The Sun.
London, England, 1826-07-26 00:00:00

ENGLISH OPERA HOUSE.

A new opera, entitled the " Death Fetch," from the
pen of Mr. Banim, author of " Tale: of the O'Hara
Family," made its appearance at this theatre last night.
The plot was something to the following effect :—.E6ert,
(Mr. Archer) a visionary young student of Gottingen,
forms an attachment to a young lady, named Matilda
Rothe (Miss Kelly), in the course of which he contrives
to vaccinate her, to borrow a phrase from the faculty, with
his own superstitious fancies. It seems that they are
both staunch believers in the " Death Fetch," an old
Irish legend, which has been appropriately transported by
order of the pious author of " Broad Grins" and" Poetical '
Vagaries" (the two most licentious books in the English
language), from Ireland to Germany. This superstition,
as might be supposed, lays strong hold of their minds—
reason, feeling, change of scene and circumstances, all are
alike unable to eradicate it. In fact, they finally fall vic-
tims to its terrors. Such is the outline of the story, which
with a few judicious curtailments, will, we have no doubt,
have a decided and deserved run. As the prin-
cipal catastrophe lies between Archer and Miss
Kelly, so also does the acting; the remainder of
the characters, with the solitary exception of Miss Paton,
being of the decided common-place stamp. Towards the
close of the first act there was one scene which appeared
to make a deep impression upon the audience—we allude
to that, where the Death-fetch of 'Ebert appears at mid-
night to Louisa Rothe; and after seating itself beside her
for the space of ten minutes, fades as it were through an
open window, beneath the moonlight. Mr. Archer,
though somewhat too substantial, was here his own
ghost ; and by the glassy melancholy fixedness of his
eye, the stony rigidity of his muscles, the hushed
mysterious 'silence of his footsteps—gave an exact and ap-
palling idea of what an excited imagination would conceive
the being of another world to be. Of Miss Kelly's acting
we can speak with equal praise; for it embodied all that
we can possibly conceive of woman's tenderness and weak-
ness, together with that romantic and characteristic melan-
choly which but too often weighs down the talented and
susceptible of either sex. The opera throughout is mourn-
ful, and leaves any thing but a pleasing impression on the
mind. Death in any shape is a revolting idea to dwell
on; but when it conies visibly before us, in the persons
of the lovely and the young, the effect is heightened ten-
fold. Before we quit the subject, we must not omit no-
ticing one characteristic feature connected with this opera,
(if opera be indeed a correct term); we allude to the strong
impression that its more legendary points seemed to make
on the feelings of the audience. This, in spite of reason,
and every argument drawn from common sense and pre-
cedent, is the primitive weakness of human nature—the
one which is born with it, and quits it only in the grave.
An author, therefore, who appeals judiciously to this
weakness, is always sure to command the deep attention
of a large majority : and with this majority Mr.Banim, we
are glad,to perceive, has been successful. All the per-
formers went through their parts with credit, and the
Opera was given out for repetition with applause. We
subjoin a few specimens of the poetry :
" Awake, my light, my sleeping love
Thu' morn is on the hill,
Without thy smile, where'er I rove,
'Ti. midnight still around, above,
Cold, cheerless, midnight still!
" Wake ! wake ! and let the sun be bright,
And the young flowers fair for me
Let the summer breeze be soft and light,
And the song of morning sung aright,
And all in harmony."

" Shadowy dead !—Shadowy dead !
Dwellers in a world unknown !
In awe-tamed hope and holy dread,
Your viewless sway we own.
Around, resound
Your voices, tho' we cannot hear.
Above, below,
Ye come, ye go,
In throngs and hosts, and dare appear
To eyes unfihn'd by mortal fear."

" The mother died when the child was born,
And left me her babe to keep ;
I rocked its cradle even and morn,
Or, silent, hung o'er it to Weep.
But soon my little girl grew strong,
As she laughed the hours away ;
Or sung me the merry lark's mountain song,
Which he taught her at break of day.
"One evening I left her asleep in her smiles,
And walked thro' the mountains lonely ;
I was far from my darling, oh many long miles,
And I thought of her, and her only.
For as the earliest twilight came,
With spirits all spent and fled,
A throbbing hand and a brow of flame,
She had lain down in her bed.
" My path was darkened, as by a dream,
In that solitude far and drear ;
I spoke to my child, but she did not seem
To hearken with human ear ;
She only looked with a cold, cold eye,
And a wan, wan cheek of sorrow :
I knew her Fetch ! she was called to die,
And she died upon the morrow."

" As those we love are smiling on,
Our souls, acco►dant, brighten,
And happy glances, one by one,
In our's reflected, lighten :
Of passion's awful sympathy,
This is the first revealing,
When rapture's self no charm can be,
Save in partaken feeling.
oc But, oh ! a holier proof appears,
Than sympathet►c gladness,
When those we love sit in the tears,
And shadow of their sadness.
Then heart calls out to heart, and gives
Its gush in answering measure,
'Till love, rnatur'd in suffering, lives,
That was but born in pleasure."
The house was crowded throughout.

oiltvleifgi lriifdidfa
EXTRANWINARY GOOSEBERRY.---11l a gentle-
man's garden on the Denburn, there was pulled, the
n's Glory, which measured one inch and a
laehe
)t'oiength, Si inches in circumference, and
w
282 grains ; the weight of the pulp being 261
grains, and the skin only 21.—Aberdeen Chranick.