afford, compared with that of being able to express one's innermost thoughts on canvas or in melody? The prosy man of business, or merely "muscular Christian," may sneer at such rapture; but as age creeps on, and the more material joys of life lose their charm, those who have cultivated an intellectual source of happiness in early years will have less cause to regret the physical zest of youth than they who considered the pursuit of art as being beneath the dignity of their manhood. Nevertheless, amateurs-musical amateurs, especially are, it must be confessed, more or less a trouble to their friends.

It must be borne in mind that I do not here speak of the power of artists or amateurs of imparting pleasures to others, but of the pleasure they themselves derive from a proficiency in art. It may also be said that these remarks apply to a liberal education generally. As regards the second objection, I believe it to be within the reach of all to cultivate their artistic tastes, whatever advantages of education they may have enjoyed or have been deprived of.

I would not have it supposed that by thus advocating the culture of art, I do so at the sacrifice of the more solid and more serious pursuits of life. All in their turn. The stern necessities of existence being provided for, I contend that the luxury of art as an accomplishment should be a most important consideration with all those who care to enjoy life with the greatest and most enduring relish.

The monotony of our tour consisted in having to go through the same course of travelling, packing and unpacking, eating and drinking, and concert-giving every day, until at last the changes became so regular and so much a matter of course, that we seemed to be moving in a constant circle. The excitement of the people we met at the different towns sometimes surprised us, forgetting, as we did, that they were not so accustomed as we were, to the performances we had now heard so often. During the third week, the music being left behind, Hatton's memory was put to the test, and proved itself equal to the emergency; for he accompanied the whole of the programme by heart-no easy task. An instance of the influence of habit occurred at the same concert. One of the artists, so certain of an encore, returned to the platform to sing his song again without being called upon to do so by the audience. For this encore the public was most certainly not to blame.

Many were the practical jokes played upon the amiable Polonini, who was too goodnatured to allow them to ruffle his temper,

and too knowing always to give us the advantage of him. He was put down to be called at the most unreasonable hours, and directions given to "boots" to be sure and wake him, and keep waking him until he roused and dressed himself. It was done, but the cunning medico-cook-basso (whose occupations, except in his last capacity, had, unfortunately for us, ceased for some time) never grumbled nor said a word of the disturbance to which he had been exposed. A deep-laid scheme was put into execution for filling his room with all the boots and shoes that could be found, at three o'clock in the morning, in Radley's large Adelphi Hotel, Liverpool. The conspirators sat up all night to execute their plan. The boots were collected from outside every door, and most carefully and silently placed on Polonini's bed. He was sound asleep, or rather appeared to be so, for as soon as his friends had retired he quietly rang the bell and desired the night porter to remove the heap that had been piled upon his counterpane. Next morning the laugh was all against the night freebooters, who were thus frustrated in the result of their plans. Polonini was too much for them.

Once, and once only, he was caught in a trap. An anonymous letter was sent him requesting an assignation. Gallantry got the better of prudence, and the chivalrous basso obeyed the wishes of his unknown innamorata. It need hardly be told that his old tormentors were at the rendezvous. Having bribed a most strangely ugly female to represent the letter-writer, they watched from a distance the result of the interview. It was the well-known bridge scene in "Jack Brag" over again. There was no great harm done, and we had a hearty laugh for many a day about the bella incognita.

The tour terminated at Brighton.

The last concert took place at Brighton on Saturday afternoon. The previous evening we had been at Reading. As early as seven o'clock on the Saturday morning the Diva was ready and anxious to start. On every other occasion, when early rising was proposed, it had much annoyed her, although in truth, it must be said, she had never on that account set a bad example to the rest of the party by any want of energy to fulfil the public announcements of her name. There was a special reason for leaving Reading as soon as possible. Many inquiries were indeed made for a train immediately after the evening concert, but it was found that none would reach Brighton sooner than the seven a.m. Consequently by that we travelled.

The journey seemed hopelessly long and tedious, owing to the great desire to get to

Brighton, where, to the joy of Donna Giulia, her three little daughters were all waiting at the station in anxious expectation of our arrival. During the tour they had been staying at Brighton with their governess, whose principal occupation must have been to attend to the voluminous correspondence by post and telegraph that had been kept up with such activity during Donna Giulia's absence. What smiles and kisses were interchanged at that meeting after six weeks' separation! Grisi seemed inspired with new life, and to want nothing to complete her earthly happi

ness.

