We have thus run through the higher names that have dignified English art in this its true school. We must now turn to the next branch-the Theatre.

The English Theatre was at a very low ebb, scientifically speaking, at the close of the last century. Kelly and Incledon had occupied the first places. Kelly's voice was naturally bad; so bad that Dr. Arnold used to say it was like "the tearing of brown paper;" but he had been well and variously instructed, both at home and in foreign lands, and returned a prodigy for the time. Incledon was purely English. His professional life was coloured by an incident of his boyhood. He began a chorister in the cathedral of Exeter. A relative of one of the

dignitaries was charged with a heinous offence. Incledon was a principal witness. The simplest way of getting rid of his evidence was to send him on board a man of war, then no very uncommon stretch of power. He was accordingly kidnapped and kept afloat for some years. Hence his predilection for sea ditties, and his success in them. But Incledon was splendidly gifted by nature; his voice was not only powerful, rich, and ductile as gold, but his falsette was more exquisitely toned than that of any singer we ever heard. His energy was great, his sensibility scarcely less, and, but for the vulgarity of his manner, he was qualified to take, and would have taken, a very high place. His pronunciation was thick, and affected by something like a lisp, which proceeded from a roll of his too large tongue, when he prepared for a forcible passage, or was embarrassed by the word. In this way, too, he used to jump to his falsette by octaves, for the tone (it was that of a rich flute) was so widely different from his natural voice, there could be no junction. His singing was at once natural and national. The hunting song-the sea song-and the ballad, given with English force and English feeling, may be said to have expired with Incledon. He was the manliest of singers.

In 1797, appeared John Braham, the man who has stamped its most universal character upon the style of his age. He was first trained to sing at the synagogue, under Leoni, who was, it is said, his relation; but his real master was Rauzzini. Although he had sung both in London and at Bath, he burst, as it were, upon the musical world, in the full blaze of his powers, at the period above named. Stephen Storace wrote Mahmoud (his last and one of his best works) for his introduction. The writer of this article witnessed his début, and was never more astonished than by the marvellous ease of his execution and the facility with which he vanquished the most extraordinary difficulties. Every person of this age has heard Braham, but in a record of this nature, which it is hoped may attain some permanency, a more specific description of so gifted an artist is indispensable.

Braham's voice is a tenor, enlarged in compass by a falsette, and its whole range of really useful and good notes extends from a in the bass to

It is impossible to imagine anything more conceited, or more coarse than Incledon in private life, as well as on the stage. There is an anecdote in common circulation which combines these two qualities to demonstration. Some of his theatrical companions were one day discussing the qualities necessary to the performance of Macheath, when Incledon thus spoke:-"A man should be a gentleman, G-d- me, to play Macheath; he should be a man of education (another oath); he should have fine manners (a still stronger); in short (with a most blasphemous adjuration) he must be Charles Incledon."

E in alt, a scale of twenty notes. The tone, when not forced, approached the very best sounds of a clarinet, beautifully played, less reedy, though perhaps always a little lowered by that defect. It was so perfectly even and equal, and he possessed so thorough a command over it, that he could produce any given quantity or quality upon any part of it at pleasure; while, if he ran through his whole compass by semitones, it was impossible to point out at what precise interval he took, or relinquished, the falsette, though the peculiar quality of that voice, when he rose high, was sufficiently perceptible. But to this faculty (the true portamento* of Italian vocalization) he also added the power of colouring his tone according to the passion, he could increase or attenuate its volume, not merely making it louder or softer, but by a distinctly different expression of tone, so to speak. It became bold or pathetic, tender or amatory, martial or despairing, according to the passion of the song. "Whoever has heard Braham,' says the editor of the Quarterly Musical Magazine and Review," in his elaborate character of this artist," sing the first line of Waft her, angels, through the skies,' (from Jephthah,') and recollects such first line separately and apart from the rest of the song, will have heard the perfection of his tone, and will probably admit that he can produce sounds breathing hope, adoration, and fervent piety,―sounds most touching and full of beauty. Whoever has, heard him in the recitative preceding this air,Deeper and deeper still,' will have listened to as extraordinary changes of tone, expressing remorse, hesitation, the deepest anguish and despair, awe, heart-rending, yet firm and resolute obedience to divine power and justice, bitter thoughts urging to the very confines of madness, and finally the shuddering horror of pronouncing a sentence which fulfils an oath to heaven, and sacrifices all earthly hope of happiness. We can select no single specimen which assembles so considerable a portion of the light and shadow, of the colouring of tone, (if we may borrow such a a term,) as this admirable recitative and air. In the order of musical effects, it ranks, we think, with the finest efforts of Mrs. Siddons in the drama."

His volume was not less beyond almost all other voices than the quality and adaptation of his tone. His execution was still more prodigious his fancy, too, was pregnant and exuberant to excess; while his attainments as a pianoforte player and musician enabled him to enrich his genius with the whole learning of the art.

