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"The head voice of Madame Pasta has a character almost entirely opposite to her chest voice. It is brilliant, rapid, pure, flexile, and of an admirable lightness. In a descending passage, she possesses the power of attenuating the tone to such an inconceivable degree, that the existence of any sound becomes almost a matter of doubt.

"Such refinement of colouring, such powerful and varied means, are necessary to Pasta, to give expression to the forcible conception that is peculiar to her, a conception always just, and which, though modified according to the rules of the beau ideal, is always full of that fiery energy and extraordinary power which electrifies a whole audience. But what art must this gifted singer have acquired, what study must it have cost her to attain the power of producing such sublime effects from means so directly opposite!*

"This art continues daily to improve; the effects it produces are proportionally surprising, and its power over the auditor must go on to increase, for the voice of Madame Pasta has now for some time past overcome all the physical obstacles that can be opposed to the attainment of musical perfection. She now seduces the ear of her enchanted hearers at the same time that she electrifies their souls; in every new opera she awakens fresh emotions or new modifications of the same pleasure. She possesses the art of imparting a new musical colouring, not by the accentuation of words, or in her character of a great tragedian, but as a singer, and in characters which are to all appearance insignificant."

These were the qualities (both intellectual and organic) which enabled Pasta to work the change she undoubtedly wrought in the public taste; and it is one very beneficial. She has arrested the rapidity of the progression towards the substitution of notes-mere notes-for the sensible and expressive employment of sounds. Her use of ornament is comparatively restrained; but her graces are, for the most part, the best adaptations of such passages to the illustration of the passion. If she introduces a volata, it has all the analogies which the philosophy of the mind, as well as of the art, has determined are the vocal media of emotions, and which are common to the representation and the thing represented e. g. rage, loud and vehement, exhibits its fury by rapid successions of intervals; love,-soft, tender, and pathetic,-by sweet, protracted, and melting tones, or appogiaturas. By such general laws her embellishments are governed, and though it requires a wide acquaintance with the art of gracing to appreciate fully the invention, the delicacy, and the beauty of her choice of ornament, yet the impression, by which the million is governed, is always strong upon all who hear her. Her imagination, in a word, is as chaste as it is brilliant; her conceptions, as pure as they are sublime; and her excellence consists in found

of the falsette is scarcely suspected. It is achieved by strengthening (through exercise) the lowest notes of the falsette; and, on the contrary, by weakening the highest of the natural voice. The singer becomes able to take the same three or four notes in either, and also in both mixed. This is what the French term la voix mixte.

* The devoted friendship of the Chevalier Micheroux to Madame Pasta was of the highest advantage to her. This gentleman was a very fine accompanist, and his taste was exquisite. He watched Madame Pasta most attentively during her performance in public, and assisted her with his judgment in private.

ing her fame upon the solid parts of the great style, yet adorning them to the exact degree where fine taste limits the application of such embroidery.*

Thus, then, she brought us back to a purer expression, if not to that original plainness and strength which belong only to absolute simplicity. But when it is considered how far the public taste had been vitiated by Catalani, and how far the love of volatile execution was still to be sustained by the enchanting facility of Sontag,-a star which rose soon after in our horizon,-it will scarcely be denied that Pasta has at least stayed, if she may not have prevented a complete revolution in the art. (To be continued.)

THE STORY OF HESTER MALPAS.

BY L. E. L.

THERE is a favourite in every family; and, generally speaking, that favourite is the most troublesome member in it. People evince a strange predilection for whatever plagues them. This, however, was not the case with Hester Malpas. The eldest of six children, she was her father's favourite, because from her only was he sure of a cheerful word and a bright smile. She was her mother's favourite, because every one said that she was the very image of that mother herself at sixteen. She was the favourite of all her brothers and sisters, because she listened patiently to all their complaints, and contributed to all their amusements; an infallible method, by the by, of securing popularity on a far more extended scale.