The concert that afternoon was the most brilliant of all that had been given, although at Reading, in the morning, the Impresario had been assured by the great prima donna she was in very bad voice. Any other manager would perhaps have been greatly alarmed at such a communication. Our hero, however, was-so to speak-weather-wise, and knew that huskiness in the morning was no indication of hoarseness during the day, but rather the reverse. This was invariably the case with the Diva. She would often tell the Impresario she did not think she should be able to sing in the evening. He usually succeeded in turning the conversation into another channel-talked of the last night's performance-of the children (always the best subject to expatiate upon), and after ten minutes' chat, the hoarseness would be forgotten, and all anxiety as to the possibility of singing passed away.

Grisi never failed to appear when she was announced, unless really prevented by serious indisposition ;- -no singer was ever so loyal in her allegiance to the public, although she took delight in frightening the Impresario now and then. It is an innocent amusement often indulged in by prime donne. When in Vienna a few years ago, I met one of the principal artistes of the Kärntherthor Opera House, who told me she had sent word to the theatre that she should not sing that evening.

"Not sing! I exclaimed. "But you are announced, and will not surely disappoint us ?"

"No, I will not disappoint you," replied the fair tantalizer, "only let Mein Herr Direktor think so; - half an hour's bauchzwicken' will do him no harm."

And so it is. An unfortunate Impresario is sometimes made to suffer mortal agony from pure love of mischief on the part of his tormentors, who, after all, rarely do him serious injury willingly. On the contrary, artists often make great sacrifices to serve their managers. It is related of Tamberlik-a

prince of tenors-that he played "Ernani," in Dublin, with a blister on his back. The blister had been sent by the chemist in mistake for a strengthening-plaster which the doctor had prescribed. After the opera, Tamberlik went to his bed in the most intense pain

The

the true cause of which was not suspected. About three in the morning, unable to resist such suffering any longer, he rose and wandered about the hotel until he found the Impresario's room. He entered, and flinging himself down on the sofa, fainted away. blister was removed, and the wound dressed. Notwithstanding all he had undergone, and his weakened condition, the heroic tenor sang in " Lucia" the following evening, rather than allow the Impresario to lose money by a disappointment caused by the prima donna of the company.

The termination of our tour was celebrated by a dinner en grand, at the famous Old Ship Hotel, Brighton. Several friends from London were invited to join the party. Their presence seemed to mar our enjoyment, rather than otherwise, although it is perhaps inhospitable to say so.

To whatever cause it may be attributed, we were certainly more silent than usual; and it was not until after the eating was over, and we had formed ourselves into small coteries round the table, that the conversation became at all animated.

A creaking door once broke the ice for a time. It made a horrid noise, and one of the guests asked the Sultan what key it sounded.

"Oh! that's the door-key," he replied; which being the first attempt at wit, and easily translated moreover, was explained to everybody.

"That's not bad," remarked the Impresario; "but not so good as a repartee I heard a short time ago, very much to my disadvantage."

"What was that?" asked one of the visitors, who was evidently a retailer of witty sayings.

"I was what is commonly called 'chaffing' a young lady about her dress, and, thinking I had gone a little too far, attempted to apologise, by saying it was too bad to roast' her so much. To which she replied with naïveté, that she had no objection to being roasted by a slow fire."

"If that was really impromptu, it is one of the best repartees I ever heard," remarked Hatton.

"It is indeed. I do not think a better could have been made even after twenty-four hours' reflection, which Voltaire, or some one, says is necessary to make a really good joke,” replied the manager.

Many of the foreigners wanted to have the bon mot translated, but "roasted at a slow fire" was too purely English to allow of their curiosity being gratified, so they were thrown back upon the door-key, which was more intelligible in all languages.

THE SKYE FERRY-BOAT.

A Story of Second Sight.

WHEN Dr. Johnson left his pleasant Thrales and his innumerable cups of tea to journey northward to the Hebrides he made those

True, a tinge of romance already appertained to them through the hairbreadth escapes of Prince Charles Edward; but this was insufficient for the English mind of un-Jacobite tendencies, and the adventures of the Doctor and his faithful adherent, balanced, as it were, by their sober and steady character, the wild experiences of the royal Stuart.

