had been confused by traditional paradoxes should not understand this, He gave a parable, every word of which glows through the thick darkness of Hebraism like a star to guide men aright. The prelate is taken first, and proved to be unable to rise even to the first principle of the religion whose rites he administered. The subordinate official is next displayed, who indicates a lazy concern for distress, but follows the bad example of his superior. But, wonder of wonders, now comes one of the outcasts of the ten tribes; a man all wrong in theology, "for salvation is of the Jews," a man who did not go to the right source to obtain absolution for his sins; a man in whose company the orthodox of his day would not even sit down and eat bread; the Saviour brought forward this schismatic; showed that he practised the doctrine which the orthodox only preached, and finally said to the champion of the orthodoxy of his day "Go, and do thou likewise." To tear away the mask so often assumed, and to put the case plainly, it is this, that doing and not talking is the essence of Christianity. A living and loving belief in Christ as an established reality in the heart, may be a true faith; but a mere verbal assent to formulated dogmas is hardly worth the breath required to pronounce it. Having all charity for the unorthodox, who may yet be more in the right than ourselves, let us have no truce with ourselves when we find that in any matter of love and duty we are "passing by on the other side." The essence of true manhood is brought out in the conduct of the good Samaritan, therefore the Divine counsel is "Go, and do thou likewise." I am not what is called musical; I go it is true to the better class of concerts, but never, I can conscientiously say, applaud pieces I can neither understand or appreciate; nor do I strive to show that I am familiar with the music performed, by moving about when others wish to listen. I never remember raving about the works of Shoepan, (spelt Chopin), or affecting a knowledge of the music of the mysterious Wagner; but Í, in common with many others, love sweet and good music, and in common with many other sufferers, rarely get it in private life. I make this statement not hastily, but deliberately, prompted to the confession by the torture of years. Whenever or wherever I wander, the misery of the pianoforte pursues me, it has become the Frankenstein of my existence. In whatever direction I bend my steps, there the young lady who is said to "play beautifully" is awaiting me; I go to an evening party, she is there; or a dinner party, there again; I am invited to a little social evening, so is she; ubiquitous, that's the word. Were she a migrating genus, passing like the swallow away, how lovingly would I look forward to the autumn; or were she in season only at certain periods like many other things which induce illness, at times I might be happy, but no, she never wearies, is never tired, and is like the Irishman's shillelah always there when she's wanted, and oftentimes when she is not. Oh, Mr. Editor, what have I not suffered, when after a toiling day I have wended my way to smoke the pipe of peace with a friend, and on my arrival have found the performer there with a plethoric roll of music. The bird's eye I had carried and looked forward to, turns to ashes in my mouth, its pleasures ending, metaphorically speaking, in smoke. Then I sit with the silence of despair, knowing only too surely what is in store for me; the suspense is of short duration, for soon, oh too soon! the lady is requested to play something, she refuses at first, strange anomaly! she has been asked fully a week to come and bring her music, and has tortured her neighbours, in the meantime, from morning to night, practising for the occasion, and now she makes it appear she hopes they wont press her. I hope so too, but they do, and she opens the awful roll. "Silent, yet with blinding tears," I notice at least a score of pieces, and making a little calculation find they mean something very like four hours misery. Frequently she selects a piece in which the performer appears to be matched against time, a kind of musical steeple chase; all is hurry scurry, we go along at so great a rate we have no time to notice the beauties (if there be any) on the way; there appears to be nothing distinct, and should a difficult place present itself there is no hesitation or refusing, but we skip over it like a good fencer; probably we land in the middle of a bar, but no matter, on we go till a chord is struck, and the piece is pulled up short; then etiquette compels you to murmur thanks, if you neglect to do so, you are instantly put down as a man without soul. Being expected to exhibit an interest, you ask, in tones in which anguish struggles desperately for the mastery, the name of the piece, "Cascade of Dahlias" or some such name, is the