Mr. Malpas was the second son of a prosperous tradesman in Wapping, a sickly child. Of course, he shrank from active amusement. Hence originated a love of reading, which, in his case, as in many others, was mistaken for a proof of abilities. Visions of his being a future lord chancellor, archbishop of Canterbury, or at least an alderman, soon began to stimulate the ambition of the little back-parlour where his parents nightly discussed the profits of the day, and the prospects of their family. The end of these hopes was a very common one;-at forty, Richard Malpas was a poor curate in Wiltshire, with a wife and six children, and no chance of bettering his condition. He

* Were we called upon to illustrate our assertions by any single instance, we should select her version of the entrata in "Tancredi." Nothing could be more powerfully affecting than her recitative, "O Patria!"-it had a masculine vigour that was irresistible. The middle movement, "Tu che accendi," was no less vivid and beautiful for its passionate love, its valour, and its lofty indignation. The last portion, " Di tanti palpiti," embraced and reconciled the apparent impossibilities of the most touching tenderness and the most brilliant execution. But our description is not exaggerated, as every auditor will acknowledge. Her transmutation of the latter movement, from exultant joy to entranced ecstacy, was at first indeed disputed for it seemed disputable. But at length judgment confirmed the award of impulse, and the head justified what the heart could not avoid to feel. Pacini's song from " Niobe," "Il soave e bel contento," is a splendid instance of the brilliancy of her powers-her use of distant intervals-her harmonic tones in the upper notes and her exquisite softness here shone out. Plain pathos, perhaps, was best exemplified in her "Che farò senza Eurydice,” and in Zingarelli's more exquisite "Ombra adorata."

had married for love, under the frequent delusion of supposing that love will last under every circumstance most calculated to destroy it; and, secondly, that it can supply the place of everything else. Many a traveller paused to admire the beauty of the curate's cottage, with the pear-tree, whose trained branches covered the front; and the garden where, if there were few flowers, there was much fruit; and which was bounded on one side by a green field, and on the other by the yet greener churchyard. Behind stood the church, whose square tower was covered with ivy of a hundred years growth. Two old yews overshadowed the little gate; and rarely did the sunset glitter on the small panes of the Gothic windows without assembling half the children in the hamlet, whose gay voices and ringing laughter were in perfect unison with a scene whose chief characteristic was cheerfulness. But as whoso could have lifted up the ivy would have seen that the wall was mouldering beneath; and whoso could have looked from the long, flower-filled grass, and the glad and childish occupants of the rising mounds, to the dust and ashes that lay perishing below; so who could have looked into the interior of that pretty cottage would have seen regret, want, and despondency. Other sorrows soften the heart,— poverty hardens it. Nothing like poverty for chilling the affections and repressing the spirits. Its annoyances are all of the small and mean order; its regrets all of a selfish kind; its presence is perpetual; and the scant meal, and the grudged fire, are repeated day by day, yet who can become accustomed to them? Mr. and Mrs. Malpas had long since forgotten their youth; and if ever they referred to their marriage, on his part it was to feel, too late, what a drawback it had been to his prospects, and to turn in his mind all the college comforts and quiet of which his ill-fated union had deprived him. Nor was his wife without her regrets. A woman always exaggerates her beauty and its influence when they are past; and it was a perpetual grief to think what her pretty face might have done for her. As the children grew up, discomfort increased; breakfast, dinner,-supper was never attempted,instead of assembling an affectionate group, each ready with some slight tale of daily occurrence, to which daily intercourse gives such interest, these meals were looked forward to with positive fear. There was never quite enough for all; and the very regret of the parents took, as is a common case, the form of scolding. When Hayley tried Serena's temper, he forgot the worst, the real trial-want; and want, too, felt more for others than for yourself. The mother's vanity, too,-and what mother is without vanity for her children ?-was a constant grievance. It was hard that hers should be the prettiest and worstdressed in the village. In her, the distress of their circumstances took the form of perpetual irritability,-that constant peevishness which frets over everything; while in Mr. Malpas it wore the provoking shape of sullen indifference.

In the midst of all this, Hester grew up ;-but there are some natures nothing can spoil. The temper was as sweet as if it had not breathed the air of eternal quarrellings; the spirits as gay as if they had not been tried by the wearing disappointment of being almost always exerted in vain. She had ever something to do something to suggest; and when the present was beyond any actual remedy, she could at least look forward; and this she did with a gaiety and an

energy altogether contagious. Everybody has some particular point on which they pique themselves; generally something which ill deserves the pride bestowed upon it. Richard Malpas particularly prided himself on never having stooped to conciliate the relations, who had both felt, and very openly expressed, the anger of disappointed hope on his marriage. His brother had lived and died in his father's shop: perhaps, as his discarded relative formed no part of his accounts, he had forgotten his very existence. On his death, shop and property were left to his sister Hester; or, as she was now called, Mrs. Hester Malpas. After a few years, during which she declared that she was cheated by everybody, though it must be confessed that the year's balance told a different story every Christmas,-she sold her interest in the shop, and, retiring to a small house in the same street, resolved on making her old age comfortable. It is very hard to give up a favourite weak point; but to this sister Mr. Malpas at length resolved on applying for assistance ;-he had at least the satisfaction of keeping the step a secret from his wife. Hester was his confidant,-Hester the sole admirer of "his beautiful letter." Hester put it in the post-office; and Hester kept up his hopes by her own; and Hester went every day, even before it was possible an answer could arrive, to ask, Any letter for my father?" for Mr. Malpas, fearing, in spite of his sanguine confidant, the probability of a refusal, had resolved that the letter should not be directed to his own house. Any domestic triumph, that the advice of writing, so often urged, had been taken too late, was by this means averted.

