success of Balfe's new opera, aided by the talent and exquisite voice of Madame Anna Thillon, have been more than realized. We have already given the public our opinion of the Daughter of St. Mark, the Bohemian Girl, and other operas produced by this eminent composer, and we have now to record our very high opinion of his latest production. Mr. Bunn has shown much good taste both in his selection of the Enchantress, and its enchanting representative, Madame Thillon. The opera is of the comic order, we might say somewhat melo-dramatic even in its story; but that is by no means any depreciation of its merits as an opera. The plot is very much like that of the Crown Diamonds; in the latter we are introduced to a tribe of most interesting bandits, over whom a Queen of Spain, under an assumed name, ruled with despotic power, to whom she mortgages her crown jewels for the good of an empty exchequer, and exercises her power, both as Queen of Spain and Queen of coiners, in favour of a young Spanish noble, who ultimately shares with her the crown. In The Enchantress the aforesaid interesting bandits and forgers become bold and noble smugglers; the Spaniards are metamorphosed into Sicilians; a bewitching pirate daughter of the chief of the gang succeeds the enchanting queen of the bandits, possessing a similar authority over her companions, which she uses in behalf of a particular young gentleman, who eventually turns out to be the rightful monarch of Sicily, and of course marries the king-maker, the fair enchantress. Having so far conceded a resemblance between the two productions, we have to speak in the warmest terms of the telling effect of the opera upon the spectators. Messrs. Balfe, Bunn, and St. George have vied with each other in producing an effect, and all three have, we are sure, succeeded to their heart's content. The music is delicious, the libretto has considerable merit; and the scenery, dresses, and other necessary ingredients, are of the most expensive and superb order. Madame Thillon as Stella is much more effective than as La Caterina; she is indeed, in her way, perfection itself-her beauty, archness, and delicious warbling were all conspicuous-her five different costumes most becoming and effective. "A Youthful Knight," a song, was received with great enthusiasm; while "The Nadie" is also an exquisite melody; but she was most happy and successful when captivating the grave senators. Mr. Harrison and Borrani were heard to great advantage. Indeed all did their utmost, and succeeded too. Fidelio, with the Bohemian Girl, Der Frezchutz, in which our special favourite Donald King was, as usual, most effective, have been played with much success. We hear that this talented artiste is about, once more, to take a leading part in the operatic company, which is about to open at the Surrey. We are glad of this, as then we may have a better opportunity of judging of his varied abilities and merits: at Drury-Lane, appearing only occasionally, we have not a fair opportunity of judging of his powers. Mr. King has, we perceive, been lately selected as chief tenor at the Foundling, to which chapel we fancy he must prove a very great acquisition. In the ballet department we have nothing very novel to chronicle: La Giselle has been the stock piece during the month. HAYMARKET. Ours was the pleasure and privilege of witnessing the first representation of Time works Wonders; and, though it may be argued that on after occasions actors are more perfect, scenes shift more rapidly and "everything" goes off better, there is a certain interest about the "first night" of a new play, which has an especial fascination. As a matter of course the house was crammed with eager and attentive expectants-a tribute to the genius of Douglas Jerrold, and an earnest that great things were expected of an author, who, though a wit and a satirist, has inspired among his admirers a feeling of the most affectionate respect, and in all the elements of real poetry we look upon him as our greatest living dramatist. This, his last production, opens brilliantly; so brilliantly, that from voices all around we heard such words He cannot keep it up-it must grow as these: tamer-there again-they'll expect a joke every third speech," &c. &c. But it was kept up; the play did not grow tamer; and if the author did not furnish precisely a joke every third speech, he varied his dialogue with thoughts more genial than flashes of wit, or even the higher quality, delicate subtle humour. The plot of this baker's daughter (accompanied by a schoolcomedy is life-like and simple. Florentine, the nian, the heir of a