at length disappear from the stage
and are forgotten. There are some who endure for years; but they fulfil
no promise of their early youth. Under these circumstances, we could ill
afford to lose an artist who seemed destined to achieve a lasting
reputation. Our musical stage has but now sustained a heavy loss in one
of the brightest ornaments it ever possessed; the charms of a happy home
have withdrawn her from public life--but the genius of Miss Adelaide
Kemble will not be soon forgotten. Another bright ornament of our stage,
however, still remains. Possessing less physical energy and tragic power
than her contemporary, Mrs Alfred Shaw is, nevertheless, the most pure,
polished, and cultivated English singer we ever heard on the boards of
our national theatre. The finish and refinement of her style, and the
clear distinctness of her enunciation, make her the worthy model for the
imitation of all who are desirous to excel. Were our future _debutanti_
trained on the system which has thus developed the powers and
capabilities of these eminent artists, less frequently would be observed
the musical disappearances of which we have been speaking.

The English tenor is a nondescript animal; singing from some unknown
region, his voice possesses no natural character, but its tones are
forced, strained, and artificial. Our tenors and counter-tenors--a sort
of musical hermaphrodite, almost peculiar to this country, and scarcely
recognized by classical composers--delight in what is called the "pure,"
or, "the good old English" style. This style, coldly correct, tame,
dull, flat, and passionless, requires but little in the singer. The bass
of this school is a saltatory creature; he is, for the most part, either
striding through thirds, or jumping over fifths and octaves, much as he
did a hundred years ago. During this period, the art of singing has made
immense advances elsewhere; the execution of Farinelli, in 1734, thought
so wonderful, would not suffice for even a third-rate singer now; and
the powers of B. Ferri, described by Rousseau, are scarcely more than
would be expected of every singer of the Queen's Theatre. Rossini's
music, replete with difficulties of execution, has compelled even the
unwieldy bass to overcome his reluctance to rapid motion, and he is now
obliged to condescend to runs, arpeggios, and other similar feats of
agility. In an opera buffa at a Neapolitan theatre, called _Il Fondo_,
we once heard Tamburini exec