tages of her situation to account. Here, as in the two parts she had previously acted, her thorough knowledge of her profession was conspicuous. Ever busy-ever attentive, there was no pause no blank left; her songs came trippingly off the tongue, and those who knew best what she did were the best pleased. The very dress she wore was at once so characteristic and becoming, that she did away that impression of want of taste which her first appearance seemed so astoundingly to announce. So well did her manners and character correspond, that even the curtsies she made upon the repetition of her every song, were those of a lively unabashed country girl. We may be accused of over-weening admiration of this lady; but the occasion justifies it. When Don Giovanni accosts 'her, the whole soul of Bellochi appeared to be absorbed in admiration of his fine feathers and gay clothes; when he took her by the hand and began talking his usual soft nonsense, her wonder and delight broke out in little half-uttered exclamations, and her happiness seemed at its height, when, pointing off, he says Quel Casinetto é mio-soli saremo, E là grogello mio, ci sposeremo." The duetto of Là ce darem, la mano" followed with its usual effect; it is perhaps more in character than any thing of this kind in existence; and the more we know of life, the more we are convinced of this fact. We are unwilling to detain our readers by extending our remarks on this subject; but we hope to be excused while we trespass for a moment to point out the contrast between Bellochi and her predecessor in the whole business of the part. The one was all attention and animation even while she listened, and the other appeared always pettish and sullen if any one sung except herself. But what shall we say of the Leporello of Signior Romero? If this gentleman be intended as the legitimate successor of Naldi, we have only to say, that we did not think he could have had a successor inferior to himself in the part; the present incumbent has the rare merit of being in comparably the worst singer we ever heard, and the worst actor ever inflicted upon us; he was perfectly appreciated, and we shall not add to his or the manager's mortification. Public VOL. IV. feeling has induced Naldi to quit the stage, and we, in the simplicity of our ignorance, thought that Placci was to replace him-but it seems we are wide of the mark. From first to last Naldi was overrated; the late Mr Goold announced him in the bills of 1806 as "the first Buffo Caricato in Europe;" for many years he was a great favourite, and in certain comic old gentlemen, he might be truly said to be without a rival; of late years, however, he has become so insufferably careless, or indifferent, (to say nothing of the failure of his voice) that we must confess our satisfaction on his retirement. His Leporello, one of the best characters in the whole Opera Buffa, was so inefficient, so little what it ought to be, or even what he himself was capable of making it, that we never could endure him in the character. The music of it, whether Leporello sings by himself, or in concert with others, is the finest in the piece. The introduction, when he is waiting in the dark for his master, and the subsequent scene with Don Giovanni and Donna Anna, are perhaps unequalled in music, and would alone place Mozart in the same rank with the greatest dramatic genius of any age. Were we to go through with the part, we should be constrained to use the language of unvarying and perhaps extravagant panegyric. The recitativo, the whole business, demand a certain tact, and knowledge of life and character, unknown to, or at least unexpressed by Naldi. Of his parts in the duetts, "Eh via Buffoon," and "e Statua Gentilissima," he made literally nothing. What, therefore, can be said of a successor with the beforementioned qualifications? The piece has been withdrawn, no doubt, with a view to supplying the deficiencies, and we hope the manager will see the propriety of giving the part to Angrisani, who has deservedly become a favourite of the public;-he is a most unpresuming sensible actor, and has one of the finest bass voices we ever heard. Should this change take place, however, who can sing the music of the Commendatore? or who supply the place of the simple-hearted Masetto? Begrez was, with the exception of a want of power, the very person required for Don Ottavio, the walking gentleman. The voice of this performer is more adapted to a drawing 4 Y room than to a large theatre; and we could not help feeling the loss of our favourite Crivelli, who used, goodnaturedly to perform a part so much beneath his great powers; it was