answer. are now recognized as a kindredspirit, and asked if "you know "Rippling Puddles,' by A. Sccavenger, it is so beautiful!" "Play it" says some meddling idiot; no second invite is needed this time. This piece is like an uncomfortable nightmare, you move about without getting at any definite result, whilst a feeling of misery perpetually haunts you, it comes at last to an end, and like a horrible dream leaves a disagreeable flavour behind it. Then will follow "Showers of Onyxs's," "Silver Opheclides," &c., &c. Oh Broadwood, Erard, Collard & Collard, what have ye not to answer for! The torture and the torturers take various shapes, for there are many species of the same genus, all giving, under the guise of music, the most cruel of agonies Look and listen, my fellow sufferers, to the brilliant player, watch her as she moves towards the instrument with a confident smile, see how she screws or unscrews the music stand with a master hand, and then proceeds to run over the keys in a dreamy way, as if she hadn't made up her mind what to play, thus giving the idea that she is in the habit of composing and extemporising: the professionals always do it, there is the reason she should do so. This farce over she begins You with an awful crash, shewing great strength of wrist, then comes another crash which goes through you, for the chords are usually wrong, then comes a pause, during which you realise the awfulness of your position, then more bangs and myriads of uncertain runs. Often it happens the player becomes too brilliant, i.e., the faults become too glaring, then open goes the loud-pedal, which at once throws a dense fog over the performance, during which the player gets as near right as possible, and finishes with success. Zoologists tell us certain fish colour the water around them, when in difficulties, with a dark liquid they secrete, during which process they escape; the loud-pedal answers this purpose with the brilliant player. Then there is the uncertain player, I do not mean that it is uncertain whether she plays or not, there is never any doubt about that, but she has not the remotest idea whether she is playing on the right or wrong notes except from her bump of locality, which shews her to a few inches, where on the key board she is expected to strike. Having this only to guide her she is a little uncertain; she usually plays in a hushed, slurring kind of way, as if playing were a crime punishable by law, (I would it were) and is afraid of being caught at it; her movements, like those of comets, are uncertain, her chords more uncertain still, with both pedals open she meanders along, choosing pieces which resemble a kitchen towel, one part is so like the other, with no apparent end, and which can be brought to a conclusion as well at one part as another. Look at the light and shade player who adores Charles Hallé, dotes on Reinkee, calls Arabella Goddard-a dear! and is heard constantly raving that classical music is what she loves most in life. She plays Mendelssohn's lovely songs without the slightest conception of their meaning, disregards all expression marks of the composer, and puts in her own, in a style never dreamt of by the melodious German. Usually she commences softly, so softly there is nothing distinguishable,, following come a couple of bars very loud, played in a powerful manner the next three are left to the imagination for they are not heard, the following few are terrific; this is light and shade. At the same time she makes it painfully evident she is of the opinion that "Time was made for slaves," and treats it with contempt accordingly. Amid the boundless tortures, pleasant it is to meet, and I have met, those who play music which for the time lifts one altogether out of the cares and strife of the every day world, and awakens old memories. Nothing can be more delightful than to listen, after a hard day's work, to such playing, the more delightful for its rarity. There is said to be good in everything, so probably the torturer's mission is to make us enjoy good music more thoroughly when we hear it. I have said this much on behalf of myself and fellow sufferers, whose name is legion. I greatly fear some of your lady readers will call my writing rubbish, and its writer by an uglier name: others who have suffered will give me their sympathies, which, combined with yours Mr. Editor, will lead me to grumble in some future number, as I have grumbled now, not without a cause. J. A. LIGHT PAPERS ON HEAVY SUBJECTS. Of course you attended the last Midland Institute Conversazione! So did I! And equally as a matter of course, you braved the perils of the middle passage and emerged triumphantly from the mysterious green-baized caverns, through a first-floor window, and found yourself at last, safe and sound, in the gorgeous and picturesque Lecture Room. So did I ! I may say, however, sub