baronetcy, and the scion of fellow), elopes from school with a young Oxoan ancient family. She is overtaken at an inn by Miss Tucker, the governess (Mrs. Glover), and Olive, a friend of her father, who, by reawhich would ensue on such an unequal marriage, soning and remonstrating with her on the misery of her love, to quit her lover and return to her persuades her even out of the strength and depth humble home. We will give a specimen of the sparkling dialogue here. (Enter JUGBY.) So, Mr. Landlord, you must harbour runaway chil. dren? Jug. Yes, my lady; if I hadn't, you wouldn't have caught 'em. But I'm a parent myself, my lady; and know what the feelings of a mother must be. Gold. (Eating.) A worthy soul. A jug of ale; you can recommend it? Jug. Recommend it! The mail-cart comes six mile out of its way for our ale. [Exit, after pouring out a glass of ale. Gold. Now, Miss Tucker, a little bit will do you good. For I recollect reading that when through the oesophagusmental anxiety, the nervous membrane that lines Miss T. There-a little bit. I declare, Mr. Goldthumb, it seems you have read everything. Gold. Why, ma'am, after working thirty years as trunkmaker, 'twould be to my shame if I didn't know something of the literature of my country. nities. Miss T. Doubtless. You 've had great opportu- | discontented and ungrateful creature. Let us, however, turn to another extract. Sir Gilbert has declared his passion. Gold. So, I've picked up a little poetry-a little romance-a little law-a little physic-of course, a little everything. Miss T. And you find the fragments serviceable? Gold. Oh, they work up very nicely in common talk. Ha! I never was set down to learning but I've given a hearty meal of it to my boy Felix. He knows everything in the regular way. : Mise T. And must be a great comfort to you. Gold. Not a bit of use in the shop; but a wonderful lad. He hasn't been home these four days; but he's an extraordinary boy. Miss T. A genius-a genius, no doubt. Gold. Quite, quite a genius. How he'll ever get his bread and pay his way, heaven knows! Miss T. Ha, Mr. Goldthumb! To have a parent's fears is bad enough; but what are they to mine? Look at me with my twenty girls. I have all the anxiety of a mother Gold. Without a morsel of the credit. Miss T. And then the black ingratitude of the little wretches! There's Miss Bessy Tulip, the little conspirator in that room, she-who was brought to me I may say a baby, brought by Colonel Mandragon, with a jar of pickles from Trincomalee. Would you think it? I've discovered that she's not only brought away all her clothes, but with a precocious depravity that makes one shudder, has absolutely packed up her own silver spoon and fork. Enter SIR GILBERT. Sir Gilb. I am again a youth. Youth! I never felt so light-so joyous; with such a winged spirit. There seems a new bloom-a brightness upon everything about me. 'Tis odd, too, I feel myself smiling upon all sorts of people, and feeling all the happier for it. Clarence. Uncle! Sir Gilb. (Aside.) Why, what brings him here? How d'ye do, Clarence? Where do you hide? What do you stare at? Clarence. Pardon me, sir. By your blithe looks, I may congratulate you on some new felicity? Sir Gill. Yes-yes. You shall congratulate me. But as we have met, and in this place, I have a word to say to you; a serious word: 'tis marriage. Clarence. Well, sir. Sir Gilb. Lady Elizabeth-her father assures me she only waits your offer-will make a charming wife. Clarence. How could it be otherwise? Consider, sir, her ancestry. Sir Gilb. Oh, yes. But I mean her heart. Clarence. Oh, sir; what's a heart to a shield of heraldry? Every woman has a heart; but how few have sixteen quarterings? Sir Gilb. Still, when a man marries, he likes something in a wife-something beyond leopards, cato'-mountains, and unicorns. Why, what brings that Clarence. A sudden thought, sir. Is there not somewhere in her ladyship's arms a—a bend sinister? Sir Gill. What of it? The highest families have had their bend sinister. Indeed, sometimes the bend has been to them their best support. Just as now and then, carpenters get their greatest strength in crooked timber. Why, Clarence, you are strangely nice. Clarence. Else, sir, I were your most unworthy pupil. Sir Gilb. (Aside.) A plague upon my teaching. depositary of your name and title. And therefore, Clarence. You have ever bid me think myself the my anxious care to transmit that title Sir Gilb. Possibly-I say, possibly-I may myself relieve you of that anxiety. Clarence. Sir? Sir Gilb. I am aware, Clarence, that after these expectations-nurtured in you as they have been by myself-my