like John Kemble playing Percy in the Castle Spectre. Miss Corri, who, since Camporesi's departure, has been the Donna Anna, is considerably improved. Previously to this young lady's appearance, her friends had the imprudence to excite the most extravagant expectations of the public. She was, in short, a perfect Catalani, a better musician, and in every respect more correct; and this we ourselves heard from the highest musical authority. Our own experience had taught us to believe this, with certain limitations; and as we expected, so it fell out. We were present on the night of her debût, and had then an opportunity of forming a tolerably correct estimate of the lady's powers. A great deal that we had been told was true. She has an extraordinary voice, an accurate ear, and taste and judgment perhaps beyond her years-every requisite, in short, for her profession, excepting only that which is indispensable, the possession of which would have made her all she was said to be, and without which her other talents have not at all times secured her a patient hearing. She has no soul-unluckily this cannot be acquired. Miss Corri must therefore be content to be what she is, a second rate personage, and her friends are now, doubtless, of the same opinion with the public. There is a lady, who, by mere force of talent, is acquiring a certain portion of favour. We always hear Miss Hughes with pleasure. She sings with great truth and energy. It is not difficult to ascertain why she has been hitherto rather endured than approved. The fact is, she is neither young nor handsome. She is, however, so invariably correct, so attentive, and so much in her place, that we care not to see Donna Elvira better performed. Ambrogetti has been so be-Roscius'd and bepraised in Don Giovanni, that it is as if we pulled an old house about our ears, to say any thing against him; but truth is the only thing of real value in this world; we shall therefore candidly confess our conviction, that it is from beginning to end a very bad perform ance; there is nothing of the dissipa ted grandee about him but his dress; his manners are more vulgar than those of his valet; and he hawls the women about the stage more like a tavern blood, than the noble insinuating cavalier he calls himself(“ Un nobil cavalier, qual io mi vauto.") No one can easily be less seductive, and, fortunately for us, the ladies are of our opinion. He is disqualified both by nature and art for this character; he is perpetually playing monkey tricks, and is upon a footing of the most debasing familiarity with his servant; and yet, such has been the fascination of his bold lively manner, that the performance of this single part did more for him in London in one night, than all the former efforts of his life could do for him on the continent. His part in this piece should be Leporello, if he had voice to sing it; and could we choose our representa tion of Don Giovanni, we should, without hesitation, pronounce it written for Tramezzani. Glor. Go preach to thy patients, thou death-telling seer, Or if Gifford and Croker so dreadful appear, Go, crouch from the war, like a recreant knight, Or, draw my silk shawl o'er thy organs of sight! Sir C. Ha! laughest thou, old lady, thy husband to scorn? White bird of the common, thy plume shall be torn ! Shall the goose on the wing of the eagle go forth? Let her dread the fierce spoilers who watch in the north! Let her fly from the anger of Jeffrey's sure eye, Ah! home let her speed-for the havoc is nigh! But lonely and wild is my lady's abode ! Ah, why, when her mansion is desert and cold, Due south to the GREEN, and due north Will none check their steeds, as in triumph reading" unarmed"-though I have not ventured to give it a place in the text-the lady says, her heroes are "unarmed," i. e. (as she proceeds to explain)" in their author's array"-in the peculiar dress of their profession as authors, "cedant arma toga." Theobald. This passage was first suspected by Mr Theobald, who proposed an alteration, which, while it furnishes an intelligible meaning, loses sight altogether of the poetry, as is too often the case with verbal critics. By looking to the work, which it is evident our immortal poet had in his eye during the whole of this prophecy, we may perhaps be led to the true reading, Then welcome be Croker-his smile or his burton. frown, And welcome be Crawley-we'll trample them down! Their colour shall vary from yellow to blue, Sir Richard the learned !