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pectations were justified. In the duet of "Fair Aurora," which she sung with Mr. Incledon, she glided through the chromatic passage which closes the first and second strain, with a sweetness of effect which no one but herself could produce, and gave the minor third, at the words "from the idol of my heart," with a delicacy and tenderness which came from the heart, and touched the nerves of the whole audience. In the beautiful and richly-accompanied air, "Adieu, thou lovely youth," she was equally charming; her expression was every where perfectly just, and her divisions infinitely neat. In "If o'er the cruel tyrant Love," she was exquisite. We never witnessed a higher degree of taste, or a more sweet and impressive manner than she displayed in almost every bar of this fine and original air. Her ornaments, though abundant, were chaste; and the additional notes at the final close, in which she soared with case to D in alt, were as ingenious and tasteful as they were forcible and expressive. Her "Let not rage" was also enchanting, and admitted no idea but that of excellence of the first order. The winning softness with which she accented the notes; her high-wrought yet chaste embellishments; the melting delicacy of her turns; and the affecting emphasis with which she enforced the sentiment at the words, "Father, brother, lover, friend," sunk to the heart of every hearer, and convinced the whole audience of the powers of vocal music. In a word, nothing remained to crown the delight of the evening but her execution of the noble bravura which

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precedes the finale. In this ("The soldier tir'd of war's alarms") she displayed the triumph of her art. We, who have formerly heard the once celebrated Miss Brent (afterwards Mrs. Pinto) in this fine song, were utterly astonished to find the performance of that accomplished singer so far exceeded by that of Mrs. Billington. With fewer liberties than first-rate performers generally take with songs of this description, she gave it a force and novelty of effect which perfectly enraptured us. The distances were hit with a clearness and precision that evinced her perfect intimacy with the first secrets of fine performance; and the variation she introduced at the repetition of the concluding division, as also the energy with which she darted to the key-note in alt, kept pace with every expectation her previous excellence had created, and impressed us with ideas of admiration and astonishment.

We have dwelt the more on Mrs. Billington's per. formance in this opera on account of the superior excellence of its music, which gave much more scope to her powers than any others in which she afterwards appeared either at Covent-garden or Drurylane.

Mrs. Billington is not the only living branch of her family to whom Nature has been lavish of her favours. Her brother, Mr. Charles Weichsell, distinguished himself very early in life as a performer on the violin, an instrument which he has since cultivated with uncommon success: both his tone and execution are excellent; and his taste, and style of Dd accompanying

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accompanying are of a very superior description. He

was the infant associate of his sister in her musical studies, and has almost constantly accompanied her in her travels, and participated in her honours.

Mrs. Billington has no living issue; but is nevertheless distinguished for her attachment to children; and has actually adopted a little girl, whom she took under her protection at nine years old, and has since placed in a convent at Brussels.

Mrs. Billington, by her journey to Italy, had at one time realized very considerable property; but by the entrance of the French troops into Venice she lost no less than twenty thousand sequins, which she had deposited in the bank of that place.

The extraordinary produce of her professional ta lents has, however, rendered her little sensible of such a loss: the profits of her various engagements last winter are supposed to have exceeded ten thousand pounds; and those of the approaching season will probably be equally great. She has signed ar ticles for the opera; and no concert of celebrity that can procure her assistance on almost any terms will be without the attraction of her talents.

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WILLIAM HUTTON, F. A. S.S.

BIOGRAPHY is never more usefully employed than in delineating the progress of a man of genius and persevering virtue, from the fhade of poverty, ig norance, and obfcurity, to distinction and independ

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ence. The lives of great men, as heroes and statesmen are usually styled, have much in them to excite admiration; but the life of a private person, who has, by his assiduous application and uniform regularity of conduct, overcome all the difficulties of his early destiny, and raised himself to eminence among his contemporaries, comes home to the bofom, tends to excite emulation in the mind of the reader, especially of the young, and bids him "go and do likewife."

This remark will apply with peculiar force to the interesting memoir which we are now about to lay before our readers. The subject of it passed his childhood and youth in extreme indigence and hardship, but by temperance and industry he has attained. to a state of affluence; and, what is still more obseryable, has by the publication of several valuable works gained the notice and estimation of the world.

William Hutton was born September 30th, 1723, in Full-street, Derby. Between the age of four and five he was sent to a poor day-school, where he fell into the hands of one of those petty tyrants, too commonly to be found in country towns and villages. This man's practice was, when his young scholars offended him, to beat their heads against the wall, holding them at the same time fast by the hair. This brutal treatment completely disgusted young Hutton with books; and he is one among many instances that eminent mental acquirements, and a love of literature, is not always preceded by a fondness for reading in early life.

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The season of instruction did not continue long. His father had several children to provide for, and such was the poverty of the family, that it became necessary almost before the children were able to work, to procure them some employment by which they might contribute to their own support. William was sent to the silk-mill. This was a miserable beginning, for among three hundred children he was the least, and being found too short, a troublesome pair of pattens was placed on his feet, which heavy clog he was obliged to drag about with great uneasiness. In this employment, and at this infant age, he was compelled for seven years to rise at five every morning, to go some distance to the silk-mill in all weathers, to submit to the cane whenever the master thought proper to apply it, (which was not unfrequent) and to be the associate of the most vulgar and rude of human beings. Little in respect to morals is to be learned at a silk-mill, or any other large manufactory, but what ought to be unlearnt out of it.

During this period he was sometimes treated, even by his father, with excessive cruelty. From the severity of a brutal master a child naturally turns his pained and anxious heart to his paternal mansion, and longs to pour out his plaintive tale of suffering into the ear of his parent. But how dreadful must it be to find no compassion, no soothing attention at home, after having been undeservedly punished by a savage master. Yet such was the hard fate of young Hutton. His father had no tenderness for his child, and instead of comforting him by kind behaviour under

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