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with her basket of flowers, to the beautiful symphony of "Di Piacer," the melody, which is enough to "bend the knotted oak," was not lost upon the susceptible Milanese. The words, "Bene! motto bene/ bravo! bravo!" resounded from all parts of the house.

The music all along kept gaining ground; at last came the trio, "Oh! Nume Benifico," between Ninetta, Fernando, and the Podesta,--this was the touchstone; the fury, which all along had been threatening, now burst forth, but in a very different manner to that which was expected. The house rang with "Bravo 1 Bravissimo! Viva Rossini!" So violent was the enthusiasm, that it was with difficulty restrained.

The custom in Italy, when an author is so honoured, is to rise and bow to the audience. Rossini accordingly rose and bowed, deafening applause all the time testifying that "Peace was concluded." The performance continued amid the same excitement, and at the end of every piece, nothing was to be heard but "Bravo! Viva Rossini!"

The furore became greater during the second act; he was scarcely seated, when the same enthusiasm was expressed with as much warmth, and sometimes frenzy, as before. The trial-scene of Ninetta, with the expressive march to the execution, created an extraordinary effect, and the curtain fell amidst " blaze of triumph! and a grand triumph it was for the Great Master. Never was success more decided, or more deservedly obtained, and it yet remains a question whether, as a musical production, it is not equal to his Barbier.

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Notwithstanding the nonchalance with which Rossini generally took things, the excitement, together with the overwhelming reception which he met with, was too much for his nervous system, and he was obliged to remain quiet for some time.

After an unparalleled and brilliant season, he returned to Naples, and there produced L'Armide. The public wishing to mark their sense of Madame Colebrand's uncertain voice, L'Armide was not very successful. Piqued at this, Rossini endeavoured to obtain his object without employing the voice of Madam Colebrand. Like the Germans, he had recourse to his orchestra, and converted the accessory into the principal; the result was the Mose, known in this country as I Pietro l'Ermita, the success of which was immense.

In 1824, Rossini was induced, from the liberal offer made to him by the management of the Italian Opera, to visit England, for the purpose of undertaking the direction of the musical department of that theatre; he was also to have two thousand guineas for a new opera, which he was to compose in this country. Whether the libretto was not to his mind, whether the humidity of our murky atmosphere did not agree with his inspirations, or whether, from the number of engagements (we beg pardon, we mean invitations), which pressing heavily upon him, interposed, we do not pretend to say, but certain it was, there was no new opera forthcoming, nor has he, to our recollection, composed anything since of any consequence, saving his Stabat Mater, which was performed some seven years since at the Italian Opera-house, and subsequently at the St. James's Theatre. During his stay in London, he was the "great lion of the day." Such was the furore of the Rossinian mania, that he has been known frequently, during the season, to visit two of the aristocratic soirées in one night, on which occasion, he was graciously pleased to accept fifty guineas from each party indeed, that was his price. Signor fill his pocket full, den he laugh at Johnny Bull." Among the invites which he received, was one from the "First Gentleman of the Age,”King George the Fourth. On the night this grand

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entertainment was given, all the élite of the nobility of "Happy England" were present to meet the great Italian master. On his name being announced, the band struck up the Overture to Guillaume Tell. On his entrée, His Majesty received him in the most gracious manner, and continued for a length of time in conversation with him. In the course of the evening's amusement an occurrence happened, which, at the time, went the round of the daily papers, and which we shall here relate in the shape of an anecdote, not doubting its veracity. The king was anxious "to try" a duet with Rossini, to which the Great Master readily assented. The duet selected was from I Pietro l'Ermita, "Parlar, Spiegar, non posso," Rossini accompanying the same on the piano-forte. It is needless to add, that the duet went off splendidly; the applause was beyond etiquette, which induced the king good-humouredly to say, "I suppose it is intended we should repeat it; What say you!" To which Rossini replied, in rather an off-handed manner, "Yes, yes; by-and-by will do ;"-this was, to say the least of it, very injudicious and offensive, and the king felt it as such; he was the last person to put up with a slight, and particularly from such a man, he accordingly turned on his heel, and sent him to Coventry for the remainder of the evening.

