[Illustration:  O]On a review of the events of the past season, the souvenirs it presents are not calculated to elevate the character of the arts di poeta and di musica, of which the Italian Opera is composed.  The only decided nouveautes which made their appearance, were “Fausta,” and “Roberto Devereux,” both of them jejune as far as regards their libretto and the composita musicale.  The latter opera, however, serving as it did to introduce a pleasing rifacciamento of the lamented Malibran, in her talented sister Pauline (Madame Viardot), may, on that account, be remembered as a pleasing reminiscence of the past season.

The evening of Saturday, Aug. 21st, will long be remembered by the habitues of the Opera.  From exclusive sources (which have been opened to us at a very considerable expense) we are enabled to communicate—­malheureusement—­that with the close of the saison de 1841, the corps operatique loses one of its most brilliant ornaments.  That memorable epocha was chosen by Rubini for making a graceful conge to a fashionable audience, amidst an abundance of tears—­shed in the choicest Italian—­and showers of bouquets.  The subjects chosen for representation were apropos in the extreme; all being of a triste character, namely, the atta terzo of “Marino Faliero,” the finale of “Lucia di Lammermoor,” and the last parte of “La Sonnambula:”  these were the chosen vehicles for Rubini’s soiree d’adieu.

As this tenor primissimo has, in a professional regarde, disappeared from amongst us—­as the last echoes of his voix magnifique have died away—­as he has made a final exit from the public plafond to the coulisses of private life—­we deem it due to future historians of the Italian Opera de Londres, to record our admiration, our opinions, and our regrets for this great artiste.

Signor Rubini is in stature what might be denominated juste milieu; his taille is graceful, his figure pleasing, his eyes full of expression, his hair bushy:  his comport upon the stage, when not excited by passion, is full of verve and brusquerie, but in passages which the Maestro has marked “con passione” nothing can exceed the elegance of his attitudes, and the pleasing dignity of his gestures.  After, par exemple, the recitativi, what a pretty empressement he gave (alas! that we must now speak in the past tense!) to the tonic or key-note, by locking his arms in each other over his poitrine—­by that after expansion of them—­that clever alto movement of the toes—­that apparent embracing of the fumes des lampes—­how touching!  Then, while the sinfonia of the andante was in progress, how gracefully he turned son dos