Now, it was only one voice which sung, and that a soprano. Lord Welwyn touched me and desired me to proceed alone, for he had some instructions to give to his architect, and would follow me in a few minutes. I opened the door cautiously, for fear of disturbing the aria, and was able to glide in unperceived, so intent were the musicians upon their theme. I walked up softly behind them, and got so close to the piano, that I was able to follow the notes with my eye. The music was in manuscript, however, and upon the top bore for title, "Romanza No. 5." Signor Bartolommeo accompanied, and a young lady sang; the maestro rolled his head about and muttered with his lips, as if following the words; his fair companion stood erect beside him, with her left hand resting lightly upon his shoulder, and her right touching the corner of the music. Her voice was the finest I had ever heard. It caught the notes, and rushed with them through an extensive scale, occasionally adding an embellishment to the written score. In some of the highest notes, however, it appeared a little strained, and did not give for it that volume of tone which sported with such luxuriance in the ordinary register; but her lower notes were full and confident, and she poured them forth with increased effect. I therefore supposed she was a mezzo soprano. To describe her person, I may say, that she appeared about nineteen, that she was tall and gracefully formed, that she had a fine, animated countenance. Her cheeks were of a palish hue, which contrasted well with eyes and hair of black. A glance told at once that she was a foreigner. When the piece was near its last bar, I gave a slight cough, that they might be aware of my presence.

"Allow me," said I, addressing the maestro in French, "to thank you for the pleasure you have afforded me. That is indeed a delightful song, who, may I inquire, is the composer?" "One but little known in this country, sir," was the reply. "Italian, I wager, from the style. I am acquainted with most of their music, so perhaps I may remember the composer's name. It sounds as if it were from some opera, but as it is in manuscript, I suppose I am mistaken""

"Indeed you are not," returned the signor, now turning full round to me, while before he had scarcely deigned to lift his eyes from the music, "Indeed you are not, it is from an opera, although it is not yet published." I saw from his expression that my curiosity had pleased him, and instantly concluded that the music was his. I resolved to tickle his vanity, and continued:

"Not yet published! Then I must indeed give in; yet I am anxious to learn the composer's name."

"Signor Bartolommeo, sir, which august personage you behold

seated there," said the girl, laughing, and pointing to the maestro. "It is a scene from a favorite opera of his, the libretto of which is of a tragic nature, being founded upon the "Macbeth" of your Shakespere. The signor never indulges in the buffo style," continued she in French, "though I am sure I have often told him that his forte lay that way, and that Melpomene would never be wooed by him." And she patted him upon the cheek. Just then, Lord Welwyn entered. The young singer's gaity immediately ceased, and a cloud spread over her countenance. I had only time to remark this and wonder at the cause, when my host came up, seized me by the arm, and introduced me to her as, "La Signorina Orfea d'Avila." We bowed. Lord Welwyn, then laughing, said to me, "What think you of our friend's aria,-enough to transport you to Forres at once, is it not? It is written for the first witch, which is not a bad idea, considering the one who has just given it. But can you fancy it for a toothless hag? Yet, for such is it designated in the score; why, the loss of teeth would cause her to sing out of tune, and fancy an old beldame giving such a bravara passage as that."

"Nay, my lord," interposed I, "as for the first matter, the loss of teeth implies no such consequence. Why, the choruses of our immortal Locke are all sung by hags and witches, and where will you find any more descriptive?

Signor Bartolommeo gave me a look of gratitude.

"Locke! your compliment is inopportune. Our maestro would indeed be ill pleased to have himself compared with any English composer, and in truth I must agree with him there. This arises from ignorance, Mr. Long; if ever you visit Italy, your opinion of Locke will suffer a change, I imagine," said he, with a contemptuous sneer.

I made no answer at the time, but, while I am on this subject, it reminds me of the mania in England for everything that is continental, connected with the arts, which so blinds the eyes of our countrymen to native talent, that they imagine nothing good, either in music or painting, can have birth beneath our sky. This prejudice is chiefly fostered by those from whom, considering their education, one might expect quite the reverse. Lord Welwyn's last speech was an instance of this.

"Then, let us have no more of "Macbeth," said he to the poor maestro, "clse I shall be inclined to take the part of Macduff. Come, let us have the terzetto from "I bacchanali di Roma."

The signor and his pupil both gave a look of disappointment, but proceeded at once to arange the music, as desired. When that was done, Lord Welwyn took his part, and the trio began, Bartolommeo accompanying. Lord Welwyn was a very small

tenor, and could with difficulty reach G. However, he kept to his part well.

"I bacchanali di Roma" is by Generali, a very fluent composer, and a great favourite with the Italians, who like easy running music which strikes the ear at once, and does not give them the trouble of thinking. This opera is among the best of Generali; perhaps it is his very best. It was composed for the Lenten festivities at Leghorn, where Lord Welwyn first heard it, when it took his fancy greatly, and he always declared it to be the prince of opere serie. The libretto is something in the style of "Norma." This was some years ago. I now heard it for the first time.

It was in this way that I spent my first evening at Lord Welwyn's. I have given many details which may appear trivial, but as I wish you to be acquainted with the characters I met there, I have considered them necessary. I returned to my

father's full of joy, and with an invitation from Lord Welwyn to visit him as often as I pleased. This I determined to do, as I was passionately fond of music, and had indeed found incitement for it in the maestro and his pupil.