On this circumstance being mentioned to him on the following day, he treated it in his usual careless manner, and replied that he had been invited to the Palace as a Great Master, and that he considered he was equal to any king in Europe, having visited most of the Continental sovereigns, all of whom made him perfectly at home, by putting him on an equality with themselves, while in their presence.

That Il Grand Maestro is a vain man, there can be but very little doubt; or that his conduct on the occasion narrated, was not calculated to render him any advantage while he remained in this country. Yet there were plenty who made excuses for him, and many laughed at his independence. "It was the easy way that foreigners had ;" or, "He was spoiled by the careless manners of foreign courts." So that what

would have ruined any other man, served only to make sport of with him. During his sojourn in this metropolis, he gave a concert at Willis's Rooms, in which he did honour to Lord Byron, by composing his requiem, and which was sung on this occasion with a full chorus. He also introduced his celebrated buffo song, "Largo al Factotum," in which he accompanied himself on the piano-forte, and received a rapturous encore. The tickets were a guinea each, and the room was crowded to excess.

Rossini is partial to the company of his own countrymen, but he invariably eschews musical conversation, always turning it to some other subject.

It is said that he has acquired a large fortune.

In the early part of his career he occasionally resided at Paris or its environs. He has long since given over composing; he says, laughingly, "It is now high time to compose himself," and although he has been tempted by handsome offers to write another opera, yet he declined them, observing that he had made enough, he therefore could see no reason why he should begin again, after having once retired, choosing rather to leave it to the young and rising aspirants for musical honours!

Rossini, in person, is remarkably good looking, possessing easy and fascinating manners, and it is said that when in his zenith he was warmly admired by the fair sex. On one occasion, when at Milan, & lady, abandoning her palace, her husband, her children, and her reputation, arrived early one morning at his small apartments at an humble inn; the first moments were very tender; but presently,

the most celebrated and the most beautiful woman of Bologna (the Princess) also made her appearance; here was a "terrible to-do;" but Rossini only laughed at both, sung them a buffo aria,

"Then put on his hat, and away he hiked,

And left them to settle it how they liked."

He is particularly fond of lobsters, eating them almost at every meal,-frequently to excess, which at one time (while in London), nearly cost him his life, and it was only through having resort to the most violent medical remedies that he obtained relief.

Rossini, although he has composed so much, may be said to be yet in the prime of life, being only fifty-nine years old. He has written more in a shorter space of time than any other composer either before or after.

We noticed a short time since, in a Parisian paper, that he was residing near his native place, in the vicinity of Bologna; that he had recently taken to his bosom a young and blooming bride, and that he was in the enjoyment of excellent health. He has our hearty good wishes that he may long continue So, "To wear his blushing honours thick upon him."

"DEAL GENTLY WITH THE ERRING." AUNT LIZZY sat knitting in her high-backed chair, glancing over her spectacles, from time to time, at the figures moving in the street without. A projecting little mirror enabled her to command a full view of the busy scene; and it was her pleasure thus, of an evening, to wile away the hours in pleasant converse with a friend. When other subjects failed, a topic was usually suggested by some passing face,-most of the town's-folk being well known to my aunt.

As we were seated there in the twilight, a vehicle drove rapidly along the street. "It is the doctor," observed Aunt Lizzy, "where can he be called on such emergency to-night?"

The carriage stopped at the end of the street, opposite an entry leading into a mean close of houses, inhabited by many poor, and by some disreputable characters.

"He has stopped at Waldy's Close," I observed; "he is doubtless going to see the wretched girl, who attempted to destroy herself this morning.'

"I have not heard of the circumstance," said Aunt Lizzy.

"It is only one of those bad girls down there,-a wretched creature, who, in her despair, or insanity as some say, threw herself over the balustrade of the bridge; but she fell into a shallow part of the river, and was taken up terribly injured,—so much so, that she cannot possibly survive."

"Poor thing! What she must have suffered, before she was driven to that terrible attempt against herself! How little do we know of the secret sorrows which wring the hearts of our kind !—what agony it would cause us, did we know a thousandth part of them!"

