wits were gone. In the original, the Pinnace speaks; but Mr. Lamb "cuts short all intermission," and speaks in its stead: and the boat, good sooth, may think itself well off, and shake its old planks with joy at the escape. The stanzas "To Himself" are so coldly and feebly given that we wish Mr. Lamb had kept them according to the prescription.

The Address to the Peninsula of Sirmio has none of the natural pleasure of the original; and yet we know not where the fault lies, for it is not strongly marked with error :— Too bad for a blessing-too good for a

curse

I would to the Lord you were better or

worse.

Now, in a piece so famed for its perfect ease and tenderness as this is, we should have expected the intelligent and masterly translator to prove his competency for the task he has undertaken.-But in the most celebrated passages, and in the brightest poems, Mr. Lamb sinks into tameness and indolence, and fairly baulks all expectation. When the rope is tightest and most elastic, and the position the most capable and attractive, instead of bounding into the air, and making himself" the observed of all observers," Mr. Lamb

suddenly drops his pole, relaxes his muscles, and droops his foot to have his sole chalked. We should, how. ever, give one poem which is very pleasingly and melodiously turned; and we wish we could match this with another.

TO VERANNIUS.

On his Return from Spain.
Of all the many loved by me,
Of all my friends most dear,

Verannius is thy travel o'er,
And art thou home return'd once more
To light thy brother's smile of glee,
Thy mother's age to cheer?
Thou'rt come. Oh blissful, blessed news!-
Thou'rt come, and I again

Shall see and hear thee, in the way I loved in former time, pourtray The splendid towns, the mountain views, The tribes, and deeds of Spain.

I warm shall press thee to my breast,
Where fervent welcomes burn.
What mortal, though he dare to think
Of pleasure he may largely drink,
Is half so joyful, or so blest,
As I in his return?

The conclusion of this poem, which in the original is very unpleasant to our feelings, is most cleverly and justly managed.

The Complaint to Cornificius, another exquisite little poem, struck off at a heat, as it should seem, and as natural as the human heart, is "much abused" by the Catullus of Whitehall. All the fretful haste and melancholy relapses are cut away without remorse;" the pruning hookthe pruning hook!" but Puff's loppings were nothing to those of the unfortunate Roman. How plaintively begins this piece in the original! Male est, Cornifici, tuo Catullo; Male est mehercule, et laboriose : Magisque et magis, in dies et horas. Here the repetitions of melancholy words, of which we have before spoken, are exquisitely beautiful. Dr. Nott says of this poem, in a note, "Our poet, in this charming little carmen, upbraids his friend for his neglect of him under some particular distress." And, in his translation, he faintly catches the melody of the Latin:

Hard, Cornificius, I declare,

Hard is the lot I'm doom'd to bear,
And every day, and every hour," &c.

The celebrated poem of Acme and Septimius is another instance of Mr. Lamb's deficiencies on great occasions. In those matchless lines

At Acme leviter caput reflectens,
Et dulcis pueri ebrios oculos,
Illo purpureo ore suaviata,
Sic inquit-

Mr. Lamb takes his accustomed sleep:

Then Acme gently bent her head,
Kiss'd with those lips of cherry red,
The eyes of the delighted boy,
That swam with glistening floods of joy,
And whisper'd as she closely prest-

Where are the "ebrios oculos," the busy with "floods of joy." The eyes reeling with rapture? They are "caput reflectens," too, cuts a sorry figure in English.

The last poem in the first volume is a mutilated translation of the Epithalamium, written by Catullus, on the marriage of Manlius and Julia;

and here a man must be cold and dull, indeed, if he be not occasionally inspired. Mr. Lamb is now and then endurable in this picce; but he never

accomplishes the conciseness of Ca-' tullus, by any chance. He spins out that short brilliant passage

faces

Aureas quatiunt comas,

after this fashion:

The torches high their brilliance rear,
And richly shake, with glowing pride,
Their golden hair.

Why could he not say, "The torches shake their golden hair," and say no more. He cannot, as the Irishman would say, add to Catullus without taking from him.

But our limits warn us to close Mr. Lamb's Catullus:-we shall, therefore, be very brief in our concluding

observations. The second volume is

better, because it is smaller. At page 84 we meet with these two lines, which, like Adam and Eve, inhabit their wire-wove Eden alone. In these lines, Mr. Lamb (to use the happy phrase of a very eminent personage) certainly flourishes in "the full vigour of his incapacity."

ON HIS OWN LOVE.

I hate and love-ask why-I can't explain; I feel 'tis so, and feel its racking pain.

