At the same Theatre, a lady of the name of Hughes has been brought out in Mandane, in the favourite Opera of Artaxerxes—we should hope, not in the place of Miss Stephens. We do not say this for the sake of any invidious comparison, but for our own sakes, and for the sake of the public. Miss Hughes is, we believe, a very accomplished singer, with a fine and flexible voice, with considerable knowledge and execution. But where is the sweetness, the simplicity, the melting soul of music? There was a voluptuous delicacy, a _naiveté_ in Miss Stephens’s singing, which we have never heard before nor since, and of which we should be loth to be deprived. Her songs in Mandane lingered on the ear like an involuntary echo to the music—as if the sentiment were blended with and trembled on her voice. This was particularly the case in the two delightful airs, ‘If o’er the cruel tyrant love,’ and ‘Let not rage thy bosom firing.’ In the former of these, the notes faultered and fell from her lips like drops of dew from surcharged flowers. If it is impossible to be a judge of music without understanding it as a science, it is still more impossible to be so without understanding the sentiment it is intended to convey. Miss Hughes declaimed and acted these two songs, instead of singing them. She lisps, and smiles, and bows, and overdoes her part constantly. We do not think Mandane is at all the heroine she represents her—or, if she is, we do not wish to see her. This lady would do much better at the Opera. Mr. Duruset sung ‘Fair Semira’ with taste and feeling. We wish, in hearing the song ‘In infancy our hope and fears,’ we could have forgotten Miss Rennell’s simple, but sustained and impressive execution of it.—Mr. Taylor played Arbaces, instead of Mr. Incledon. LOVERS’ VOWS _The Examiner._ _October 8, 1815._