resolution may disappoint, may wrong you. But, Clarence, you have known what it is to love? Clarence. Then, sir, I was a boy. Is not the climax of Bessy Tulip's delinquen-cloud upon your face? cies admirable? and capitally is the light-hearted school-girl enacted by Madame Vestris. A period of five years is supposed to have elapsed between the first and second acts. Florentine, by the death of her father, has inherited an independence, and affords a home to the tyrannical Miss Tucker, who had lost her school in consequence of the story of the elopement, as, though the mischief was stopped, all the parents thought their girls double hazardous.” It is not our purpose to trace the plot scene by scene, or describe the meeting of the lovers when each assumes the mask of pride; or to tell how Farren, the literary trunkmaker, and his son become interwoven in the story. It is enough that Florentine (sustained by Miss Fortescue with a grace and tenderness which reminded us of Helen Faucit) captivates the uncle of Clarence, the haughty baronet, and that in a moment of women's pique, he is accepted by her. The denouement, however, is as satisfactory as the lovers of poetical justice could desire, and the play is nightly received with the greatest enthusiasm. It has added another leaf to the clus-riage? tering laurels of the author-something more is it than amusing; it is one of those plays which assure us how high the drama should rank as a moral instrument. It abounds in humanity, breathing of all kindly sympathies amid the most brilliant scenes. When most humorous, Douglas Jerrold is always true; there is a deep under-current of feeling in all he writes, which makes us think and sigh sometimes as well as smile. When Miss Tucker, wailing over the loss of her pug, exclaims-"The human heart is not a peg, now to hang one thing upon and then another," we half compassionate the Sir Gilb. I wish I had loved when a boy; then I might have been free of love the rest of my life; just as some fevers are never taken twice. * * Clarence. Now, sir, I see you jest. Come, sir; tell me her father's arms, and I may guess her family. Sir Gilb. (Aside.) Humph! She talked something about the gipsies. Her father's arms? What think you of a tinker's kettle in a field proper? Mind, I don't know them to be such; but if they were Clarence. Well, sir? came with it. Clarence. And your bride has not herself unveiled the mystery! Sir Gilb. No. Clarence. (Aside.) Neither will I. Sir Gill. No: it is my pride, my glory, to take her in ignorance of all save of herself. And she is like some treasure diamond: a thing to give a lustre to a crown; and yet to lose no flash of her inherent light from aught that's base or mean surrounding her. Clarence. The soul of truth is in your words. I bow to it, and must reverence your choice. And now, Sir Gilbert Norman ! Sir Gilb. Clarence! Clarence. Look on me, a disappointed, blighted man; look, and hear me. Then, ask your own soul, is this wise-just? Sir Gilb. What mean you? Clarence. In the deep feeling of my fervent youth, I gave my heart to one whose worth-I can avouch it -was rich as that fair lady's, soon to bless you. My love for her possessed me like my blood: with iron hand you plucked me from her; bade me know my station-know the world. You said you'd teach me both. With stony face and icy sentences you schooled me. My station, you told me, was removed from the broad, vulgar way of human dealing. I might observe the stir and impulse of the common million, but never mingle with or feel it. And then, the world! My appointed world numbered some thousands or so, no more; exalted beings, fashioned, stamped, and sent especially by heaven to make this inner paradise-all men without mere tributary creatures, things of unmixed dust. Was not this the creed you taught me? silent for ever! We are in no mood for further criticism or panegyric; the lesson of life comes home with startling force and painful certainty. SADLER'S Wells. Tragedy, comedy, and mirth-exciting farce, continue to supply such attractions at this theatre-under the able management of Mrs. Warner and Mr. Phelps-as to make its course of popularity a thing to be imitated rather than wondered at. Driven from what used to be considered its "legitimate" seat (at the patent theatres), good acting appears to have become located here. This shews that, no matter whither histrionic merits may be pleased to go, it will find patronage from the public, and is able to make, if it cannot find a taste capable of properly appreciating it. The holiday-piece here is a burlesque called Fi-Fi; or, The King of the Conjugal