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The performance of Don Pasquale at Covent Garden on Thursday brought back a pleasant memory of the time, some dozen years back, when this opera was first brought before the English public. Written expressly for Grisi, Mario, Tamburim, and Lid:cache, and performed by them, in its novelty, both at the Theatre Italien in Paris and Her Ma- jesty's Theatre in London, it has not since been given in that way till now, when the original "quartet," so long broken up, is again reunited. Time has told upon all its members, but less than might have been ex- pected. Gnat still looks to admiration, and acts and sings delightfully the part of the roguish young widow, who so heartily sickens her anti- quated beau of his hiclination for a youthful spouse. Lablache is a little larger, and that is all the difference. He preserves all his lightness, activity, and comic humour, and has not lost much of his superb voice. Even his stereotyped jokes, which he so carefully retains, are pleasant reminiscences. Mario is as much of an Adonis, and warbles the serenade as mellifluously, as ever; and Tamburini, though his vocal power is di- minished, is changed in nothing else. He still has the gentlemanlike ease and quiet gayety which are peculiar to him ; and in the beautiful concerted music of which this opera is full, his consummate skill makes up for vocal defects. Enfin, this charming little piece—redolent of the Cimarosas and Fioravantis of a former age—never went off with greater spirit.
Cerito appeared in her old part of the Tivandi&e. She looked almost as well, and danced quite as well, as ever; and was warmly applauded. But the way in which the ballet was got up—so curtailed and mutilated that it was reduced to a mere divertissement—shows the change which has come over the spirit of this kind of entertainment.
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