Egenbändige Anteckningar, &c. (Memoirs of the Life of Linnæus, written by himself, and published at Stockholm by M. Adam Afzelius, of the University of Upsal. Stockholm, 1824, 1 vol. 4to.)

The present work is but an extract from the Journal of the celebrated Linnæus, a welcome present to the literary and scientific world, and the more valuable because it comes from the writer speaking of himself, the best kind of biography, making some small allowance for vanity and self-love even in an upright and honourable mind. Linnæus was born in 1707, on the 13th of

May. His parents were persons of very limited fortune. At a very early age he took a great interest in botanical studies, and in listening to the remarks of his father respecting plants, which the latter was in the habit of communi. cating to his friends for their entertainment. Thus was kindled the spark of genius, which ultimately arose to such a height, and rendered his name so distinguished. He was designed by his parents for the church, the parental profession, and sent to a public school at Vixo, in 1717; and his progress in his studies, except in physics and mathematics, was so slow, that his preceptors advised he should be apprenticed to a tailor! Fortunately for Linnæus, the physical professor discerned his merits, took him under his particular care, and in 1727 he was sent to the University of Lund, in Scania. His travels and intimacy with many great characters of his time are detailed. On his return to Sweden, in 1738, he took up his residence there for life, where he died in 1778, a year, says the editor of the present work, remark. able for the deaths of the Earl of Chatham, Hal

DRURY LANE THEATRE.

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ler, Burmann, Voltaire, Rousseau, and other great men. In his memoirs, Linnæus speaks of many celebrated personages, and taxes Dr. Solander with ingratitude.

Voyage autour du Monde, entrepris par Ordre du Roi. Par M. Louis de Freycinet, Capitaine de Vaisseau, Chevalier de St. Louis, et de Legion d'Honneur, Corréspondant de l'Institut, &c. Partie Historique, 3 vols. 4to. (Account of a Voyage round the World, undertaken by order of the King. By Louis de Freycinet, Naval Captain, Knight of St. Louis and the Legion of Honour, Corresponding Member of the Institute, &c. Historical Portion.)

The first livraison of this important work has just appeared. The narrative part is written in general with simplicity, and with only a slight sprinkling of charlatanism. Captain Freycinet quitted the port of Toulon on the 17th September, 1817, in the Uranie, a twenty-gun ship, and having a crew of one hundred and twenty men; and he returned to Havre on the 13th of November, 1820, after a voyage of three years and nearly two months. Besides some very interesting information upon the various savage tribes which he visited, the work contains many valuable scientific observations, and new facts, relative to natural history. The portion of the work dedicated to zoology will form a quarto volume, accompanied by ninety-six plates, eighty of which are to be coloured. The work, when completed, promises to be one of the most remarkable on the subject that has appeared in France.

