguished herself in several pieces: we
are confirmed in our opinion that she will
become one of the greatest ornaments to
our native musical world. Miss Byrne
sang" Savourncer Deelish" with inimi-
table pathos, and was warmly encored.
The house was crowded, and the entire
selection went off with the utmost eclat.
We rejoice to notice that the Zauberflote is
announced for next Wednesday.

Learned men,

Now and then,
Yield to very odd vagaries;
And, though grave,
Still I have

Whimsies of my own.
Palpitations,

Sweet sensations,

Skip about my heart like fairies.
Who, viewing
Beauty suing,

Can its power disown?

For learned men, &c.

By surprise,

Flora's eyes

Caught my fancy at Toledo;

When we wed

Neighbours said,

"What a charming pair!"

Flora scolding,

Soon beholding

We now dismiss "song and music" with one observation: several of the compositions are almost neat as imported, and though they are good, they are not new.

The scenery, we have said, is very beautiful, and, indeed, Covent Garden has risen to so high a pitch in this department, and generally in costume, that whatever is got up there may be expected to enjoy all the aids of perfect decoration. The performers exerted themselves much, and besides those we have mentioned, Mr. Abbott (the Viceroy) and Miss Foote (his queen) deserve praise for losing no credit in characters more elevated in real than in dramatic life. We are inclined to believe that the opera will become more popular as it continues to be performed, and candidly think that it merits all the success which a production of its pretensions could anticipate.

The same story was last week dramatised,

DIGEST OF POLITICS AND
NEWS.

race was short. He was arrested, and sent to a lunatic hospital.

There is nothing more respecting the attempt against the life of the Duke of Wellington, and it does appear to us that far too little notice has been taken of this atrocious deed. Time has been when an insult to any ambassador would have rung through Europe; but here, when the very life was endangered of the Hero to whom Europe owes, principally, her salvation, the event excites little beyond the mere buz of the day. Is Britain so ungrateful, or so forgetful of the matchless actions and the unequalled services of her Wellington, that there is not even one of her representatives in Parliament, to mark her anxious love by some specific notice; were it but to ask a question on the subject? Are we so enwe have no feeling for the fate of the grossed with the fate of low men, that

most exalted? We hold it a shame to the country that no course such as we have hinted at has been adopted.

A meeting has this week taken place on a subject very interesting to humanity-the extinction of Mendicity in We trust the measures the Metropolis. adopted will be as successful as they deserve; and consider it an auspicious

Accounts from Germany state that the Emperor of Austria is about to resume the title of Emperor of Germany; that his eldest son will be circumstance, that a Gentleman so called King of Germany, and his brother, the Archduke Charles, be appoint-and so intelligent as Mr. Sturges Bourne, intimately conversant with the subject, ed Grand-Marshal of the Empire.

was called on to preside. His aid in Parliament, and his name out of it, will do much for the cause so zealously entered into by the friends of their fellow crea

tures.

Bernadotte has ascended the Swedish throne-that throne which we should have thought would be the last in Europe to receive a foreigner of ignoble extraction, instead of its illustrious line of kings. There seems to be little acIt seems that the Duke of Clarence, quaintance with the internal politics of having missed the Danish Princess, Sweden among our periodical instruc- wished to marry an English Fortune tors, and we are not able to say whe. attached to the person of a Miss Wykether there is any, or any powerful ham. The lady is said to be about party in that country, opposed to this 25, of very honourable descent, `paterorder of succession, and inclined to re-nally, and very fond of field sports. We store the ancient dynasty. The new understand, however, that this union King has promulgated a declaration has also gone off. which is evidently at war with the facts decorous to see a prince so near the of his former life; but if it be true on throne, so often a rejected wooer. the main point, viz. that he is the object of unanimous election to the peo-joice to see, taken up the subject of ple, it matters not whether he sought punishments for forgery. It could not retirement or notoriety in his earlier be in better hands, and we trust his career. exertions will be crowned by the erazure of these bloody and ineffectual canons from our criminal code.

It is not very

Sir James Macintosh has, we re

The only news from France, which merits notice, is the condemnation of Bruneau, the pretended Dauphin, to a Mr. Bennet is also worthily pursufine and seven years imprisonment; five ing the measure for putting an end to for his royal mania, and two for insult-climbing boys in chimney sweeping; a ing the court. Another person began the practice not only disgraceful to the husame game about the Tuileries, but his manity but to the Arts of this country.