three are improved, and two are manifestly injured by it. Our principal favourite, All that's bright," is a thought single-puresimple-the natural, solitary, and pensive offspring of one mind. It comes after the solace of society; after the hours of pleasure and the moments of affection; not during their enjoyment. It is the remembrance of joys that are passed. Its effect is only sure when sung by a voice plaintive, sweet, melancholy. Hence it is obviously an unfit subject for a part-song. Against the monologue "Flow on thou shining river" being set as a duet, there are, per haps, even stronger reasons.

Upon the whole, however, we commend this little volume to "my lady's chamber," as a high source of elegant entertainment. It is literally elegant in every sense, for we recollect no instance of a music book more ornamentally embellished or more clearly engraved. Whether it would have been as acceptable with or without the plates, we leave to be settled between "Reason, Folly, and Beauty."

Hh

Agnese, Opera sentimentale in due atti, musica del Signor Ferd. Paer. Paris.

There are few English readers who have not wept over Mns. OPIE's heart-rending tale of The Father and Daughter, from which the fable of the Opera of Agnese is derived. The novel embraces a long portion of time; it conducts its personages with inimitable force and pathos through a continuous story, and describes with a discrimination and tenderness not to be surpassed, the consuming wretchedness and the bright though weary close of lives embittered to the lowest degrees of suffering, by the consequences of one false step. The anguish, remorse, and penitence of the victim of seduction, and her father's insanity, are pictured with an accuracy so apparently faithful, that one could scarcely believe the representation to have been the mere image of the fancy. Such a story was perhaps the very last that we should have expected to find converted into an Italian Opera; and it is, we believe, the first which has been taken from an English tale drawn from the events of common life. With the simplicity of Italian taste, the dramatist has, however, selected a very few incidents and situations so deeply interesting and so poignantly affecting, that we have rarely seen a drama wherein the feelings were so intensely engaged. It is, however, due to the genius of our country-woman to point out, that these parts are entirely the offspring of ber invention. The foreign translator has copied not only the inci dents, but the very words of the tale, and he has selected them with excellent judgment. He has changed the scene to another country, elevated the father's rank, and has altered the catastrophe, thus producing a species of drama analogous to our modern sentimental comedy, where distressful incidents are introduced to heighten the interest and produce effect by contrast. It occupies in the instance before us, a middle place between the serious and the comic Opera-a demi caractere, which, without rising to the fullness and majesty of legitimate tragedy, is certainly not less affecting; perhaps we may say, that the sensations produced are more vivid and in

*MRS. OPIE's tale has been made the basis of two dramas, the one seriocomic, in prose, by Filippo Casari; and the second, the poem before us, by Luigi Buonavoglia.

tense in proportion as the sentiments and situations are more natural and less removed from probability. We have met with nothing that goes more to the heart than this little piece, whether we regard the story or the music, for the composer has caught the genuine spirit of the original author, and has carried into his work not a little of the purity and simplicity of classical Italian models. The change in the catastrophe, from the death of the father and daughter, and the remorse of the seducer, to restoration of the first to reason, and the marriage of the latter, appears necessary to fit the story for dramatic representation, though it diminishes the pathos and the finer moral effects.

The piece opens with a short prelude representing a stormy night, when a chorus discovers that Agnese has left the house of her seducer, Ernesto, with her child. He returns from his fruitless search for them, with her veil and hat found upon a bank, which leads him to conjecture her self-destruction. The structure of this chorus and recitative, is in the voice parts strong, though simple, with the occasional introduction of short pieces of beautiful and touching melody. The accompaniments are of a kind to denote the fury of the elements, at the same time that they mingle advantageously with the passionate expressions of those who are supposed to be searching for the lost Agnese. The construction of the entire scene is scientific and at the same time full of feeling.

The next scene opens with a cavatina of Agnese, who is discovered in a wood. This beautiful air describes the cessation of her anxiety at the falling away of the voices of her pursuers. She perceives the dawn of light, and by a natural transition passes to the calm which bas succeeded to her griefs. The recollection of having heard the voice of Ernesto brings back the image of the author of her misery and destitution, and calls forth a pathetic address to her child, now as it were made fatherless. The whole of this air is most affecting, though more ornate than should at first appear consistent with the enotions described; it is nevertheless highly impassioned, and the very ornamented parts are among those which best convey the sentiment if finely given. There are few songs better adapted to set off a singer of genuine expression than "Tutto è silenzio."