Islands. It is smartly written, abounds in pleasant allusions to the passing events and leading personages of the times, and allows the performers to display their vocal powers almost ad libitum, so numerous are the parodies upon popular songs, and so frequent are the encores which they receive. The principal male dramatis person are represented by Messrs. A. Younge, Williams, H. Mellon, and Sharpe; and Misses Lebatt and Huddart very agreeably lead the numerous corps of ladies. The piece literally overflows with fun, the plot turning on a law recently enacted in the Conjugal Islands, providing the penalty of death for any one who shall marry a spinster. Musty-Fusty (Mrs. H. MelSir Gilb. I thought you had forgotten-or but re-lon), who is a widow of "a certain age," exults membered it for laughter-the boyish fondness that possessed you. Sir Gilb. Go on. Clarence. And I was converted, or deemed so, from the ignorance that blessed me. And so, I soon forgot the humble maid that loved me; and dead in heart, yet varnished with outside courtesy, became the pulseless thing you wished me. Clarence. I thought so too. And now, there's not a feeling-not a thought, that is not of her; that does not blight me with the wrong, the mortal wrong you've done me. in this law, as it promises to give her the hand of Mi-Fi, the king. Some nine-and-twenty damsels, whose matrimonial hopes are cut short by this statute, entertain corresponding dislike to it and its consequence. One of these, the fair Fi-Fi (Miss Lebatt), wins the king's affections, but the fatal law forbids their union. Having got his own consent, he does not think it requisite to obtain the lady's. Meanwhile a very opportune shipwreck casts two strangers on his shores-Rory O'Phillaloo, an Emeralder (well personated by Mr. H. Mellon), and Christopher Caudle, who has run away from England to escape the celebrated "curtain lectures" of his wife. The king conceives the idea of wedding the Irishman to the fair Fi-Fi-of 66 Sir Gilb. My own awakened heart assures me that I taught you error. I thought it worldly wisdom; it was, as it almost ever is, refined selfishness. Hear me. If the girl be faithful still; if the creature, that as a boy you loved, can stand the test of riper judg-making her a widow, immediately after the bridal ment-with added grace it may be, more developed nibalism, and of making the lady, then qualiday, by subjecting her spouse to a little canworth-then Clarence Norman, I say to you, marry her and bless you! Marry her. [Exit. fied for his own throne, Queen of the Isles." The wedding takes place-the bridegroom is about being killed and cooked, pursuant to the statute, as aforesaid, when Fi-Fi, who loves him exceedingly, and exercises her woman's wit to preserve his life, exhibits a large plantain leaf, on which is written the certificate of her marriage to a former prime minister, and as his death immediately after made her a widow, rescues her new husband from the pains and penalties of having espoused a spinster. The obnoxious law is thrust into the fire-the king Alas! while our ink is wet, and while desiring ere we closed our remarks to say a few words in commendation of Mr. Strickland's performance of "The Professor," we read with sorrow and amazement that our praise must be a tribute to the departed. After a short illness-the public only warned for a day or two that Mr. Webster had taken his part-we have to record the death of this excellent actor: but the other night so full of life and spirits, and now the tongue is picks and chooses a bride out of the body of Fi-Fi's beautiful attendants and friends, and, with a smart hint against the "Repeal of the Union," the piece winds up very satisfactorily. The plot is slight enough, it will be seen, but it is the vehicle for a lively, witty dialogue, and much good singing. The scenery and dresses are in the best taste. A new play, entitled The King's Friend, has also been produced, of which report speaks highly; but we must reserve our comments on it till next month. 