rosa, that my sole object in submitting to the martyrdom of a dress coat and tight boots, was to hear the celebrated Professor Water, on the Brain,-Phrenology being one of my favourite subjects. Some people are attracted by chemistry, others by dancing; every one to his taste, but mine does not lie in the way of the former, and my rheumatic tendencies forbid indulgence in the latter. You will, doubtless, recollect that in order to allay the impatience of the audience when waiting for the lecturer, who was a little behind time, a gentleman (himself one of our local institutions) made his appearance on the platform with a huge directory in his hands, and gravely announced his intention to read a few pages pour passer le temps. I was the unfortunate individual who laughed so immoderately as to attract the attention of Mrs. Prim, who immediately pointed me out to her friend, Mrs. Grundy, as "that vulgar little man with the spectacles." Some men are ambitious for public distinction, but I am naturally modest and of a retiring disposition. I was actually alarmed at my own cachinnation, but I could not possibly avoid it. The idea not only tickled my fancy then, but recurred to me so frequently afterwards, that I resolved to study that interesting work, with a view to an article for the Magazine. Accordingly, a few evenings ago, I armed myself (literally) with one of Kelly's publications from my office library, and in due course arrived at Geranium Villa, full of my important resolve. As I entered my modest dining-room, my wife, who immediately caught sight of the ponderous tome under my arm, exclaimed in her usual impulsive manner, “O Alfred dear! have you really brought me a new novel?" "Yes love!" I replied, "a most comprehensive work of great research, full of concise description, no love passages; and all in one volume!" and in a moment its pages were displayed to her wondering, and I must add, indignant gaze. "Good gracious!" she almost shrieked, "what on earth are you going to do with that hideous book?" My dear," I returned, determined to preserve my temper, "Maria, my dear, I do wish you would restrain your feelings and abstain from the use of such exaggerated adjectives; the fact is, I have an idea-” "An idea! is it possible? What shall you do with it? But seriously and sensibly, if possible, do tell me what you are going to do with the Birmingham Directory." 66 66 Maria, the mind of man is so constituted that-" "Now please don't Alfred! that's the debating society style-Mr. Chairman and gentlemen and all that sort of thing, you know; the Session is over now, do let me have a little rest, and answer a simple question." "Well then, seriously, simply and sensibly, I am going to turn it into poetry." "Poetry! ha ha! poetry! a poetical directory!" and she looked at me as if she really thought there was a suspicious wildness about my eyes. "Why, Alfred, you never wrote a line of poetry in your life! rhymes I'll admit, perhaps. You will be making a rhyming dictionary next, and then we shall have Bradshaw in hexameters !" "Exactly, my dear! that is precisely my intention: and I may tell you, in confidence, that I have already made considerable progress with the Poetical Railway Guide. Indeed, I flatter myself that I shall obtain a good round sum for the copyright. I am even ambitious enough to believe that my name will be inscribed on the scroll of fame, and descend to posterity side by side with our most illustrious poets." "O bother posterity!" said my wife; "if I did not know that you are a Good Templar I should really fancy that-that-well, you know what I mean." “Base and unworthy suspicions! and from the lips of the wife of my bosom!" I exclaimed. "Oh! this is too much! too much!" (and I actually heard her say sotto voce, "a drop too much evidently.") After a terrible mental struggle, however, I conquered my feelings, and with a superhuman calmness which only those who know me well would have given me credit for, I said, (summoning Shakespeare to my aid,) "Mrs. G.!" hear me for my cause, and be silent that you may hear! or in other words, get your tatting, my love, and listen quietly to a few extracts; and then, if you still condemn me, I will cremate my manuscript and forswear authorship for ever." Accordingly, impressed apparently with my earnestness, and sympathising, perhaps, with the novelty of an idea having occurred to me, she resumed her seat, whilst I endeavoured to show her how delightful it would be to replace a dull, confused conglomeration of figures, asterisks, dashes, hands, daggers, a.m.'s and p.m.'s, with an attractive and entertaining volume that would convey the information required in pleasing and musical language. These are a few of the extracts to which I drew her attention : -THE RAILWAY STATION. (After Longfellow.) No. I. This is the railway terminus. The taciturn guards and the porters, |
