The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser. — 1833-09-06 (Liverpool, Merseyside, England)

THE APOLLO VOCAL CONCERT.  The fourth, and, we believe, the last (under the late arrangements) of these Concerts was given on Wednesday night at the Adelphi Rooms, under the management of Mr. G. Holden, as conductor. The performances commenced with Mozart's grand symphony, " Jupiter," which was brilliantly executed ba Mr. Holden and Mr. Comber on the piano. This piece was followed by Mozart's sestetto, " Dove Son," " Cosi fan tutti," which Messdames Johnson, Potts, and Leach, anal Messrs. Caird, Aubrey, and Pemberton, contrived to murder in a most ruthless manner • at any rate these ladies and gentlemen, or our ears were sadly out of tune. To make amends for this act of bar barity, we had shortly after the delight of hearing Fioravanti's terzetto, " Io Diro se net Gestire," sung beautifully by Miss Johnson, Miss Potts, and Mr. Pemberton. This, we thought, the best of the Italian performances, was honoured with an encore. We must not omit adding, that Rossini's quintetto, " Incerta. L'Anima," deserved a similar compliment. Miss Johnson, a sweet little songstress by the way, sang " With verdure clad," from Haydn's Creation, in very good taAe. The solo and chorus of nuns, "Turn Holy Piither," with an accompaniment on the organ, was well executed, but much of the effect was lost from the smallness of the room. The best of the English pieces was " See the chariot at hand," a glee by Horsley. As these beautiful lines are from the pen' of "The Rare Ben Johnson," and may not be familiar to some of our readers, we transcribe them:— SEE TIIE CHARIOT AT HAND HERE, OF LOVE, Wherein my lady rideth ; Each that draws is a swan or a dove, And well the car love guideth. As she _goes all hearts do duty Unto her beauty ; And enamoured do wish, so they might But enjoy such a sight, That they still were to run by her side Thro' swords, thro' seas, whither she would ride. Have you seen but a bright lily grow, Before rude hands have pluck 'd it? HaVe you mark'd but the fall of the snow, Before the soil hath smutch'd it I Have you felt the wool of the beaver, Or swan's down ever? Or have smelt o' the bud o' the briar, Or the nard in the fire? Have you tasted the bag o' the bee ?0 so white, so soft, so sweet is she The music in the last two lines is exquisitely softened down, so as to give expression to them, in a way that we can scarcely, find words to express. Miss Potts sang " The Soldier Tired;" and we were very angry with her—no, we do not mean that exactly, for it is contrary to our nature to quarrel with a lady, particularly if she chance to be like Miss Potts, la young, and, moreover, an accomplished singer ; but, on the part of Dr. Arne, who is not alive to defend the credit of his compositions, we do enter our most solemn protest against her attempts to palm any notes upon us that are not genuine. If she does this again we will petition for a re-enactment of the old forgery laws. As a whole, the performances were very creditable to the talents of the performers, and went off with treat eclat. Some of the pieces might have been omitted, or better substitutes ufosutnodhfoopr them alh m'oerreocoommwmaosdcioruoswpded lacetomeixllcebs w es, sehleiceltie lde aeds re these performances are resumed, which, we hope, they shortly will be, with the addition of some instrumental music.