-and Ensor the vain! All active, all armed, in their author's ar- This is one of the passages where we do not know which to admire most, the imagination of the author, or the ingenuity of the critic; but after the best consideration I could give the passage, the emendation appears to me rather acute than true; the heroine of our dialogue means to say, the activity of her champions is such, that they proceed at once to the field, without changing their ordinary dress-I once thought that we might perhaps read, "All armed, though Sir C. Glorvina, Glorvina, beware of the in authors array"-meaning that her deday! * The text is certainly here incorrect, nor can I, from any manuscript, supply a reading on which we can rely with certainty-"All armed in their author's array."-What can this mean? it implies a direct contradiction, which has, however, led me to the true fendants were not, as the phrase is, out of elbows; but it is more easy to suggest plausible corrections, than to interpret the words which maintain stubbornly their place in the text: and the critic should not forget, that deviation from the language of the author, more frequently indicates ignorance than ingenuity.Johnson. But mourn! for a darker departure is near And she, that fair lady whose home is the With sworded SIR ARTHUR, thy doom In vain shall she combat for MORGAN LE Glor. Down, soothless insulter, I scorn "That fair lady, whose home is the Lake." The heroine, who, as she says, is "placed in a definite rank among authors, and in no undistinguished circle of society," appears rather provoked at this passage, as may be gathered from her reply. The allusion appears to be to the chapter in the Mort d'Arthur, that relates Sir Arthur's adventures with the Lady of the Lake. See also A Treatise on Bathing," by Sir A. Clarke, Knight of the Bath Temple at Dublin, sold by the author-half price to bathers. "Morgan le Fay." "And the other sister, Morgan le Fay, was put to school in a nunnery; and there she learned so much, that she was a great clerk of necromancy; and after that she was wedded to King Urience, of the land of Gore."-King Arthur, &c. page 4. Ida of Athens-from the robust frame, and out-of-door habits of Lady Clancare, the reader may be apprehensive of Ida's not being a match for her-this ethereal creature, however, had the advantage most probably of much practice. The reader cannot forget how often she is described as retiring to the gymnasium-sometimes she is painted to us as engaged there at her toilette!—from this circumstance, we sup posed the gynaceum might have been intended by the learned authoress, but this line appears to prove that we were mistaken, and we are anxious to acknowledge our er ror in the most public manner. ON THE CONNEXION BETWEEN PUGILISM, STATUARY, PAINTING, POETRY, AND POLITICS. THE grave peaceable folks of Scotland, who, it must be confessed, are rather slow at a joke, cannot for their souls perceive the wit of pugilism. It is, on the contrary, spoken of with the deepest horror, as something monstrous and unnatural, and we have more than once heard the inferiority of the English to the Scotch asserted on the sole ground, that the former are a boxing people. That Christians, Jews, or Pagans, must, by the very necessity of their nature, either box or stab one another, we see no good reason for believing and our own admiration of pugilism is not forced upon us at the horns of a dilemma. We cannot, for example, think that a jealous Italian would refrain from the use of the stiletto, though pugilism were to flourish in Italy. The character of the English exhibits itself in the ring no doubt,-but if they indeed be a more chivalrous people than they were a century ago, we really cannot so gratify our love of pugilism at the expense of truth, as to attribute that improvement, in any great degree, to the "heroic wisdom" of Slack and Broughton. But though we are far from belong. ing to that sect of philosophers who attribute all that is peculiarly excellent in the English character to beef and boxing, we hold ourselves at a still greater distance from them who see, in the increase of prize-fighting, symptoms of a deterioration of national spirit, and omens of eminent ruin. It is our opinion, and it is an opinion that we have not formed on light consideration, that the art of pugilism can effect the stability of an empire only by means of the influence which it exerts over the intellectual and moral character of a people, through the medium of the imagina tion and the fine arts. If ever the art of statuary be restor ed to its ancient glory it will be in England. Undoubtedly there may have been something in the mythologi cal religion of Greece peculiarly ta vourable to the growth of this artbut, after all, the chief advantage which the ancient sculptor possessed over the