Few persons possess a finer temper or a stronger intellect

Braham, and fewer still have laboured so incessantly in an Mr.

pursuits analogous to his profession. All these attributes led to their extravagant employment, and he became not only the most varied, imaginative, and expressive singer, but by far the most florid. Perhaps he is right in. the belief he entertains, that he was born about twenty years too soon, -that he preceded his age. The singers of Italy, of the present day, do commonly what he introduced about thirty years ago. He cannot, however, stand excused for having abused his gifts and attainments. By doing everything, he has confounded everything: he has sung at table, in the orchestra, the concert, and the theatres Italian and English;

* This term has been corrupted from its original and proper sense, "the conduct of the voice," to the glide by which the Italians pass from note to note, both ascending and descending.

he has ministered by turns to every taste, and revelled as heartily and as luxuriantly in the worst, as in the best parts of his art. But let us do him justice. We are perfectly satisfied that the same judgment which has accused him of " frequently disappointing the ear at the very moment of its most intense and fervent expectation," "of quitting notes in an abrupt and unfinished state by sudden stops, and instant transition of words, and of the tone," of "refining too much, and pointing too powerfully," is not less correct when it pronounces that, taken as a whole, Mr. Braham is the most accomplished singer it has fallen to the lot of the present, or perhaps any generation to hear." "He is master of every style. Not to admit this perfection, in its fullest acceptation, would be to deprive him of a part of his honours; and if he has rendered up himself to a luxuriance of ornament, to a degree of passionate expression a little above the colouring of truth, or if he has vitiated the purity of his taste, and the uniformity of his manner, by a general commingling of the styles of the church, the Italian and English theatre, the orchestra, and the chamber, it has been from a want of recollecting that the public judgment is formed by the study of such eminence as his own, and that, while it was his profession to administer to the pleasure of the age, it was his duty to preserve, and with such talents it was certainly given him to exalt, the dignity of his art."

Braham has had few competitors, no rival. During the long period, of his public life (almost thirty-six years), he has stood alone;-a sufficient indication not only of his supremacy, but of the extreme rarity of the intellectual and organic qualifications necessary to constitute a great artist. The nearest approach to rivalry was in the person of Mr. Sapio, who possessed a beautiful voice, a good style, particu

Two anecdotes will serve to demonstrate the motives and circumstances which have corrupted this extraordinary man, and made him also the corruptor of his age, when he ought to have been, and would have been but for these influences, its best guide. Being at table with some of the finest musicians in the country, his friends, when there was some doubt as to his reception with the public, one of these remonstrated with him upon his extravagancies on the stage. "Did you ever know," asked Braham, “ any other singer who made eighty thousand pounds by his voice ?" "And who is the singer that does this?" "He to whom the managers must grant his own terms." "And what gives him that power?" "Being encored three times." "And who encores him three times ?" "The pit and galleries. To them therefore he must sing."

So much for the money-getting part of the question. Turn we to the other side. Braham was conversing with a friend concerning the merciless way in which he had been criticized, who defended his critics upon the ground of his having assumed all styles. Do you mean to say," asked the sensitive artist, "that I should have been a better singer had my practice been less multifarious?" "I do," replied his friend. Braham sank for a few moments into a reverie, from which he broke, and speaking with great fervour, exclaimed, "I never had an audience that could appreciate me: give me such an audience, and then see how I'll sing."-The directors of the Ancient Concert, who excluded Braham with a prejudice most unjust and indefensible, from their orchestra, till his powers had sensibly declined, have much to answer for in this respect. The severe, not to say fastidious, taste of that audience would, we doubt not, early applied, have polished away the imperfections which have so deeply injured our own English school, of dramatic music especially. Perhaps the highest compliment ever paid to a singer, and exceeded only by that well-known dustman's to the Duchess of Devonshire, is thus related by Braham. He got entangled, by losing his way, in some obscure alley at the back of Bishopsgate street. Scarcely had he entered it, when he saw four or five ruffians manifest. Nothing was left but to face them. As he passed on, he felt his handkerchief drawn from his pocket. This was no sooner done than one of the fellows who stood before him cried out, ""Tis Braham !"-the thief immediately threw it him back.

larly in the Italian, and considerable feeling. He was alike excellent in the oratorio, the orchestra, or the stage, for which his gentlemanly deportment and figure especially qualified him. Some years since appeared Sinclair, whose voice was pure in quality, of considerable volume, and extremely flexible. At first, he made some figure, and became in some sort a favourite with the public. He went to Italy, and returned perhaps the very best specimen of the very worst taste. His facility of execution led him to embellish everything he sang in the most extravagant manner, and he reappeared only to fall irredeemably. Mr. Wood has lately also enjoyed a small share of the public regard; and here may be said to end the catalogue of English tenors*, for it is a curious fact that, neither in the concert-room nor the theatre, has any one of larger promise than ordinary appeared during the successive reigns of Harrison, Vaughan, and Braham.