"But your sympathy would be quite out of place here, dear aunt; this woman is quite an infamous person, not worthy of your consideration, I assure you."

"Infamous! and unworthy of consideration! The most misguided human being is worthy of sympathy, and none are utterly infamous. Let us take care how we cast stones about us. Who knows the heavy temptations of the poor, except themselves? And if girls, who are born weak, and are educated into exaggerated weakness,-who are taught to set the highest value on things extrinsic, and to pride them

selves upon beauty, dress, and ornament, without the benefit of any better guidance,-if, when thus sent into the world, they fall before temptation, against which they have never been protected and fortified, ought they not to be pitied quite as much as they are condemned? Were we to know all the circumstances attendant upon the downward career of these poor creatures, we should not be without some sympathy for them which, if it did not restore them to society, would at least render their state less wretched and intolerable than it is."

"I wonder to hear you talk in such a way! " I observed. "Why should a state of wickedness be rendered anything but intolerable? Why waste sympathy on those who set all virtuous conduct at defiance? How do you reconcile those notions of yours with a due sense of propriety and morality?"

"My dear girl!" said Aunt Lizzy, "I cannot help remembering how tenderly and lovingly One, whose example I would humbly follow, dealt with the erring and the sinful. Were not the sternest words He said, 'Go, and sin no more?' And are we, who have been well brought up, who love virtue because we have been carefully trained to do so, and who have been kept out of the way of all temptation,are we to judge harshly our erring sisters, whose life has, perhaps, been one long desperate struggle against poverty, adversity, and temptation?"

"Well, you are the only one whom I have ever heard attempt to say a word in palliation of the wretched life of Grace Walters."

"Grace Walters! And is it she? Spare her, poor girl!"

"What! you know her, then?"

"I knew her when a child, and have fondled her on my lap for hours together. Her mother was married from our house, she was a tidy servant and a good woman, though she proved unfortunate in her husband. He was a devoted lover, a handsome fellow, and a good workman; but he was a drunkard. That, however, was after their marriage. Drink is the curse of many a home, which, but for it, would be happy. While the mother lived, her children were tenderly cared for; but she died of fever, in a poor cottage, from which nearly all comfort had disappeared; and then the children were not cared for at all. When the man came home at night, drunk, the children were often cruelly beaten, because they cried for food. Little Grace, who was the oldest, would be sent out to haggle at the stalls on Saturday nights for cheap bits of meat, the father spending his earnings mainly at the public-house. Could the poor thing learn virtue in that home? But the man got mated again to some woman of kindred nature to his own; and if the family were in misery before, they were in torture now. The girl was used as a drudge, and as an object on which husband and wife alike vented their fury in their domestic quarrels. Ah! little do we know of the hardships and sorrows borne by those whom we are so ready to condemn, because their lot has not been so happy as our own!"

"But the girl,-poor thing! what became of

her?"

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"She grew up, half fed, half clad, untrained; and when she was old enough, she was sent to a workshop, to earn money for her parents. There she toiled for years, till she grew a young woman. have seen her there. She had a fine appearance for a girl of her station; dressed showily, and had admirers. She was followed by young men of higher station than her own. They tempted her with visions of ease and pleasure, which were all the more seductive, when contrasted with her daily routine of toil, and her miserable life at home. No kind mother was near to whisper counsel and give her

virtue strength; but a drunken, screeching virago, who made her domestic life hideous. She fled-do you wonder? but alas! poor girl! it was to her ruin.

"The betrayer, as usual, came to her in the guise of love. She knew not the false from the real, and she believed the betrayer's tale. But pity her! Are not the wisest baffled at this game? What stratagems will not the unprincipled and selfish employ to effect their purpose! He was of a much higher rank than her own, and skilled in all such powers of gallantry as were calculated to win a weak woman's heart. A villain, who can practise such arts, is often loved and preferred to better men. This man, though young, had already distinguished himself by his career of vice; and yet she loved him, -believed him to be sincere-and fled with him." 'Alas, poor girl! it was a pitiable fate." "You may truly say so, you see what her temptations and trials were, but you can form no conception of her sufferings. There was poison in the chalice of love which she quaffed; her gleam of happiness was short,-it was but a flash, and then all was darkness and desolation. He left her,—a broken plaything; she became-need I say what? -a weed tossed about amid the mire of the streets. And now, as you have told me, her world-wearied heart has thirsted for death!"