singers, and most mincing of speakers, as the hardy Oscar; or to compel us to sympathize with the paternal grief of Mr. Pope as the father of the lost Malvina. In truth, such a piece of writing has rarely been introduced on any stage; the alternate bombast and poverty of the language defy exposure; and the absurd impossibilities of the situations come far too thick for analysis. To follow the hair-breadth scapes of Malvina through flood, field and cave, were hopeless; suffice it to say, she is at least half a dozen times, in one short act, on the point of being killed, by stabbing, drowning, or suffocation; but at last is pulled out of the water by Miss Kelly at the top of the theatre, while her enemy tumbles in a little boat over a cataract of real water, about the breadth of the stream which issues from the pump at Aldgate, and is engulphed in the tub which catches it for future nse. Little as we hoped for dramatic interest in this Ossianic affair, we did expect the gratification of hearing some of the best Scotch and Irish airs deliciously sung, but even here we were disappointed; for the selection of melodies was very injudicious, and the few good ones admitted were spoiled by the adapter. If, however, the word of promise was not kept to the ear, it was more than performed to the eye; for we have never beheld scenery more exquisite even from Mr. Stansfield's pencil. There is a panoramic view of Loch Lomond, and another picture of the lake from the Castle Terrace, at which we could look for an hour, and discover fresh beauties. While the first of these scenes was exhibited, a most wretched attempt at humour, with poor Harley for an accomplice, was enacting before it; and yet we heartily wished the weary jesting longer, and the miserable song encored, that we might expatiate freely among the recesses of its heathclad hills, and glide in thought upon the clear bosom of the reposing lake. Miss Stephens, as Malvina, was attired with graceful simplicity, and sang a few very ordinary songs with touching sweetness; so that the house wondered how the artisan of the drama could have the heart to put her into such a series of terrible situations which she was not made to fill. Sinclair acted as ill, and did not sing so well, as usual; he failed egregiously in attempting a bravura in Braham's style; and had scarcely any of those unadorned melodies, in giving voice to which he excels all others except the fair partner of his operatic state. Horn was more than himself in Cathullin, the Irish Chief, who comes to steal away Malvina, and fairly sung down Sinclair in a cavern duet of mutual defiance, which was more ridiculously introduced than such things commonly are. Poor Miss Kelly had a woeful part called Morna; a sort of rational maniac of the woods, whose business in the piece is to enter upon a rock and pretend to play on a harp, to rescue the heroine from two or three of her twenty dangers, and finally to act a scene of pathos with her restored husband, who is one of Cathullin's chiefs; which last she made impressive by her action, notwithstanding the words. Wallack, the husband chief, had to sustain the burthen of the piece; its mortal business and its fine writing fell chiefly to his share; and he bore up right gallantly under his load. The processions, banquet, and battles, which he arranged, were conducted in the best possible style; the dresses were appropriate and splendid; and the whole was a feast to the eye; but the continued attraction of a first piece, supported by these merits only, is a sad proof that all true theatrical taste is slumbering. Earnestly do we hope that the reappearance of

Macready in tragedy, and Elliston, with revigorated strength, in comedy, may call it again into action.

COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE.

"Venice Preserved" has been revived at this house for the purpose of introducing Mr. Serle and Mr. Ward in the two chief characters. The skill displayed in its structure, at a time when this quality is generally neglected, is alone sufficient to rivet attention to its progress. Beyond this, it has received its full meed of praise. The grossness, which naturally broke out in its farcical scenes, may be traced leavening all its serious passions, debasing its conjugal love, and taking away dignity from its treasons. The power of its author consisted in his intense feeling of animal enjoyment, which swells and mantles in his writings, and that kind of pathos, which is produced by a luxurious apprehensiveness of pain. The heroic speeches of Pierre are tinged with sensual allusions; and the very images of tenderness which chequer the declamatory fondness of Jaffier and Belvidera, seem to owe their crimson beauty to the nurture of corruption. In one of the MS notes of Mrs. Radcliffe, about to be published, there is this exquisite little description of a picture of Otway at Knole House. "The countenance heavy, squalid, unhappy, yet tender; full speaking black eyes; it seems as if dissolute habits had overcome all his finer feelings, and left him little of mind except a sense of sorrow." Such a portrait, prefixed as a frontispiece, might well illustrate his celebrated tragedy; in which all moral and all intellectual dignity are dissolved in vulgar pleasures or womanish tears, and which yet, by force of tenderness and admirable dramatic contrast, keeps its sure place on the stage. Mr. Serle, to our feelings, played the wavering, graceful, and fervid Jaffier, with singular truth throughout all his changes. Resisting the temptations which the part offers to violent transition, he followed its wavy outline, and accurately traced its undulations of passion and weakness. His description of the exploit by which he won Belvidera, "dashing the saucy waves aside," was given with great animation; his reproach to Nature for cursing him "with aspiring thoughts and elegant desires," which should belong to the happy, had a pensive and mournful beauty, which lingered on the ear and sunk into the heart; and his burst of passion, when all Priuli's cruelty was set before him, and he found himself free to curse, was intense and finely sustained. The scene where he delivers Bel

