1828.] 
well played by Miss H. Kelly; Cooper’s 
Captain is spirited, and Farren’s Merchant 
is strikingly characteristic. The busy bride, 
played by Mrs. Humby, is, after all, our 
avourite of the entire. Nothing on the 
London Stage is more animated and amus- 
ing than her matrimonial eagerness ; her 
sinking all subjects, let their importance. to 
others be what it will, in her own marriage ; 
and her reminding all the world every five 
minutes, that the hour of “ her wedding is 
two o’clock.’’ The only performer whose 
appearance discredits the play, is West, who 
has unfortunately conceived a very passable 
part in the most quirkish spirit of a low 
attorney, and whose dress is something 
between that of a baker and a stable-boy. 
Yet he is in a merchant’s counting-house, 
and there is no reason for this idle carica- 
ture, unless it be that the actor chose to 
sharpen the wonder of the audience at Mrs. 
Humby’s matrimonial zeal when such was to 
be the prize. However, West is a smart 
actor, and when he shall reform his costume, 
will probably appear to advantage. 
The English Opera House has laboured 
with great, and we conceive, successful dili- 
gence, since the beginning of the season. 
Four or five performances, all of merit, and 
some very striking, have followed each other. 
Mozart’s music in the “ Cosi fan Tutti,” 
has attracted considerable attention, and is 
‘still among the nightly displays of the 
Theatre. The “ Bottle Imp,” a mad tale 
from our mad friends of Germany, is the 
best that we have seen of its species ; 
altogether outdoing the Freischiitz in oddity, 
variety, and effect, with the single exception 
‘of the bullet casting scene, which absorbs 
all the horrors of Rhenish invention so 
effectually, that there is not a horror left for 
any future dramatist of the infernals. The 
music of the Freischiitz is, we need scarcely 
Say, not likely to find a rival. Yet the 
* Bottle Imp” offered so striking an occa- 
‘sion for that finer order of composition which 
is essentially dramatic, that we regret its 
not having fallen into the hands of some 
great composer. 
As it stands, however, it is a highly 
eccentric, and even pleasant piece of 
Diablerie. Keely, as the innocentinstrument 
‘of the spells, is completely in his vocation ; 
and between actual sheepishness, peasant 
craft, and real terror, he exhibits a very 
curious versatility. 
A petite piece, “He lies like Truth,” 
translated from the ‘‘ Menteur Véridique,” 
is also popular. Wrench is the hero, and 
in his abhorrence of the simplicity of fact, 
which he calls dull and mechanical, em- 
broiders every thing with the most elaborate 
invention. He is on the eve of marriage 
with a lady whose father hates this vigorous 
faculty so much, that with a view of getting 
rid of the son-in-law, he protests that he 
will not give his consent unless the hero can 
abstain from a “Jie” for the next twelve 
hours. The promise is made instantly, 
M.M. New Serics.—Vou.VI. No. 33. 
Monthly Theatrical Report. 
313 
which unluckily turns out to be only a fresh 
illustration of the inventive talent, for it is as 
instantly violated by a merciless exaggera- 
tion about a place under government. But 
the lady, who is solicitous for the match, 
dextrously provides against the detection, by 
introducing a stranger who corroborates the 
statement, and declares the place to be only 
waiting his acceptance. The lover falls into 
another breach of the contract, by detailing 
the history of a fictitious quarrel. The lady 
introduces the very man with whom the 
quarrel had existed. The liar is naturally 
as much astonished as any one else 5 but the 
gentleman, after demanding his presence 
with pistols, and finally accepting the due 
apology, retires, and all is safe for the time. 
A third exaggeration as to the patron who 
is to supply him with place and pension, is 
about to be sustained in the same way by 
the lady’s agent, when all parties are thrown 
into equal embarrassment by the appearance 
of the actual individual, who is alike uncon- 
scious of having thus extended his patron- 
age, and of the very visage of the hero. The 
lady trembles for her marriage ; the agent, 
for his master’s reproof, he being the valet 
of the newly arrived personage, and dressed 
in his court suit ; and the lover for the 
results of inevitable detection. But farce is, 
luckily, not tragedy. The affair ends in a 
laugh, and the father forgets the invention, 
and forgives the inventor. 
The great Theatres are sedulously pre- 
paring for the winter opening. A tragedy, 
said to be by Miss Mitford, is, we believe, in 
managerial hands, and we may expect the 
usual succession of pleasant petite pieces 
from the usual writers. Messrs. Poole, 
Peake, Planche, and Renny, are, of course, 
hard at work, and we shall have the benefit 
of their Summer roamings up the Rhine, 
down the Danube, and across the Black 
Sea. A Turkish Pastoral, Sultan Mahmoud, 
in the disguise of a shepherd, makes love to 
one of the sisters of Nicholas, who, capti- 
vated by his skill on the flageolet and his 
rural simplicity, elopes with him from the 
stately halls of St. Petersburg, for, as she 
presumes, the rustic happiness of a cottage 
in Asia Minor, and finds herself, to her 
astonishment and delight, conveyed to the 
Ottoman Court, and sitting beside the hand- 
somest man of Europe or Asia, with the 
longest beard and the best diamonds, is to 
be read on the opening of the Theatre. 
Green-room whispers are already active on 
the subject ; and the authorship is divided 
among several pens of the very highest 
rank of the noblesse. But the general 
opinion attributes it, beautiful as it is, to 
the genius of a literary Duke “ not a hun- 
dred miles from the Green-park.’” So say 
the papers, and as they are bound to know 
every thing, and to tell all they know, we 
are bound to believe them. 
A celebrated dramatist has a play vibrat- 
ing between the Theatres. The story goes, 
that the cause of this vibration was the 
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