"What a pitiable history you have told me, dear Aunt Lizzy! I see now, that in the career of the most vicious, there may be circumstances to mitigate the condemnation with which we visit it, though not to diminish our aversion to the career itself."

"There is every reason why we should deal gently with the erring," said Aunt Lizzy; "we see the temptations they have fallen under, but we know not what they have resisted. It is not for us to anticipate the judgment of the Almighty, and to make a hell for these unhappy beings before their time, in addition to the horrors which their own course has already plunged them in. And may He deal mercifully with that wretched girl whom we have spoken of; for though her sins have been great, so have been her temptations."

Aunt Lizzy stretched forth her hand, and took up a little book, in which she had inserted a mark. Opening it at this place, she said—

"Let me read to you a short passage from a new book, which says on this subject much that I have often thought, but in language which I should vainly attempt to imitate. The book is called The Companions of my Solitude; and the author, whoever he is, has my heartfelt thanks."

And so saying, Aunt Lizzy, in a rather trembling voice, read aloud the following passage:

"The virtuous, carefully tended, and carefully brought up, ought to bethink themselves how little they may owe to their own merit that they are virtuous, for it is in the evil concurrence of bad disposition and masterless opportunity that crime comes. Of course, to an evil-disposed mind, opportunity will never be wanting; but when one person or class of persons is, from circumstances, peculiarly exposed to temptation, and goes wrong, it is no great stretch of charity for others to conclude that that person, or class, did not begin with worse dispositions than they themselves, who are still without a stain. This is very obvious; but it is to be observed, that the reasoning powers, which are very prompt in mastering any simple scientific proposition, experience a wonderful halting in their logic when applied to the furtherance of charity.

"There is a very homely proverb about the fate of the pitcher that goes often to the water which might be an aid to charity, and which bears closely on the present case. The Spaniards, from

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tion of crime.

treated in a truly divine manner. There is no palliaSometimes our charity is mixed up with a mash of sentiment and sickly feeling, that we do not know where we are, and what is vice and what is virtue. But here are the brief stern words, 'Go, and sin no more;' but, at the same time, there is an infinite consideration for the criminal, not however as criminal, but as human being; I mean, not in respect of her criminality, but of her humanity.

"Now, an instance of our want of obedience to these Christian precepts has often struck me in the not visiting married women whose previous lives will not bear inspection. Whose will? Not merely all Christian people, but all civilized people, ought to set their faces against this excessive retrospection.

"But if ever there were an occasion on which men (I say men, but I mean more especially women), should be careful of scattering abroad unjust and severe sayings, it is in speaking of the frailties and delinquencies of women. For it is one of those things where an unjust judgment, or the fear of one, breaks down the bridge behind the repentant, and has often made an error into a crime, and a single crime into a life of crime.

"A daughter has left her home,-madly, ever so wickedly, if you like; but what are too often the demons tempting her onwards, and preventing her return the uncharitable speeches she has heard at home; and the feeling she shares with most of us, that those we have lived with are the sharpest judges of our conduct.

"Would you, then, exclaims some reader or hearer, take back and receive with tenderness a daughter who had erred? 'Yes,' I reply, if she had been the most abandoned woman upon earth.'

"A foolish family pride often adds to this uncharitable way of feeling and speaking, which I venture to reprehend. Our care is not that an evil and an unfortunate thing has happened, but that our family has been disgraced, as we call it. Family vanity mixes up with and exasperates rigid virtue. Good Heavens! if we could but see where disgrace really lies, how often men would be ashamed of their riches and their honours; and would discern that a bad temper, or an irritable disposition, was greatest family disgrace that they possessed."

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"There," said Aunt Lizzy, laying down the book, "that is the true spirit in which this great evil is to be dealt with; there is all the power of Christian gentleness in it."

JESTS.