We have purposely delayed speaking of the translation of that wild, frantic, and magnificent poem, Atys, until the last, because it is by far the best piece in Mr. Lamb's book; and we wish, as Carlos sang to the Duenna, to say something civil before we part. The mad force, and solemn gloom, and terrific mystery of this strange poem will not be denied ; and Mr. Lamb writes here as he writes no where else in the book. What can be more inspired, or terrible than the poet's final ejaculation, after the dreary and fierce flight of Atys,Oh great! oh fearful goddess! oh Cybele

divine!

Oh goddess! who hast placed on Dindymus thy shrine !

Far be from my abode thy sacred frenzy's fire;

Madden more willing votaries, more daring minds inspire.

There are several pages of useful notes appended to each volume.

THIS month has yielded no novelty at the Opera-house, or the theatres, if we except an attempt to introduce a new opera, called Dirce, which was brought out at Drury-lane, for Miss Wilson's benefit, and the dialogue of which was conducted in recitative. We are glad to perceive any attempt made to change the jumble of music and dialogue, which disgraces the English stage, to a better style. Whether music be, or be not, a suitable vehicle for dramatic incident, is not a question now to be argued the demand for operas has settled that point. It remains for us of this age, only to choose between a mixed jargon of discourse and song, and a complete musical drama. Now there arises to our minds no possible reason, why the more conversational parts of a performance should not be supported by music, as well as those which are held to be more strictly lyrical. At all events, it seems more consonant with common sense, that the singing should be continuous rather than interrupted; for if, in the most impassionate parts of the repre

sentation, and particularly in those which frequently imply the most urgent calls for action, the dramatis person can be permitted to stop, not only to sing, but to pace the scene during long symphonies: if the imagination, we say, can make allowance for such absurdities, surely the one consistent notion of an entire action, expressed by music and poetry, with their conjoint influences and powers, may be more easily embraced. The time will come, we are persuaded, when such an arrangement will be preferred; but, at present, the ears of an English audience are not reconciled to recitative, and poor Dirce passed from life to death without distinction, and almost without notice.

The King's Theatre continues its career of success, though its musical management does not exhibit that vigor, which we know to have been the characteristic of Mr. Ayrton's former scheme of management. We are sure, that neither is the engagement of such singers as Signoras Marinoni and Albert, though temporary, nor the exclusion of Signora

Corri, to be attributed to a judgment so mature as his: an interior cabinet, a power behind the throne, is therefore to be apprehended; and, if such be the fact, the season of success will be short. The choice of operas has not been felicitous; but there is rea son also to suspect, that judgment is cramped, and fettered, by the want of greater vocal talent. Il Tancredi was destroyed by Marinoni; and Il Turco in Italia, in every sense a paltry production, was the choice of the De Begnis. La Gazza Ladra was not eminently successful. No other novelty has yet been furnished. We hope to see the King's Theatre revive; but we warn the present proprietor, that the Public is the only real or valuable patron, and its good opinion can alone be conciliated and retained by the exertion of vigor and talent.

The Benefit Concerts have been remarkably numerous, the Argyll Rooms having been engaged almost nightly during the months of May and June. Le jeune Hyppolyte Larsonneur, the French boy, whose arrival we alluded to in our fifteenth Report, has played at some of these; and a very extraordinary child he is. His person is very handsome; but, from the manner of curling his hair, and his general dress (which closely resembles that in the miniatures of the young Napoleon), his air and appearance are feminine. This, however, totally disappears when he begins to play. His attitude is commanding; and the motion of his bowarm superior to that of any player we ever saw. His execution is very perfeet; and, bating that it yet lacks a little of the bolder lights and shadows of expression, his performance would be held to be superior even at an age far more advanced; for he seems not to be more than twelve years old.

Miss Angelina Corri, a third daughter of Mr. Natale Corri, appeared at the concert for the benefit of her sisters. Her voice is of the same fine quality, and will, we anticipate, be more rich and powerful than even that of the Signora. Her execution, too, is of the same light and finished kind. In person, she is also very handsome; and if sufficiently exercised, she promises to rise to great

eminence and attraction, though yet in her infancy as a singer.

Mr. Ashe, the veteran conductor of the Bath Concerts, has introduced two daughters to the musical circles of the metropolis. They are singers of brilliant acquisitions.

The novelty of the season has, however, been crowned by the arrival of M. Moschelles, from Vienna. M. Moschelles is a piano-forte player, and his reputation had preceded him. He played at the last Philharmonic Concert, and his performance greatly exceeded even the most sanguine expectations. He combines expression and execution in a very extraordinary degree, and while he has introduced much novelty in the latter branch of his art, his style has perfectly satisfied the feeling and the judgment of the soundest critics. The concerto itself was also highly esteemed; and professors of the best taste declare, they consider M. Moschelles' playing "a prodigious performance" in every respect. M. Moschelles is about thirty, and is an exceedingly modest and sensible man.

