those of Pasta or Velluti, poor
fellow!--more satisfying to the ear,--but none, I believe, so satisfying
to the heart; none that so surely lifts you off your feet, and blinds
and deafens you to all defects, and sets you wandering far away through
the empyrean of musical sounds, till you are lost in a labyrinth of
triumphant harmonies. The sad, mournful intonations of Velluti may bring
tears into your eyes, but you are never transported beyond yourself by
his piteous wailing.

And yet, if you will believe me, this woman has just been called out of
bed to a London audience, who, instead of paying a guinea or half a
guinea to hear her in opera, are paying only 2_s._ 6_d._ a head to hear
her let off "God s_h_ave the King!" like a roll of musical thunder. She
appears "in _dish-abille_" as they call it here, and in _tears_. And why
is she summoned? Because the _sufferin'_ people, having understood that
she shares the house, insist on having their half-crowns and sixpences
returned. It has been quite impossible to hear a word, ever since they
were informed that she had been taken suddenly ill, and was not allowed
to appear by her medical attendants. But what of that? Dead or alive, a
British audience must have her out. And so a great banner was lifted on
which was inscribed "Catalani sent for!" and then, after a while, as the
uproar continued, and the outcries grew more violent, and the white
handkerchiefs more and more stormy and threatening, another inscription
appeared, "Catalani coming!" And lo! she comes! and comes weeping. But
the people refuse to be comforted. And why? Because of their
disappointment? Because of their passion for music? No indeed; but
because they are told that she is to go snacks with the manager; and,
her parsimony being proverbial, they are determined to rebuke it in a
liberal spirit. Pshaw!

These people pretend to love music, and to love it with such a devouring
passion that nothing less than the very best will satisfy them, cost
what it may. Yet the opera-house, with the patronage of the royal
family, the nobility, and the gentry, and open only twice a week, is
never full even at the representation of the finest works of genius; and
when such an artist as Catalani is engaged at one of the theatres, and
the people are admitted for theatre prices, the first thing they do,
after crowding the house to suffocation, is to call for "God save the
King," or, if Braham is out, for "Kelvin Grove." Enthusias