Be not scurrilous in conversation, nor satirical in thy jests; the one will make thee unwelcome to all company, the other pull on quarrels, and get the hatred of thy best friends; for suspicious jests, when any of them savour of truth, leave a bitterness in the minds of those which are touched. I have seen many so prone to quip and gird, as they would rather lose their friend than their joke. These nimble fancies are but the froth of wit.-Lord Chancellor Burleigh.

(ORIGINAL.)

GOOD WORKS.

How shall we climb to Heaven?
How seek the path aright?
How use the essence given

To trim Earth's temple-light?
Oh! not by lips that pour

The tones of Faith alone ;"Good Works" must live before The true disciple 's shown.

Ye leaders of mankind,

With precepts loudly heard, Oh! let your conduct bind Example with your word. Shame to the holy teacher

Whose life we dare not scan ; Though language forms the preacher, "Tis "good works " make the man.

It is not well to say,

Our lowly race is run

In far too narrow way

For great deeds to be done.

Let fair Intention move

The heart to do its best;

And little, wrought in love,

Is "good work" great and blest.

Relax the warrior gripe,

Turn swords to reaping-hooks, Melt bullets into type,

Bend spears to shepherds' crooks;
Sow fields with yellow wheat,
Instead of crimson limbs,

And such "good work" shall meet
A people's grateful hymns.

Build the school-house wall,
up

Where Infancy and Youth May hear God's echoes fall

From Knowledge, Hope, and Truth.

Twine on the social band

That ties us to each other;
Let such "good work" expand,
Till man to man is brother.

Let Woman have her share
Of reason unreviled,

Till those ordained to bear

Are fit to guide the child.

Let Woman fairly take

The place she's born to fill,

And such "good work" shall make
Our great sons greater still.

Let nations trample down
The flag of savage strife;
Let Peace and Justice own
That Love is King of Life.

Let Wisdom onward march,

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DIAMOND DUST.

GENIUS lights its own fire, but it is constantly collecting materials to keep alive the flame.

EVERY difference of opinion is not a difference of principle.

CARNAL joy, like a land-flood, is muddy and furious, and soon gone, leaving nothing behind but pollution and marks of ruin; spiritual joy resembles a pure, perennial stream, which adorns and enriches the grounds through which it flows.

MAN wastes his mornings in anticipating his afternoons, and he wastes his afternoons in regretting his mornings.

THE greater part of the goodness at any time in the world is the goodness of common character; the chief part of the good work done must be done by the multitude.

EVERYTHING useful or necessary is cheapest; walking is the most wholesome exercise, water the best drink, and plain food the most nourishing and healthy diet; even in knowledge, the most useful is the easiest acquired.

INTENSE mental activity, steadily directed to some leading pursuit, is the source of all distinction.

TALENT is the union of invention with execution. RIGHT in one thing becomes a preliminary toward right in everything; the transition is not distant, from the feeling which tells us that we should do harm to no man to that which will tell us that we should do good to all men.

COMPLY with some humours, bear with others, but

serve none.

COURAGE ought to have eyes as well as arms.
CAUTION is the lower story of prudence.

GROSS jealousy is distrust of the person loved; delicate jealousy is distrust of one's self.

PHILANTHROPY is often not the love of man, but the love of being thought to love him.

ALL men need truth as they need water; if wise men are as high grounds where the springs rise, ordinary men are the lower grounds which their waters nourish.

THERE are some persons on whom virtue sits almost as ungraciously as vice.

MEASURE not thyself by thy morning shadow, but by the extent of thy grave.

IF life be a curious web, which each man and woman are obliged to weave, why should not a thread of gold run through the woof?

A WISE gardener will take care that a too-powerful heat do not draw up from the root an excess of the vital fluid, and injure the delicate plant for ever.

MAN is just when he does not appropriate to himself more merit than belongs to him, or rob another of what is his due.

IT may often be a man's duty to persevere in a profession to which he feels a strong disinclination, but no man ought to enter into a way of life for which he is conscious of an insurmountable incapacity.

THE best means to learn our faults is to tell others of theirs; they will be too proud to be alone in their defects, and will seek them in us, and reveal them to us.