If there have been more diversity among the females, there has not been more excellence. One single name has stood the test of time,— Miss Stephens, who has of late, indeed, seceded almost entirely from the practice of the profession. Miss Stephens began her career early, but did not come pre-eminently forward till about 1812. She commenced her musical education under Lanza, who proceeded to form her voice with care, but also with the slow progression of the Italian method. Subsequently she became the pupil of Welsh, who applied himself industriously to the task of fitting her for the stage, and of bringing her out. Her round, full, rich, lovely voice, her natural manner, her simplé style, deformed by no sort of affectation, immediately won upon the public; and both in the orchestra, the church, and the theatre, she became universally admired. No female singer perhaps ever built so true an English style upon Italian rudiments. Her ballad singing was perfection. There was also high beauty, and no slight polish, in her concert and oratorio singing, and though the manner was anything but impassioned, it was sensible and graceful. Her purity rendered her performance the very model of what our nation terms "chaste singing." No one ever enjoyed more universal engagements than Miss Stephens. She sang everywhere for nearly twenty years, except at the Italian Opera; and no one adorned public life by the virtues and the natural graces of her private character more than she has done.

Miss Paton, endowed more variously, but not so highly in› some respects, has, for the last few years, occupied a lofty place. Nature gave to this young lady a very beautiful person, a sweet and extensive voice, unbounded industry and emulation, and a warm imagination. She is a very fine musician †; but she has been the scholar of a multitude of masters, good, bad, and indifferent, and her scale was never rightly formed from the first; she has therefore laboured under the drawback of an unequal and imperfect vocalization. Hér fancy and feeling have also

Perhaps we ought to mention Mr. Broadhurst, if it be only for his beautiful performance of" John Anderson my Jo." Never was anything more pathetic, more exquisite than this.

One of the strongest proofs of this truth was given by Miss Paton about five years since. She was engaged to sing at the Philharmonic; and, on the morning of the rehearsal, was requested to sing a song of Spohr's, one of the most difficult, because consisting of intervals almost unvocal, that ever was composed. She sang the song a prima vista," with a degree of precision and excellence paralleled only by the well-known anecdote of Mara, when tested in a similar way by Frederick the Great.

of late allured her to refine too far: her pathos has become ultra-pathetic; her expression is carried, by retardations of the time, violent emphasis, and struggling after extreme effects, to a length often touching upon the ridiculous, and always liable to the suspicion of affectation. But, with all these deductions, she is still a great artist; and it would be impossible to find another English female so variously and so highly cultivated.

The place of these singers has been since occupied by Miss Inverarity (who has scarcely realized the promise she at first held out), Miss. Shirreff, Miss Cawse, and Miss Romer; but none of them have yet risen to a height sufficient to place them above those who float, for a short time, like the gay bubbles of the element, sink, and are seen no more*.

The stage has rarely reared a bass singer of any mark or likelihood; the paucity and incapacity of such artists, and the few and feeble parts written for them, have operated necessarily to keep them out of sight, and repress even the talent which has appeared. Storace had the noblest voice to write for in Sedgewick that was ever heard on the English stage; but the man was heavy, dull, and irregular. Of late, however, Mr. H. Phillips and Mr. Seguin (a pupil of the Royal Academy) have come boldly out. The former has highly distinguished himself, and is now esteemed, in the concert-room, the direct and only successor of Bartleman; while, upon the stage, he takes a more exalted place than any of his predecessors. His voice is somewhat heavier and rounder than a barytone, while it preserves, in a great degree, the brilliancy of tone peculiar to that species, ranges through its full compass above, and is more extended below. Mr. Phillips has a strong capacity and a fertile fancy; but he has also good taste and a sound judgment. At this moment he is the most popular English singer going; and, what has seldom been achieved by any bass, his ballad-singing is greatly esteemed. The truth is, he is simple, natural, sensible, and expressive; and, above all, content to do no more than the occasion demands, and he himself can perfectly execute. Mr. Seguin has a noble voice and much science. His performance with Malibran in "La Somnambula" has gained him credit with the public, which industry and experience will establish.

We have thus exhibited a "peristrephic picture" of the talent nourished by the election of the country during the last thirty years. Multitudes have risen and sunk; for the trial shows how rarely persons are endowed with all the qualities that constitute a great artist. Organic strength vocal, intellectual, corporeal, must all unitet; and now, the education and knowledge necessary would astound the singers of the last century. To be able to pronounce and understand, so far as the words of a song go, English, Latin, Italian, French, and Germant, sometimes

We have not forgotten, though we postpone, Madame Vestris, because she commenced at the King's Theatre.

† The fatigue singers undergo is incredible. Pasta, not many seasons ago, played in Naples, and seventeen days afterwards appeared upon the boards of the King's Theatre in London. After the most fatiguing characters, she sometimes goes to more than one private evening concert, having sung at a morning concert, or rehearsed, or both. Mrs. Salmon, in one week, sang on the Monday night in Lon don, Tuesday at Oxford, Wednesday in London, Thursday at Bath, Friday in London, and Saturday at Bristol. Nothing but the constitution of a horse can stand it. The private concerts of the nobility rarely begin before eleven o'clock at night, and end-no one knows when. The late hours are the destruction of the health of the London world.

It is marvellous that no aspirant has revived Heighington's Greek Odes, or