modern, was that of beholding the naked body in contention as well as in repose. Jackson, Gulley, Crib, Carter, Gregson, Oliver, Neate, Cooper, and the other "big ones," are fit to peel against any Greek that ever entered a ring of old-and we repeat, that if statuary ever comes to perfection in this island, we must look for the true causes of it to Moulsey Hurst, or to Wormwood-Scrubs. There is an intimate connexion between statuary and painting-and could we once see the former flourishing under the benign influence of pugilism, no doubt it would impart its vigour to the sister art. Landscape painting seems to us to be acquiring an undue ascendency over historical. Now nothing would so elevate historical painting as picturesque warfare. Unfortunately, the art of war now-adays, (as the game of war is played by soldiers,) is far from being productive of picturesque effects. But we cannot imaginea subject better adapted for historical painting than the ring at some great national pugilistic contest-such, for example, as that between Randal and Turner, on which the honour of Ireland and Wales hung-a subject, indeed, fitted to awaken all the most powerful passions of the human soul. It is plain that we are not now writing a regular essay on the scope and tendency of pugilism, after the fashion of Mr Napier's celebrated essay on the scope and tendency of the writings of Lord Bacon. We do not pretend to understand the art of boxing so well as he does that of reasoning by induction; we throw out merely a few hints as food for speculation, but cannot expect that the attention of the world will be so rivetted to them as it was to the original Illustrations of that erudite philosopher. If, however, pugilism may thus manifestly exert a highly beneficial influence on statuary and painting, it can scarcely fail of being friendly to poetry. Indeed, as yet, its effects on the poetry of England have been more visible than on any of the other fine arts. Some of our best pugilists are likewise among our best poets, and the name of Bob Gregson has at least as fair a chance of immortality as that of Leigh Hunt. Pugilism seems to have acted on poetry chiefly through the medium of its slang language. It has enriched the diction of poetry (which, notwithstanding the preface to the Lyrical Ballads, we and Bob Gregson think essentially different from that of prose), with a vast accession of "choice set terms," for which there is absolutely no equipollent in any of the other languages of Europe. Above all, it has introduced into poetry new images, and given to almost all representations of sensuous forms" a vividness, and, if we may use the expression, a palpability for which we may look in vain throughout the works of the finest spirits anterior to the pugilistic era of English poetry. The influence of pugilism on politics is a subject on which we are unwilling to touch-for we reserve it for an essay to be read before the Speculative Society of Edinburgh. We may only remark, that the late trial of strength between Mr Lamb and Mr Hobhouse proved how intimately connected pugilism is with the freedom of election, and the independence of Parliament. Indeed, we understand that Caleb Baldwin has the entire disposal of two seats; while Turner, through his late defeat by Randal, the NONPAREIL, has lost almost all his parliamentary influence. We hope that these few remarks will serve to comfort, by a more cheering and benign philosophy, the minds of those who have hitherto been wont to talk of the brutality and cruelty of pugilism. It is plain, that the more art the less brutality, and really to see a man knocked down in England does one's heart good. As to cruelty, surely boxing is not half so bad as the skinning of eels. And as to manners, we never drink a bottle of claret with Mr Jackson, or eat a beef-steak with Tom Belcher, without feeling that of pugilism, as of the other fine arts, may with all truth be said, 66 Ingenuas didicesse fideliter artes Emollit mores nec sinit esse feros." A sentiment thus beautifully translated by Bob Gregson: "A knowledge of the pugilistic art To manner gives the softness of the heart." We have been led into these "high and noble fancies," by a late volume of the pugilistic school, entitled "Tom Crib's Memorial to Congress, &c." from which we shall now make a few extracts. In the Preface, which is written by a gentleman, modestly calling himself "One of the Fancy," we have the following excellent remarks on the "flash language." And now, with respect to that peculiar language called Flash, or St Giles's Greek, in which Mr Crib's Memorial and the other articles in the present volume are |