videra as a pledge to the conspirators was marked by great discrimination; he averted his head, as not daring to look upon her; gave the dagger, and told its purpose with a hurried energy; and broke off into sobs and tears, as the recollection of her long truth and kindness came back upon him. The narrative of Renault's treachery was delivered with a sarcastic bitterness, the bitterness of insulted love, which drew down three rounds of applause; and the subsequent interview with the hoary wretch was almost equally forcible. In the great scene with Pierre, he seemed to wither before the blasting words of his betrayed friend, and sunk at his feet, as though he wished the earth to open and conceal his shame. In the subsequent scenes with Belvidera, the tone of sorrow was more judiciously varied than we remember to have known it; growing more deep and tranquil as the chains of fate were riveted closer and the mockeries of hope vanished; and his dying scene, in which he remains, standing with the dagger sheathed in his bosom till his last wishes were spoken, and then drew it out and fell dead, had a physical truth evidently derived from attentive study. The most affecting thing in his acting, how ever, was the manner in which, in the midst of a scene of great agitation, he checked the offer of Belvidera to bind herself by an oath

"No, do not swear-I would not

violate

Thy gentle nature with so rude a bond."

The attitude, the look, and the tone, conveyed a world of apprehensive tenderness and instinctive deference to the delicacy of woman. "Beautiful!" beautiful!" we heard whispered by the ladies near us; and we entirely subscribe, on reflection, to the justice of the involuntary criticism.

Mr. Ward was a loud, dashing, and effective Pierre; his earlier scenes were destitute of the intermingled humour of Young; but, as the play advanced, he left little to desire. Mrs. Sloman played Belvidera rather monotonously till the last scene; when she displayed considerable originality of conception and force of execution.

A new play, adapted from the French, has been produced under the title of "The French Libertine," with some eclat resulting from the difficulties thrown in the way of its performance by the Licenser's exemplary Deputy. It is an attempt to dramatize the amours of the celebrated Duke de Richelieu, whose title has been changed to the Duke de Rougemont, to satisfy the servile scruples of

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Mr. Colman. There is something new on the English stage in making the exploits of a man of pleasure the avowed object of a play. Our old comedians, indeed, freely introduce rakes as the wittiest of their talkers and the gayest of their actors; but then their libertinism is not obtruded on us to be admired for its own sake, but employed as an engine to the developement of the plot, and as the substratum of endless pleasantries which take away its sting. It is generally connected with high animal spirits, or redeemed by traits of generosity and bravery, and terminates in reform and marriage. The story of Giovanni has, indeed, been popular, but in the form of opera, ballet, and farce, the morality of which you no more regard than you would swear to the truth of a song; and it is besides connected with spectral horrors, which serve to render it unreal. The French Libertine, on the other hand, is drawn at full length, and is made literally and coldly to boast of his vices, as if to break the laws of decency and destroy the happiness of families were conclusive evidence of wit and wisdom! He is, in short, an atrocious coxcomb, who instead of redeeming his deeds by his conversation, actually proses about his gallantries till you are weary. This speculative debauchery, without palliation or excuse, is an affront to the moral tastes of the audience, for it seems to presume that mere wickedness is claim enough to their favour. It is the indecent exposure of a shameless life. Its hero is a coxcomb in every thing-his own trumpeter in war and love-the loud champion of the frailties of the great, at the exposure of which he feels nobly indignant; and because Cæsar is said to have dictated two or three letters at once, he sits down to do the same in the presence of the audience, and succeeds (as who might not?) in accomplishing the feat in about twice the time in which he might do both separately. All this is very melancholy fooling; and though such superlative affectations might tell in Paris, will never do in London. Our Archers, Rangers, and Lotharios, are quite of another order of beings; we scarcely bold them amenable to the moral law, or consider their offences as realities; we know them by their wit, their vivacity, their grace, and take their libertinism as a jest which does no great harm; but "the French Libertine" is a melancholy fact; a seducer by rule; one who is nothing if not villanous. The whole play consists of his attempts to get a married woman, whom he has once persuaded to desert her duty, again into his power; annoying her, while she is sinking into the grave, by repeated visits in disguise at the house of her husband; and, at last, conveying her by a stratagem to his mansion, whence she escapes to catch cold in a storm, confess, and die. This very unpleasant business is enlivened only by the intrusions of a Countess de Fleury, who is a suitor for the regard of the Paragon, and holds a half shrewish banter with him on his splendid excesses; and by the preachings of a moral secretary, Mr. Dubois, whose chidings the Duke somewhat strangely endures. The ending, where the victim of the Duke dies in his presence, is very sad indeed; originally the husband cocked a pistol at him, and then left him to the punishment of his conscience; but to satisfy the scruples of rigid moralists, he is now stabbed in the arm. This alteration is a fine sample sample of prosaic, as distinguished from poetical justice :the first makes all right by tacking a punishment and a moral to the end of a vicious career; the last justly represents that career, and guards it from exciting any illegitimate sympathies. While, on principle, we condemn such an experiment on the English stage, we do not mean to deny that the adapter has displayed considerable ingenuity in the use of his materials; one or two of his situ ations are contrived with skill, and a portion of his dialogue is sparkling and easy. Mr. Kemble played the principal part with his accustoined grace and spirit, which alone could have carried off some of the idle boastings which he was condemned to utter. Ward, as the honest secretary, gave his rebukes with remarkable point and vigour; but the part grew somewhat tiresome as the play proceeded -a very little good advice is as much as can be borne on or off the stage. Cooper, as the injured husband, had to play a very dull part until the last scene, when on the discovery of Madame Dorival's dishonour, he acted with great energy, and contributed much to save the piece. Mrs. Sloman was the repentant wife, and added greatly to her fame by her chaste and affecting representation of wounded modesty and self-abasing penitence. The gay Countess was personated by Mrs. Chatterly, whose acting would have been excellent but for a sharp leaven of vulgarity, which she has not yet been able to subdue. On the whole, the piece met with a doubtful reception; the applause

