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Methinks I should know you, and know wreath of the lovely and distracted

this man,

Yet I am doubtful.

At length comes that beautiful and pathetic burst where Nature, throwing off the imbecilities of age and the incumbrance of disease, by an instinctive act of recollection claims the dutiful Cordelia :

Do not laugh at me;

For as I am a man I think this lady To be my child Cordelia.

Pray now forget and forgive.

The concluding scene exhibits Cordelia dead in the arms of her father; and amidst the tumult of his distraction there are some vivid gleams of rational tenderness and parental anxiety, alternations of groundless hope and fatal discouragement. Here the poet has again manifested his metaphysical acumen, and his acquaintance with the laws of the human mind and its attendant passions. The monarch's lamentations are awhile suspended that he may relate the energy with which he slew the villain that hanged his daughter; and this temporary oblivion of his distress is an interval to recount his former magnanimous achievements, and to allow sufficient time for his reconciliation with Kent. Again he returns to his departed Cordelia, and bewails her loss with wild lamentations and distracted sorrow. These pangs are too violent for long continuance. Suddenly he feels the

Ophelia, has been noticed in a former essay; and if a doubt could be entertained of Shakspeare's intention to give them an emblematic meaning, the question would be completely set at rest by the evidence afforded in the play under consideration, in which a selection of plants is in like manner made to form a fantastic crown, strongly indicative of the state of Lear's mind. Cordelia describes her father as wandering about mad as the vexed sea,

Crowned with rank fumiter and furrowweeds,

With harlocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckooflowers,

Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow

In our sustaining corn.

FUMITER (Fumeterre, French). Fumitory, Fumaria officinalis, Linn. It is common to our corn-fields and ditch banks. The leaves are of bitter taste, and the juice was formerly employed for its bitterness in hypochondriasm and black jaundice by Hoffman and others; and more lately by Cullen in leprosy.

FURROW-WEEDS. Rank, as they are here expressly called, or strong scented, growing wild in the furrow, and disgusting to the taste and other

senses.

HARLOCKS. Sinapis arvensis, Linn. The wild mustard of our corn-fields, called indifferently charlock, garlock, harlock, warlock, and, by Fitzherbert and other old English writers,

hedlock. The seeds of this plant form the pungent Durham mustard, as those of Sinapis alba form the white mustard, and those of Sinapis nigra the common mustard. The plant rises with a stem of about nine inches, thickly set with hairs or bristles. Hence the proper name should probably be hair-lock, as in Danish they call the DARNEL heyre and heyregrass. As the bitter pungency is referred to in the former case, the biting pungency is referred to, here.

HEMLOCK. This plant requires no explanation; it is generally known to be poisonous.

NETTLES. Urtica urens, Linn. Called urens from its well known irritating power of stinging and burning. CUCKOO-FLOWERS. Cardamine pratensis, Linn. These flowers, the sysymbrium of Dioscorides, were employed among the Greeks and Romans for almost all affections of the head. They at present hold a place in the pharmacopoeia, as a remedy for convulsions, epilepsy, and other diseases of the brain or intellect.

DARNEL. Lolium temulentum, Linn. Called temulentum from its intoxicating or narcotic powers, when taken alone, or intermixed with malt. From this deleterious property it is termed by Virgil infelix lolium, lurid lolium, and by the French ivraie, whence our own vulgar name for it of, wray-grass or drunkard-grass.

These plants are all wild and uncultivated; of bitter, biting, poisonous, pungent, lurid, and distracting properties. Thus Lear's crown, like Ophelia's wreath, is admirably descriptive or emblematic of the sources and variety of the disease under which he labours. It would be difficult to believe that, in either the one case or the other, the mixture of such flowers and plants was the effect of chance. Yet none of the Commentators have given Shakspeare credit for the arrangement.

Shakspeare's ignorance of, or conversance with, the learned languages, has formed a subject for frequent discussion; and as the question may probably be considered at some length in a future essay, little will be now said on the point. The classic reader, however, will not fail to observe that the passage of Virgil, noticed above, bears a strong resemblance to the speech of Cordelia, and that the following from Ovid gives a still closer parallel.