Printed by Cox (Brothers) & WYMAN, 74-75, Great Queen Street, London; and published by CHARLES COOK, at the Office of the Journal, 3, Raquet Court, Fleet Street.

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DRILL!

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 8, 1851.

WONDERFUL is the magic of The Drill! Look at that serried rank of men marching along to the sound of martial music, with a tread that makes the earth shake. In an instant, at the sound of a bugle, they advance, retreat, form in line, in square, in close column; they pile bayonets; are "beat to quarters," prime, load, and fire, with wonderful dexterity; or they march steadily against vollied fire, against, belching cannon, up fortress heights, and beat their heads against bristling bayonets, as on the breach of Badajoz.

Yet these men-what are they? These very soldiers, so valorous, so complete, so consummately disciplined, that the earth vibrates to their march, as at the tread of a god,-were once tailors, shoemakers, clodhoppers, delvers, and weavers, many of them gaol-birds, the very scum and sweepings of society; and now, their gait is that of heroes; they are full of power and might; and hearts throb, and pulses quicken, as they march along to "Rule Britannia," or "The British Grenadiers." You see in all this a striking exemplification of the wonderful results of Drill.

Here is a soldier,-a veteran,-covered with medals; his face bronzed, his lips compressed, his gait firm and martial, his figure erect. He was not always so. But a few years back, he was a lubberly lout holding the plough-stilts, his mouth gaping, his shoulders stooping, his feet straggling, his arms and hands like great fins swinging by his side; but now see how cleverly he handles his musket, and how perfectly disciplined he is at every point. That fellow, at the word of command, would storm any breach, mount any barricade, and venture on the most desperate deed of valour.

An unruly mob meets, talks loudly, proceeds to outrage, and the cry rises up on the outskirts of the crowd, "The soldiers are coming!" or, "The police!" and straightway, on the half a dozen men in red or blue coats making their appearance, there is a rush on all sides to escape, and the riot is quelled at once. It is no unfrequent occurrence for two or three policemen to make a dash at a mob of thousands, and for a moment they are engulphed, as if lost. But watch the issue. The crowd separates, disperses, flies before them.

Each policeman seizes one or

[PRICE 14d.

more prisoners, and bears them off to the policeoffice. Is the crowd then composed entirely of cowards? By no means! Take any one of that flying crowd, dress him in the soldier's or the policeman's coat, and subject him to the Drill, and you will see him, like any soldier or policeman, dare, singlehanded, to face a violent mob, and seize his prisoner from among them! It is discipline, together with the power of The Law, which exercises, on occasions such as that to which we refer, so potent an influence.

Drill means discipline, training, education. The first drill of every people is military. It has been the first education of all nations. The duty of obedience is thus taught on a large scale; submission to authority; united action under a common head. Barbarism is thus organized; nations are disciplined and prepared for better things. Even the drilling of the barbarian hordes of Russia by their Czar, for purposes of military ambition and conquest, may, in the order of Providence, be the appointed way by which the nations of the East are yet to be led towards higher civilization and freedom.

Con

Nations, as they grow older, adopt other methods of discipline. The drill becomes industrial. quest and destruction give place to production in its many forms. The Industrial Drill has this year had its grand review in Hyde Park :-that is the representation of the grand army of Europe. See what trophies it has won, what labours it has performed, what patient industry it has exhibited. The captains of Industry are the greatest leaders of this age.

There was not a department of the Exhibition but showed the perfection of Drill in the art of profitable production. In the machine-room, you might see how skilled mechanics and artizans guided, directed, and controlled those wonderful machines for spinning, weaving, cutting, printing, pumping, twisting, and carving. All was perfect discipline,-the hand and the eye being trained to precision and skill,-the movements of the workers were quick, but steady, prompt, but unhurried. What the results of that precision and skill are, you might see in the tapestry, the carpets, the cotton-prints, the muslins, the silks, and the woven fabrics of all kinds, which filled so large a space in the Exhibition. Go into Yorkshire and Lancashire, and you find armies of these labourers at work, where the discipline is perfect, and the results,

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