preponderated, but the genuine sense of that part of the audience who pay for admission was against it; and it will scarcely tell with much effect in the treasury.

Opera is now flourishing in this house, and casting tragedy and comedy into the shade, Braham has appeared with eclat, heightened by his manly refutation of the absurd calumny of a critic who abused him for singing, as a Jew, "I know that my Redeemer liveth;" the fact being that Mr. Braham did not sing the piece, which is invariably performed by a lady; that Mr. Braham is not a Jew; and that if he had been a Jew, and had executed the music, there would have been no inconsistency, as the words are taken from the Book of Job, in which every Jew believes. Madame Vestris has returned from Ireland, and Miss Paton is in fine voice, so that when they perform together, they afford a rich treat to musical

ears.

ADELPHI THEATRE.

This little theatre is by far the most prosperous of theatrical concerns. People of fashion, we suspect, prefer visiting a minor establishment like this, when well conducted, to one of the larger houses; because they go decidedly for a frolic, or in the spirit of contradiction, and cannot be confounded with their inferiors. The house is, however, excellently managed; it has a small but well selected company who are always before the public; so that they become mellow in their parts as the audience grow familiar with their style. One piece, "The Pilot," has been played nearly ninety nights to excellent houses-a success rivalled only by the Heart of Mid Lothian at the Surrey. It is taken from the clever American novel of the same title; but rather unfairly converts all the heroism into English, and turns all the joke on our transatlantic friends. The piece, independent of this little piracy, is well put together; but it owes its success to the masterly acting of T. P. Cocke, as Long Tom; and to an admirable representation of a schooner among the breakers, which is really fearful. Besides the Pilot, there have been two or three farces broad and lively; a pretty and bustling Pantomime; and an enormous serpent, from Monk Lewis's Tales of Terror, which, by extremely ingenious mechanism, is made to resemble in its evolutions a terrible specimen of that race of animals, respecting which, curiosity is most strongly excited. 1826.

KING'S THEATRE.