Lolium tribulique fatigant Triticeas messes et inexpugnabile gramen.

DARNEL and thistles and o'erwhelming

weeds

Trouble the corn-fields.
Shakspeare has it,

Darnel and all the idle weeds that grow
In our sustaining corn.
W. FARREN.

REPORT

How constantly the course of human expectation is interrupted and turned aside by the stronger current of events, is a piece of stale philosophy that has been powerfully exemplified this season at the King's theatre. Never were more ample, if indeed there were ever before such ample, preparations made for giving to the public a succession of fine performances-never was there a series with less of force, novelty, or variety. Il gran Maestro Rossini is engaged to direct the music, and to compose a new opera.. He does neither the one nor the other. The Signor is disgusted at the outset by the failure of his wife, and he leaves the orchestra pretty much to its fate;

OF MUSIC.

when finding his name so popular amongst the fashionable-what shall they be called?-of England-that ge nerous race, between whom and their money, according to the proverb, a separation is very quickly effectuated

finding, we say, that he could obtain fifty guineas per night, as the regular set market price for conducting a private concert (our poor English conductors do the same thing for five), and that, in the plenitude of their delight, this stipend was generally increased, often doubled, and once or twice more than doubledunder such happy auspices the Signor (unwillingly, no doubt,) allows the libretto of Ugo Re d'Italia to lie untouched upon his table, and the

people of England to wait till next year for the greatest of his works, which we have the assurance of Signor Benelli it was to have been, in compliment to our national character and taste, had not the personal disgusts of Il Maestro, and the private concerts of the Nobility and of his patrons, precluded the possibility of his attending either to composition or his contract. So much for the direction of the music and the composer. His opera, Zelmira, is voted heavy -his wife, Signora Colbran, is pronounced to be pussée, and so ends her sad story. Madame Catalani follows. She, however, it is declared, is no longer what she was, and the managers finding that one half of the door money, with other trifling allowances, leave her appearances profitless to them, she becomes indisposed, and after a few nights "is heard no more." Mesdames Ronzi de Begnis and Caradori "love their lords," and suffer the consummation of those wishes which our great bard declares to be the natural consequence of such fidelity and affection. In plain English, they both lie-in soon after each other. Thus, out of five prime donne engaged, four are incapacitated for the best months in the season. Last comes Madame Pasta to fill the void, but so unfortunately timed have been these accidents, that she is scarcely arrived, when Ronzi recovers, and Caradori still continues capable. Yet the bustle of the succession, and the proud names of these great artists, for they are unquestionably du premier rang, have been as efficient for the treasury of the theatre as the most perfect performances. The houses have been crowded; witness that the free list has been suspended (we know it to our cost), and orders very sparingly indulged, that even the customary gratification of a box to the principal performers has been withheld, except on the nights of their own performance-a curious provision which at least bars them from the very privilege for which we presume the box is granted, namely, that of seeing and hearing an opera acted by others. But so it has been; and thus, while every provision for the highest possible gratification of the public has apparently failed or been frustrated, the capital purpose of the JULY, 1824.

proprietors--the receipts--has been as completely effected. We prefer the term "receipts" to "profits," because the arithmetic of the King's theatre often turns out like the computations of his Majesty's Chancellor of the Exchequer, and the end of the year produces a balance of loss, when, according to the calculations of the Prime Ministers of both Govern ments, there ought unquestionably to have been a gain. The same cause, probably, operates the same reverse in both instances, and we may trace the effects to a generous disregard of the expenditure side of the account. Still Rossini has reigned supreme. His Zelmira, his Il Barbiere di Seviglia, his Otello, his Tancredi, and his Il Turco, having been the principal operas given. Madame Ronzi takes La Donna del Lago; and Romeo e Giulietta, is promised, and will probably be the last of the year. The season is, indeed, rapidly drawing to its close, and as soon as Parliament is up, there will be nobody left to admire Madame Pasta, or any other of the prime donne, whom it shall please Signor Benelli to bring forth. What the Parisian critics will say to the delay of Rossini's new piece, we know not, it having been so confidently predicted that his meeting with Pasta would bring about a reformation in his manner of writing, that was to restore him to simplicity and pure expression. If such could have been the result, all Europe has indeed to deplore the too prodigal liberality of our English dames of quality, to say nothing of the art itself.