The day of the actual return of post passed, and brought no answer; but the next day saw Hester flying with breathless speed towards the little fir-tree copse, where her father awaited her coming. She held a letter in her hand. Mr. Malpas snatched it from her. He at once perceived that it was double, and post-paid. This gave him courage to open it, and the first thing he saw was the half of a bank-note for twenty pounds. To Hester this seemed inexhaustible riches; and even to her father it was a prodigious sum. For the first time she saw the tears stand in his eyes.

"Read it, child," said he, in a broken voice. Hester kissed him, and was silent for a moment, and then proceeded with her task. The hand-writing was stiff, ugly, and legible; though the letters rather resembled the multiplication-table than the alphabet. The epistle ran as follows:

"Dear Brother, Received yours on the 16th instant, and reply on the 18th; the delay of one post being caused by getting a Bank of England note. I send one half for safety, and the other will be sent to-morrow. They can then be pasted neatly together. I sha'n't go back to old grievances, as your folly has been its own punishment. If people will be silly enough to marry, they must take the consequences. You say that your eldest daughter is named after me. Send her up to town and I will provide for her. It will be one mouth less to feed. You may count on the same sum (twenty pounds) yearly. I shall send directions about Hester's coming up, in my next letter.

"Your affectionate sister, HESTER Malpas."

Poor Hester gasped for breath when she came to her own name. Dec.-VOL. XXXIX. NO. CLVI.

2 H

Even her glad temper sank at the bare idea of a separation from her parents.

Me, father!" exclaimed she; "oh! what will my mother say?" "No; as she always does to anything I propose," said her father. To this Hester made no reply. She had long felt silence was the only answer to such exclamations. For once, like her father, Hester dreaded to return home. "Is it possible," thought she, "we can be taking so much money home so slowly?" and she loitered even more than her father. Hester had yet to learn that no earthly advantage comes without its drawback. At length the silence was broken, and Hester listened with conviction, and a good fit of crying, to the many advantages her whole family were to derive from her adoption by her aunt. Still, "What will my mother say?" was the only answer she could give.

When we expect the worst, it never happens. Mrs. Malpas caught at the idea of Hester's going to town with an eagerness which inflicted on poor Hester the severest pang she had ever known. "And is my mother so ready to part with me?" was a very bitter thought. Still, if she could have read that mother's heart, she would have been comforted. It was the excess of affection that made the sacrifice easy. All the belief in the sovereign power of a pretty face,—all the imagination which Mrs. Malpas had long ceased to exercise for herself,-were exerted for her daughter. Like all people who have lived their whole life in the country, she had the most unreal, the most magnificent ideas of London. Once there, and Hester's future fortune was certain. Besides, she had another reason, which, however, from the want of confidence which ran through the whole family, she kept to herself. There was a certain handsome youth, the son of a neighbouring farmer, between whom and Hester she thought the more distance the better. She had suffered too much from a love-match herself to entertain the least kindness towards such a step. The faults we ourselves commit are always those to which we are most unforgiving. Hester herself had never thought about what the feeling was which made her blush whenever she met Frank Horton. No girl ever does. It was shyness, not deception, that made her avoid even the mention of his name. The word love had never passed between them. Still the image of her early playmate was very frequent amid the regrets with which she regarded leaving her native place. The next day brought the second letter from Mrs. Hester Malpas. It contained the other half of the bank-note; and as it never seemed to have crossed the good lady's mind that there could be an objection to her proposed adoption, she had made every arrangement for her journey the following week. She had taken her place in the coach, stated her intention of meeting her at the inn, and hoped that she worked well at her needle. There was little preparation to be made. Her aunt had said, "that she could come with only the clothes on her back," and she was taken very nearly at her word.

The evening before her departure, she went for a solitary walk, lingering amid all her old favourite haunts. Her spirits were worn out and dejected. It jarred cruelly upon her affectionate temper to find that her absence was matter of rejoicing to her whole family. The children, naturally enough, connected Hester's departure with the new indulgences, the result of their aunt's gift; and childhood is as selfish

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