The scene which follows, whether for dramatic effect or musical excellence, is by far the most perfect in the opera. The rattling of chains interrupts the lamentation of Agnese over her infant, and a

maniac appears. An accompanied recitative paints her own terrors, which are, however, set off and heightened by a masterly touch of tender apprehension for her offspring, " per te sol figlia io tremo." The maniac proves to be her father who has escaped from his keeper. He imagines his daughter to be dead, and that he is in search of her place of sepulchre. His disjointed exclamations at length lead Agnese to recognize his person, and the condition to which her misconduct has reduced him. He melts at her tears, and her countenance assures him of destined tranquillity.

We know of no duet composed with more force and sweetness than this. The parts are interwoven and connected with the skill of one who is a master of the human heart. The succession of the passions and emotions is varied and wrought up till the whole soul of the hearer is carried away. The opening of the duet "Quel sepolcro," is no less exquisite as a melody for its grace, than for its effect as a passage of expression, while the succeeding exclamations are combined with consummate skill; the passion is powerfully aided by the accompaniment throughout, and the modulaion is easy and unaffected.

A recitative follows, in which Agnese introduces the words father and child. Uberto is thus again excited to fury, and he demands the infant, in order to put it to death, when his keepers arrive, and force him away.

The powerful excitement is here relieved by a change, to what may be called the comic part of the opera. PASQUALE (the Seymour of MRS. OPIE's tale) now appears, and congratulates himself upon the delights of being a parent, which he extends even to the anticipation of the pleasures to be derived from the marriage of his daughter and the nursing of her children. His agreeable reverie is broken by the importunate solicitations of this daughter, and her representations of the opinions others entertain of him, for having denied assistance to Agnese. This part of the scene is well maintained in a trio "Si dira che siete un orso. The composer's forte, however, lies obviously in the pathetic. The comic parts we esteem to contain little above common music.

The duet which succeeds, is the introduction of Agnese to Pasquale. The part of the supplicant is finely supported, and contains some passages of singularly good expression, particularly that to the words "Sono l'odio di natura, merto un fulmine." The whole allows

considerable scope for the exercise of pathetic singing, which is but ill contrasted with the comic interruptions of Pasquale. "Ci vuol altro figlia mia" disturbs the rising emotion, and is scarcely in as good taste as the rest. It is one of the examples, where the main passion of the scene is sacrificed to the support of character. Thus in order to display a trait of humour in Pasquale, the attention is suddenly called off from the entreaties of Agnese, to be permitted to attend her father. The blended passages reduce the value of both, and make an incongruous mixture, which neither the ear, the understanding, nor the heart can well endure. Were it not that the interest for Agnese predominates, and that her part seizes the attention so strongly and so continually, the effect would be purely comic.

The reformed lover next comes before us. And here it is that the departure from the original first becomes visible. The seducer is depictured as completely penitent, and desiring nothing but a return to virtue and the affection of Agnese. The song which developes his sentiments has some agreeable passages; it is singular in this respect, that the divisions are more like the common ornaments appended by the singer, than those written by composers, and they are now not very novel.

After this explanatory song, Uberto is again brought before us in the abode of insanity. The cavatina which follows is amongst the most touching things in the opera. It opens with his favourite idea, the search for the tomb of Agnese. He calls upon her name, and requires her presence; then bursts into rage against those who say she is fled, and concludes by one of the most exquisitely pathetic pieces of melody we remember, to the words "La figlia mia spiro fra queste braccia." Agnese enters, and reproaches herself for the misconduct which is the cause of the horrors that surround her. Uberio repeats the passage above cited, while his friends utter their lamen. tations around him. To this succeeds one of the finest traits in the novel, and in the piece itself. The first dawn of returning reason appears by his singing the commencing strain of an air which his daughter used to sing in their days of happiness. Agnese repeats it, and Uberto desires an alteration of the concluding passage, in order to introduce her name. He appears to recognize her for a moment, but again falls into his hallucination, and repeats "La figlia mia spiro." The rest of the scene is made up of partial glimpses of