I have just mentioned to you my love for music, and you will remember how I used to scrape on the violin at college, sometimes to the no small annoyance of the proctor, who hated music in any shape, and thought there was nothing worth pursuing on earth but greek and latin. My violin, however, when I returned home, was better managed, and I had a master down from London to give me lessons occasionally. He, discovering that I had a voice, strongly recommended me to take singing lessons, but as he offered to be the master there too, I fancied there was an interested motive in his advice, and contented myself with the violin. Yet he had given me the hint, and one day, when alone, I determined to see if I really had a voice. I succeeded in persuading myself that I had, and henceforth applied myself with assiduity to its cultivation. Above all things, a master is necessary for singing, have as fine a voice and natural talent as you may; but in default of one, I accompanied all my notes with the violin, and thus succeeded in managing my voice, and reading songs difficult enough at first sight. With this knowledge, I was enabled to share in the trios and quartetts which were executed at Lord Welwyn's, and while this gave me further motives for my visits there, it enhanced any pleasure which my company afforded them. Everything favoured me too in this respect; not only was I welcomed at the piano by the maestro and his pupil, but pressed by my father to cultivate such an acquaintance. My visits then to Welwyn House were fully three every week.

We were all seated at dinner there, about a month after my first introduction, and the cloth had just been removed, when the conversation ran upon theatres, Lord Welwyn and Signor Bartolommeo combating an argument of mine, regarding the present state of the English stage. Before two such authorities, one a man of fashion, the other long connected with theatres, I deemed it prudent to give in, as I had had but little opportunity of attending the London play-houses. But the question at issue now, was the comparative merits of our great English actress, Miss F, and of the great French one, Madlle RI contended that our countrywoman was possessed of the highest genius, whether in tragedy or comedy, at the same time conceding that, as an Englishman, prejudice might influence my opinion; my host and the maestro declaring for the foreign lady. The discussion was growing warm, whether it was my stubbornness or Lord Welwyn's hasty temper that kept it afloat, I will not say, when the fair cantatrice stepped in like a good angel, to the relief of our 'riendship.

"But let the merits of your two heroines be as great as you contend," said she, gradually changing the subject, "what say you, Mr. Long, of one who combines with the histrionic powers of both, lyrical talent which can scarcely be surpassed within any opera-house in Europe?"

"Ah!" rejoined Lord Welwyn, "you allude to Miss L-; she undoubtedly possesses talent." "As well as a kind heart," continued Orfea. "A quality," said I, "which sheds increased lustre on the former."

"True, I should like you to become acquainted with her, to judge if such be not really the case," answered the pupil. "Then you know her personally?" inquired I.

"Know her? she is my most intimate friend—we correspond regularly."

"Might I inquire if she resides at present in this country?" "Ah! ah!" laughed forth Lord Welwyn, " she interests you." The maestro dipped a biscuit in his wine, bent over the table, and opened his jaws as wide as an ophicleide.

"Non gli date retta, don't mind what he says."

The signorina did not, and continued: "She does she has an engagement at the theatre in London. Shall I give you an introduction?"

I scarcely knew what to make of this question, our English notions of propriety being so very strict. I stammered forth, however, that there was no probability of my visiting London for some time to come.

"Still, when you do, write to me for an introduction, and I will send you one," said the young lady.

"But, my dear Orfea," suggested our host, smiling, "you cannot expect Mr. Long to carry the name of an actress, whom he has never seen, in his head for any length of time."

"Then I will write down her name and address for him, my lord. Had I a slip of paper, I would do so now."

"Here is a card," said I, taking one from my pocket and pitching it across the table to her, "you can write upon the back."

The pupil took a little gold pencil-case, which hung at her waist, serving the double purpose of watch-key, and wrote upon the card. She then threw it across to me again. I picked it up, and, thanking her, returned it to the case.

This little incident, seemingly so unimportant, caused quite a new light to break upon me. On my way home that evening, I pondered deeply upon the circumstances which gave rise to it, hoping thereby to trace some affinity between the relations of the fair and ingenuous Orfea, with those by whom she was surrounded. Her timely interference in the argument between Lord Welwyn and myself caused an emotion within my heart, which had hitherto been a stranger to it; it was something more than gratitude. I now felt an interest in all that concerned this amiable girl, and her position in the house of Lord Welwyn puzzled me more than all. For what cause could she be there? I knew with what unscrupulous regard some young men, possessed of fortune, pursue an object which can gratify their pleasures, and I knew Lord Welwyn from his conversation to be one of this nature-that his principles of morality were none of the soundest, yet I scouted the idea that he had other than honourable motives for his hospitality towards the signorina.

Probably, he wished to dedicate her to Art, as his offering at the shrine of that goddess? This was strengthened by the fact of Bartolommeo's presence, whose sole occupation appeared to be that of instructing her in music. I remembered, with pleasure too, that she seemed attached to this old man, and on the other hand, that, although he sometimes grumbled at her phrasing and execution, faultless as they were to me, yet a gleam of pride would light his countenance when he heard her extolled. I consoled myself with this latter supposition.

The following evening, Lord Welwyn happened to be absent, and I took the opportunity, when the old maestro was searching among the manuscripts at the other corner of the room for a notturno of his composition, to gather some information from Orfea, respecting that which floated uppermost in my mind, namely, her position in this house. I learnt that her parents were dead; that they had been natives of Florence, but had