It was, perhaps, lucky that the polyglot character of the dinner-party prevented the possibility of conundrums being introduced with any chance of success-had it been otherwise, and had one of guests met with the slightest encouragement, the foregoing conversation might have led up to a series of questions and answers, that would in the end have worn out everybody.

All the party, except Grisi and Mario, who remained in Brighton, were to go to London by the last train.

The melancholy moment at length arrived when the touring party was really to be broken up.

The "happy family" that had been travelling together in such pleasant companionship for the past six weeks, was at last to be separated and dispersed all over the world. Some of the artists were engaged at St. Petersburg, some in Paris-two were to leave in the course of a few days for America.

Three or four cabs laden with luggage were waiting for the departing tourists. The ladies embraced affectionately; Mario presented the Sultan with a handsome snuff-box-souvenir of "Good bye, Sweetheart"-everybody declared they were sorry the tour was over, and after kind wishes on all sides, the cabs drove off, and the manager could finally congratulate himself that his long-laid plans had been brought to a successful termination. He was, indeed, fully justified in doing so, for it is not always that these undertakings finish so agreeably for all concerned, as did this particular Grisi and Mario engagement.

We will not follow the travellers to London. Should we return there, it is impossible to say where the doings of the Enterprising Impresario would lead us, and consequently where this narrative would end. (Concluded.)

And so henceforward the Hebrides held a tradition pleasant to the calm, well regulated English mind; and men loved to think of the great lexicographer, who did not care for scenery, travelling up through the picturesque Highlands and braving the dangers of the sea; for he and Boswell had a rough passage, which the latter did not take to as stoically as his revered chief, who laid himself down in the boat, and bore the transit from mainland to island with the equanimity possible only to a great philosopher. Skye since then is associated with other names than those of Macdonald and McLeod. Honours are divided; and as we think of the majestic Doctor being entertained at the old house at Kingsburgh, and sleeping in the same bed in which the unfortunate prince had slept, the never-tobe-forgotten name of Flora Macdonald links itself pleasantly, if somewhat incongruously, with that of Samuel Johnson, and the sun rises higher upon Skye.

In those days the inhabitants of the island were accounted a temperate race, despite the matutinal glass of whiskey that was their wont; and now-a-days the same may be said of them, despite the continued prevalence of the custom-a custom that finds its excuse in the moist, changeable atmosphere, and in the constant rains that seldom permit more than one day out of four to be dry, the others being varied by gentle showers that refresh the earth, or by floods that burst like waterspouts over field and fallow.

In fact there do not seem to have been any very great changes during the more than ninety years that have elapsed since Dr. Johnson set foot in the Hebrides. Progress has not been the ruling motive, as it has been farther south. There have been no great reform demonstrations amongst the kilted ones; indeed I do not know whether the Hebrideans have any thoughts upon representation, or whether they may not consider it but a shadowy benefit to have a voice in the English government.

by the owner of Dunvegan. Perchance when it has done its duty for the last time, and Titania shall reclaim her gift, then may the belief in fairies, charms, and omens vanish with it from the shores of Skye. But now the north wind blows athwart Loch Shant, and ruffles the waters of Snizort and Bracadale; and the lone shepherd, watching his flocks upon the heather-grown hillsides, fancies that spirits are crooning a wild lament over other days, or are bearing a message from other spirits pent up in blocks of northern ice to their freer brethren amongst the snowcapped mountains of Skye.

But the wind was not sighing now: it had brought fair weather with it out of the north, as in the times of Job; so perhaps the spirits were not so restless in their captivity as usual, and the clouds did not weep for them, though there were a few still floating in the evening

heavens. It was a glorious sunset; and the sun burst through the soft grey fleeces in floods of light, painting the nearer ones with gorgeous colours, and streaking the horizon with broad golden bars that were reflected in the smooth waters below, forming so brilliant a background that the bold coast was sent into darkness, and the ferry-boat seemed to glide like a dark spectre over a fairy sea of glass.