66 LITERARY FUND. The anniversary dinner of this admirable institution took place on the 14th ult., and although the visiters were less numerous than we have seen them, the party was at any rate a choice and select one, and full of enthusiasm for the good cause." Lord Ellenborough took the chair, supported on the right by the Archbishop of Dublin, and on the left by Lord Brougham. It would be tedious, and not at all to the purpose, to narrate the order of the toasts, or to go into any such minutiæ. It is enough that the meeting was more even than ordinarily interesting. Lord Ellenborough was both eloquent and indefatigable in the discharge of his self-imposed duties; and among the speakers were Lord Brougham, Mr. Monckton Milnes, G. P. R. James, the novelist, Sergeant Talfourd, Chevalier Bunsen, and the Archbishop of Dublin. In speaking of the Literary Fund, we believe the word "charity" is, by general consent, eschewed; and highly gratified were we to witness the generous spirit which prevailed. We do believe that there are many high-minded persons existing, who, with sentiments of a more exalted kind than those which in by-gone times led to private patronage, feel it both a pleasure and a privilege to relieve the necessities of that portion of the community who, by a seeming contradiction, are at the same time the most powerful in the world, and yet the most liable to pecuniary difficulties, and, from the constitution of their minds, the greatest sufferers from them--we need scarcely say, we speak of those who sway the sceptre of the pen. As Mr. Milnes forcibly said, "The thoughts of one age become the history of another;" and should not those who need assistance-a meal as it were, to save the labourer from fainting-claim it as a right from the world they are both serving and influencing? It is a fact not easily to be explained, but nevertheless a fact that it is the most difficult thing in the world either to offer or to seek pecuniary assistance from or to an individual, without some compromise of moral dignity and independence; but in the greatest possible degree all humiliation is avoided by the committee of this institution. Beyond to those appointed to investigate their cases-the names of these recipients never, under any circumstances, transpire, although we believe there have been more instances than the recorded one of Chateaubriand of individuals who, raised in the hour of their need by the resources of this fund, have lived to acknowledge their obligations with grateful pleasure, and, so far as the money is concerned, return it with interest. We understand the last subscription list was a highly satisfactory one, and rejoice at it. For of all the institutions which adorn our annals, we look of the public. We repeat, not as a charity, but upon this as the most deserving the patronage as a right, do those whose moral worth and genius fit them to instruct by the pen, claim assistance from their fellow-men in the dark hour of want and distress. Nor is relief confined solely to authors; their widows, and children have, in numerous instances, received aid. ROYAL ORTHOPEDIC HOSPITAL. PATRON-PRINCE ALBERT. The anniversary dinner of this institution took place at the London Tavern, on the 16th ult., His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge evincing his interest in this benevolent scheme by becoming president, and on this occasion taking the chair. We were much gratified not only by the satisfactory report of subscriptions, which amounted to nearly a thousand pounds, but by the evidence which was brought forward of the complete success attending the discovery of Dr. Stromeyer. Until a few years since, the treatment of club-foot and other distortions was confined to mechanical applications, which were usually either wholly unsuccessful, or attended only by partial or temporary relief. But by the new method of dividing the tendon, a certain cure is effected, without there existing the most remote liability to a relapse. When we consider the thousands of cases among the poor, where the afflicted and helpless cripple may be restored to the use of his limbs, and so to the power of labouring independently for his bread, it is impossible to measure the good which must result from science thus directed in the cause of humanity. The rich, too, are equally liable to be sufferers from such calamities; and even from selfish motives, though we would hope from far other, they would be wise to support a hospital affording such extended practice. Lord Abinger, and many gentlemen of distinction, were at the cross-table, his lordship taking the chair after the Duke of Cambridge withdrew. pointments appeared admirable, and the ladies especially are bound to compliment the stewards on their attention. The ap An appropriate address was written by that charming poetess, Mrs. Edward Thomas. It is, however, too long for extract; but we will transfer to our pages a spirited song, written also for, and sung on the occasion. "NEVER GIVE UP.' "Never give up!' it is wiser and better, The watch-word of life must be 'Never give up!' "Never give up there are chances and changes, Knowing that Providence mingles the cup; "Never give up!' though the grape shot may rattle, Or the full thunder-cloud over you burst; Stand like a rock-and the storm or the battle Little shall harm you, though doing their worst. 