WITH the exception of two or three representations of "La Donna del Lago," Meyerbeer's "Crociato" has been the standing dish at the King's Theatre, since our last report; and although we observed improvements, in several respects, upon the performance of the same drama last season, it appeared to us less effective, as a whole. The inadequacy of Madame Cornega, in the part of Felicia, we consider to be the principal cause of this difference; for, although the absence of Remorini was also felt, yet Signor Porto supplied his place creditably, and certainly exerted himself successfully to give satisfaction. Signor Velluti on some evenings sang more out of tune than on others; but, as it seems we are not to be without him, we must do this gentleman the justice to own, that his unrivalled taste and talents, and, above all, his unexampled enthusiasm for the art, which is perceptible in every sound, in every movement of his frame, unaccountably exert a spell upon the delicacy of a musical ear, and soon contrive to lull its objections on the score of impure intonation. The best singer may, under the influence of accidental causes, sing occasionally out of tune; but to hear highly gifted individuals, like Signor Velluti, and some others of established reputation, invariably intonate too flat, at least within a certain range of the scale-individuals whose ear would probably distinguish a very minute deviation in the pitch of an instrument, or in the voice of another person-is a psychological phenomenon, which has often baffled our conception and reasoning, and never more than in the case of Signor Velluti. But so it is, and in hearing him, we only feel the truth of the adage, that absolute perfection is not the lot of human nature. We must not forget Mademoiselle Bonini; all she has done since our last report, confirms the opinion we then expressed. Here, too, imperfections present themselves in a vocal point of consideration, and a still greater deficiency of histrionic qualifications is obvious: but there are so many redeeming advantages, that ourselves, and, we believe, the audience in general, have always listened with pleasure to that lady's strains. There is skill and taste, and a fine voice; and, what goes far with us, there is vocal emphasis and spirit, and a good deal of the right inspiration.

In our last we took occasion to speak of the exertions of the new trumpeters from Italy, the Signori Gambati, and their companions in brazen intonation. But March-VOL. XVIII. NO, LXIII,

really there is too much of a good thing; the noise these gentlemen make is truly deafening, and if there is no competent authority to make them lower their tone, the violins, flutes, &c. might just as well observe a general "tacet" while the din is going on, for nobody can hear them. The case was bad enough before, for the orchestra generally indulged too much in noise; but, now, the abuse has grown into a perfect nuisance, which, while it mars the enjoyment of the audience, will no doubt prove injurious to the interests of the establishment. People go to the Opera to hear good music, good singing, and good instrumental performance, all which are completely drowned by the overpowering force of the brass wind instruments; the best voices are thus strained, and ultimately destroyed, and, in our opinion, it is to be attributed to the indiscreet employment of wind instruments, and to the uncontrolled violence of the latter, that many voices have so soon dwindled down since the mania in question has gained ground. Even the choruses, however powerfully cast, must sink into insignificancy under such overwhelming blasts.

"La Donna del Lago" was revived on the 28th January. The subject and the fascinating style of the music, in which a particular simplicity and clearness are conspicuous features, have rendered this Opera a great favourite in England. On the occasion in question, moreover, the announcement of another favourite, in the person of Madame Caradori Allan, who appeared for the first time this season, and for the first time in the part of Elena, attracted a very crowded house. Besides this change in the cast of characters, the part of Malcolm, formerly by Madame Vestris, was assigned to Madame Cornega, and that of Roderic Dhu to Signor Torri, who had for several years been absent from these boards. The other two principal characters were allotted as heretofore: Signor Curioni played the King, and Signor Porto Douglas, both fully as well as on previous occasions, and, altogether, very efficiently. But Madame Cornega's Malcolm was quite the reverse, a complete failure, in fact; more so than her Felicia in the "Crociato." She laboured painfully through her principal song, " Elena, oh tu ch' io chiamo," followed by "Oh quante lagrime." Whatever her musical knowledge may be, want of voice and spirit and feeling were too obvious throughout that lady's performance to allow us to hope much from future efforts. Signor Torri's Roderic Dhu, al

P