Two girls were watching the boat as it made its way towards the landing-place. They were dressed in the ordinary costume of the Skye peasants, and their scarlet plaids, which anywhere else might have seemed out of keeping in the summer weather, here blended harmoniously with the scene around. They were tall, fair-haired lasses, bearing a sufficient resemblance to one another to be sisters. But they were only sisters' children; and the

"What is the matter, Christy ?" asked her cousin, as Christy suddenly rose to her full height, and shading her eyes with one hand, stretched out the other towards the boat that was slowly approaching.

D'ye see that lassie with the plaid wrapped round her, looking this way?" asked Christy. "It's just my own face looking at me from the glass," and she shuddered.

"Nonsense, Christy, there's no plaided lassie on board; your eyes are strained looking for Donald."

(I give the conversation in my own vernacular.)

"No lassie, Jessie ?" answered her cousin, her voice sinking almost to a whisper; "no lassie? I tell you there is one standing close by Donald; and it's myself, Jessie, myself! Oh! but there is trouble in store."

Jessie drew nearer to her cousin: she was not above the superstitions of the island; she had heard of numerous instances of second sight, and she well knew that it foreboded trouble, if not death.

"D'ye see her now, Christy?" she asked in a scarcely audible voice, as she hid her face on her cousin's shoulder.

"Not now," returned Christy, solemnly. "She's gone, and Donald sees us and is waving his hand. There's nothing wrong with him. Perhaps my eyes were dazed, dear. And there's some one by his side, a man with light hair, and yet the face was sorely like mine."

Jessie looked up half relieved.

"I told you it was but a fancy, Christy." "Maybe," replied Christy, musingly. "I'll try to put it out of my head; but if there had been no one with Donald, I should have been tempted to say——"

"Hush! hush! Christy.

Don't say it;

don't think about it. See, they'll be ashore in a few minutes," and Jessie becaine absorbed in watching the boat land its passengers.

Donald McCrume was one of the first to step ashore, and, followed by the light-haired stranger, made his way to the spot where the two girls were standing.

After the greetings were over, Donald introduced his new friend as Mr. Evanson, a young gentleman from the south, whom he had met with at Glenelg, and who wanted to have a fortnight's shooting and fishing in Skye.

"I told him I was sure my father would give him a lodging," he continued, turning to Jessie, "for there are few inns convenient, and there's room and to spare at Glencraigie."

"And a welcome for all," added Christy,

reply. She was occupied in wondering what could possibly have induced Donald to invite Mr. Evanson, what could have induced Mr. Evanson to accept her brother's invitation; for Mr. Evanson was a gentleman, and they were but farming people.

However, before many hours had passed away, she, and all in the old farm-house, felt as much at ease with the stranger, as if they had known him for years, and as if he were no more of a gentleman than the Skye-farmer, who ploughed his own fields, sowed his own barley, made his own candles, spun his own cloth, and, in fact, carried on multifarious household trades beneath his roof.

-

Perhaps the secret lay in Allan Evanson's being truly a gentleman; and recognising in the unpretending Skye farmer and his family, that inborn element of true nobility which alone places men on a level one with another;that produces a sort of freemasonry, binding together the better part of mankind, and causing the high-born noble to appreciate one of nature's gentlemen in the lowest peasant. The only equality there can ever be upon earth, the equality of soul with soul, born of that innate self-respect which commands respect from those around to the man, as a man, and not as the mere creature of circumstances, whom the accident of birth, or the skill of his tailor, sends forth, to shine with equivocal lustre in the world. For "gentlemen," (I use the term technically,) like heroes, depend a good deal upon their surroundings, often reminding one of the quaint words of the old northern "songsmith: "

one.

I hung my garments
On the two wooden men,
Who stand on the wall.
Heroes they seemed to be
When they were clothed!
The unclad are despised.

Robin McCrume, the father of Donald, was a steady, industrious, intelligent man, who had given his son the best education in his power, though it was necessarily a limited And Donald, in common with his father, possessed a love for the poetic legends and ballads that fell to the share of his native island; which taste further softened and refined his nature, and caused him to appreciate the higher endowments of the young Oxonian, whom he had met with at Glenelg. There was a slight touch of envy mixed with the eagerness with which he listened to his conversation, as he noticed how eagerly Christy listened too, and how her eyes glistened, when, in return for an old Skye song, Allan would recite passages, or even whole poems, of Tennyson,-for Allan was a Tennyson-worshipper,