'Never give up!' if adversity presses, Providence wisely has mingled the cup, And the best counsel in all your distresses Is, the stout watch-word of Never give up!" " NATIONAL ANTI-CORN-LAW LEAGUE BAZAAR. We are of necessity somewhat late in alluding to this exposition, for such it is. Everybody knows that on the 8th ult., Covent Garden Theatre was thrown open as a bazaar, for the display, one might say of every imaginable and unimaginable article, chiefly, though not entirely, of British manufacture. The taste and skill with which this huge arena has been arranged are beyond all praise or description. We will borrow for a moment the words of a cotemporary : "Under the portico is the vestibule, through which is the entrance to the Bazaar. Visitors ascend a wide staircase of stone, decorated on each side with statuary, to the Shakspeare Hall or Saloon. On the left side of this hall is the exhibition of tapestry, shawls, and carpets, and in the corners next the passages are displayed a splendid mirror and a stall of chemical preparations. Passing this hall, and turn. ing to the right, visitors enter the Box lobby, the side wing of which will be closed during the Bazaar. On the left is a stall for Miller's Glass Works. Visitors proceed to the left, and on coming opposite the central box of the dress circle, they reach the entrance to the Grand Gothic Hall. The first view at the entrance is very imposing; the illuminated roof, with its Gothic mouldings and richly decorated arches, the two vistas of pillars extending along each side, and the gorgeous painted window at the remote extreme are very effective. The elevation of the dress circle above the level of the Pit, enables the visitor to take in the whole at the first glance, and hence the effect of the coup d'œil is most striking and imposing. We purposely avoid entering into any political discussion, but all parties we think would be willing to acknowledge the imposing effect of this vast display-the heaped up merchandize from every corner of the empire, sent hither as a token of one hope, one desire. Although the admission on the first day was inordinately high, yet the crowd was excessive, and allowing for editorial passes, &c., &c., the treasury must have received a good draught even then, independently of purchases. By the way goods were marked at exorbitant prices, to correspond we suppose with the terms of admission, though we hear that in these latter days they have fallen considerably. We are quite sure of this, that in such undertakings the wisest plan is to tempt folks to purchase by offering goods at a fair rate to say the least. We are unwillingly obliged to defer a somewhat lengthy notice of a meeting of the Mechanics Institute, which took place early last month, and several reviews, &c. FASHIONS Although our Paris belles are leaving us very fast for their chateaux or the spas, Paris is still as brilliant as ever, owing to the number of distinguished foreigners with which it is crowded. Our promenades, however, even yet do not exhibit so much of summer costume as might be expected, that is, dresses of the lightest kind, as muslin robes, lace scarfs, &c. &c. They are beginning indeed to appear, but silks are much more general. Our chapeaux and capotes are, however, of the lightest kind, and I think prettier and in greater variety than they have been during several seasons past. There is a little change in their forms since I wrote last; they are still horizontal, but the brim is wider, though not in a very great degree, for capotes indeed it is only perceptible, but it is more visible in the chapeaux; a good many are made without FOR JUNE. bavolets. The Pamela form, and that à la Glaneuse, both of which are somewhat in the gipsy style, predominate. Capotes of gros de Naples are generally adopted for the early part of the morning; they are made in full colours, and trimmed with fringed ribbons; some are of the drawn kind, others have the material laid plain, and the interior ornamented with tulle biais; sometimes a tuft of flowers is placed on one side of the exterior, but they must be small, and not of a showy kind. Where ribbons only are employed, the favourite form of arranging them is in a large chou on one side; the ribbon always corresponds with the colour of the capote, but I have recently seen some in which it was fringed with a different hue. Fancy straw is still adopted in the afternoon promenade, but I think its reign will be short, |