On the night of Madame Catalani's benefit this vast theatre was crowded in every part; no symptom, it will be said, of declining powers, or failing reputation.-True. But as we think Madame Catalani's example in all she does of immense importance, both to music and its professors, so we are anxious to elicit the truth in relation to her pretensions and their exercise. This highly gifted woman has earned a stock of reputation, which must not only raise a great share of the curiosity of the rising generation of amateurs, but also has secured to her the acquaintance and personal regard of a large number of the patrons of the art, as well as of the public in general. These are

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sources of abundant popularity. To these must be added the desire of present amusement, which the affluent always feel; the fashionable resort to the opera; and last, not least, the certainty that so practised a tactician as Signor Vallabreque would never suffer a night for the benefit of his wife to be thinly attended-particularly when the received opinion, that her powers are on the wane, would seem to need some efficient contradiction. In point of fact, then, the appearance on this occasion may be said to have little or nothing to do with Madame Catalani's present state of voice and manner. What these are, and what the musical world thinks of her, may be gathered from the fact of her reduced number of nights at the opera-from the empty boxes and benches of the Concerts Spirituels, and from her descent to the English theatre, as an entr'act singer-in pure kindness indeed to inindividuals at their benefits. "The truth is, sir,” said one of the managers of one of the great winter theatres, whom we lately met, "the knowledge of her decline has not reached John Bull;" for which reason Mr. Elliston puts her up two nights in succession (his benefit being one), announcing, in large letters, that "Madame Catalani will display her powerful and unrivalled talents." This may do very well for the great Lessee, but it sounds vastly beneath the grand Prima Donna, whom Kings and Emperors have complimented and rewarded. The real truth is, and it ought to be clearly understood, that this still greatest of great singers (principally, indeed, from natural endowment) owes her degradation not so much to the decay of her powers, or to the excesses of her style, as to the impression the cupidity of those who advise her engagements has made upon the public. The world were ready to give her the homage due to her supremacy, but it was not disposed to yield to her all the power and all the emoluments of the art. The festival at Bath is just over, with what success we know not ;-that at Cambridge, under her conduct, commences on the second of July; and a curious bill of fare it exhibits. This is the first grand festival, we believe, in England without a chorus, but it exemplifies

the truth of our observation last month, that the absumption of so disproportionate a share of profit by individuals, must be injurious to the art, by reducing and annihilating other departments. Pasta, Rossini himself, Colbran, and Catalani, are all to be at this meeting. We are anxious to know what portion of the receipts Addenbrooke's Hospital will share; for this is also very important, inasmuch as music is now so universally becoming the handmaid of charity. Not less than seven or eight grand festivals are to be held this summer-a number we believe unprecedented. Bath, Salisbury, Norwich, Wakefield, Newcastle, Worcester, and Edinburgh are, it is said, certain. York will have its meeting in 1825, and preparations are making even now for the occasion. Premises have been bought, and are to be converted into assembly-rooms upon a scale which sufficiently evinces the public spirit of the patrons of music. Indeed the impulse music has received in York, and all over that country, is not less astonishing than it is creditable to the good taste of the inhabitants of that opulent district.

One of the most interesting demonstrations of the growth and power of the art has been made by the dinner of the Royal Society of Musicians-an institution which deserves all the diffusion and support that it can receive. This dinner is annually held for the purpose of assembling together the eminent professors and those honorary members who compose or assist the society-for promulgating the knowledge of its humane object--for making the state of the charity generally known-and for recruiting its funds. This however is not done by a collection at the table, "not by a forced loan," as Mr. Horsley, to whom the exposition of its finances was this year entrusted, judiciously said, but by voluntary contributions, enforced by an acquaintance with the humane purpose, and seconded by the display of art which accompanies this meeting. Several solos were performed, besides glees, by the ablest professors, and concerted pieces by wind instruments. The principal attractions, however, were master Liszt, and Mr. Labarre, whom we mentioned in our last report. Liszt is a most extraordinary

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