Mr. W. F. Collard, of the house of Clementi, Collard, and Co. of London, has obtained a patent for an improvement of the piano-forte, which promises great advantages. It is alike applicable to grand horizontal, upright, cabinet, and square instruments. The objects are general; and a large addition to the volume and richness of tone is the first desideratum obtained. This is effected by giving a lengthened vibration, similar to that produced by raising the dampers; without, however, any of the confusion which attends the latter. Mr. Collard has introduced what he terms a "bridge of reverberation;" being a third moveable bridge parallel to the side of the case; by the action of which, a consentaneous vibration of other parts of the strings than those struck by the hammers, takes place; in the way in which strings in unison are known to vibrate, when another of the same pitch is sounded. By this invention, the player is now empowered to use three degrees of tone, and thus greatly to modify and vary the expression of his performance. The instrument upon the new construction which we heard, appeared perfectly to satisfy

expectation in these several points; and, indeed, to offer an improvement ar beyond what could have been ancipated, after the long attention that has been given to the mechanism of piano-fortes.

A German, named Buschmann, has brought to this country an instrument, called a terpodion, which produces some beautiful and novel effects. Many of our readers will probably have seen the adephone, which was some time since exhibited in Catherine-street, in the Strand. To the adephone the terpodion bears a close resemblance, both in structure and tone: indeed, we believe the mechanism to be exactly the same, but applied to wood instead of metal; for the inventor describes the sonorous body to be of beech. The sound is produced by a cylinder set in motion by the foot; and the instrument is played by keys, like a piano-forte, being, however, not so large.

It occupies about four feet by two. The tone of the principal portion of the ter podion resembles a French horn finely played, and the upper notes are exactly those of a flute. Our limits deny us the power of describing more minutely the mechanism of these instruments; but they who are inclined to the search will find an accurate description in the second number of the Quarterly Musical Review. The terpodion would be an admirable substitute for wind instruments in concert rooms; provided it can be made to speak with sufficient rapidity. M. Buschmann came to England with a view to dispose of the art, and the right of making the terpodion; which, for that reason, has not been yet opened to the public.

Mr. Kalkbrenner has published a very elaborate and difficult, but beautiful, grand sonata; which he dedicates to the memory of his great master, Joseph Haydn. It consists of three movements; and opens in a style of dignified melancholy, which is finely sustained by various passages descriptive of the agitations of a wounded spirit. The second is upon the singular subject of "the call of the Quail:" simple in itself,-but wrought with all the powers of art through a minor movement, and a return to the major. The last is not less singular and original. The va

rious and frequent modulation renders this sonata as difficult as does the expression.

Mr. Neate's Military Air, with Variations, and Fantasia on the Savage Dance in Robinson Crusoe, have much merit: but they have also the great defect of a general want of melody; and the ear is wearied by the unceasing succession of rapid passages. This very rapidity, however, confers great brilliancy. The Fantasia suffers principally from the poverty of the subject: the Military Air is a better motion; although, in the selection of his themes, Mr. Neate has not done justice to his own powers; for every thing depends on the choice of a subject in pieces of this description.

Mr. Webbe has arranged Rossini's Overture to Elisabetta for the harp and piano-forte, with accompaniments for the flute and violoncello.

Mr. Burrowes is adapting Handel's choruses on the same plan.

The Eighth Number of the Operatic Airs is by Bontempo. The air from Alessandro in Efeso is by no means adapted to be the subject of variations, for it is uninteresting: and this want of attraction pervades the whole piece. The variations are complicated, and somewhat difficult. M. Bontempo has avoided the beaten track in their construction; but his anxiety to be original has led him too far; and the ear cannot follow him with sufficient facility, to derive pleasure from the exertion.

The Sixth Number of the Quadrille Rondos, by M. Latour, is light, lively, and elegant.

Mr. Novello's Second Number of Airs from Himmel's Fanchon, arranged as duets for the piano-forte, has appeared. This adaptation comprehends some exquisite pieces of melody, and affords a delightful series. Nor are Mr. Bennett's Duets upon Cease your Funning, and Hope told a Flattering Tale, less meritorious : they are very full of brilliant effects.

The vocal music this month is far beyond the common range. Some of the songs, indeed, are truly beautiful. Mr. Horsley's Laura is classically so; and, though a ballad, does no dishonour even to the author of Gentle Lyre, and The Tempest. Mr. W. F. Collard has written words to the song which Shakspeare is said to have