of time, may be positively injurious, increasing rather than remedying the mental defects. For instance, if a person has already a morbid sensibility, if he is already infirm of purpose, having hardly force of character enough to get his regular lessons if he is a student, or perform his regular duties on the farm or in the shop if he is called to labour, it is plain that the lighter species of literature will be injurious to him. What he needs is solid thought, to brace his mind up to the regular performance of his duty. Again, if a student is so unfortunate as to have his mind set on fire by party spirit in politics or religion, and if the reading of a paragraph in the newspaper or a controversial phmphlet is sufficient to set his feelings all in a blaze, then it is evident that he had better abstain from that kind of reading. What he needs is, the tranquillizing effect of a higher and a purer literature.

Books contain for the faithful seeker a treasure of untold value. They contain the collected wisdom of ages unimpaired. The "Iliad" flourishes as green now as on the day when Pisistratus stamped upon it its present order. Plato still speaks, in the language of the immortals, the lessons of philosophy. The "Eneid" is

MUSICAL AUDIENCES.

BY E. HISCOCK MALCOLM.

is pursued to the sounds of the voices of many revellers, singing joyous songs! Johann Strauss is the son of the famous Strauss, the composer of the best modern dance music. At Vienna Johann Strauss is as popular as Coote at the balls of the London season. Strauss is also the conductor, par excellence, of le danse at Paris and other continental cities. A valse is his inspiration; a polka "the spirit of his dream"; a quadrille a walking vision with him. Johann Strauss, in personal appearance, is the beau ideal of a professional musician. He handles his violin with a weird-like grace, and his pale wan features become irradiated with the light of genius, as his bow calls up the voluptuous and fascinating airs, which excite the action of the Annen dance. Strauss indicates by the movements of his bow precisely the time that must be kept by his orchestra. He does not flourish the concert-stick: he ma

the prima-donna assoluto of the season, where she came from, what her true place is in the gaseous firmament in which she lives and moves and has her being; he knows whither the stellar phenomenon is trending, when she will reach her perihelium-and when also she will be "put out" altogether. These are the reflections which pass through my mind when I am in the society of the Flaneurs. I too, like them, delight to observe the movements of the stage-constellations. It is not only what they sing or say so brilliantly, but what they do so engagingly, that attracts my attention. Now, at Bottesini's Covent Garden concerts the other night, what think you amused me most? To watch Jetty Treffz run backwards and forwards, after her song had been sung, to receive the applause of her enthusiastic audience; to see Sarolto on the same mission; or Eracleo trip, like a fairy, over and over again along the estrade which leads from the platform of the orchestra to the coulis-nipulates his violin bow; and every performer ses behind, giddy with the plaudits of their friends. What are the syrens whispering into the willing ears of the musicians nearest to them, as they pass to and fro? Jetty Treffz as I fancy-all smiles and grace-bends to the first violin, and directs him to change the accompaniment for the encore, and to give the keynote to "The Last Rose of Summer." But who is the Ossian to inform us of the nature of the small-talk that must surely pass between our theatrical favourites behind the scenes? Does Titiens drink sherbet, and banter Trebelli on her break-down in the barcarole? Does Gardoni quaff from a tankard and abuse Sims Reeves? does the new Italian baritone inquire for geneva, and express an inquietude of mind as he hears at the wing the voice of Santley? Such our fancies and possibly the considerate editress of this magazine will allow them to fill a column, and pass current, if only as the fancies of an opera habitué infatuated with his favourites!

I recognized this season most of the old faces among the "cent-guard" of the Covent Garden orchestra: Barret, of the oboe; the two Collins', violinists; Harpers, trumpeters; Nicholson and Pratten, flautists. However, I missed the venerable player on the big trum of Distin, who used to wield the drumstick with the air of a field-marshal. Levy, the cornet-à-piston player, was not in his accustomed seat, being a perennial plant at present flourishing elsewhere. But now for the dance music! What says the Duke of Bourbon to the Dauphin, in King Henry V."?

"They bid us to the English dancing schools And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos."

Such teachings are now in the hands of the talented German musician, Johann Strauss, for the instruction of his English friends. What a splendid masterpiece of dance music is the new choral waltz ("The Beauties of the Danube"), in which the mazy dance

can tell, by watching the rapid rising and falling of the latter, in the astonishingly facile hand of Strauss, when to strike in with his peculiar instrument. He, like his father Johann, is a composer, one of his best valses having been recently produced at Vienna.

Although the dance music at the Covent Garden concerts was certainly the finest that has hitherto been heard in this country, it was by no means the chief attraction. The valses and polkas and boleros of Strauss vied with the excellent selections and fantasias from Gounod and Verdi, the overtures and symphonies of Meyerbeer and Gounod, and the classicalities of the older masters. No one can dispute the quality and excellence of Gounod's last new opera "Romeo and Juliet"; the delicious "Queen Mab" music, and the gay and spirited nuptial march_(omitted in the opera as played at Covent Garden) were the most exquisite portions of M. Bottesini's selections. We thought it singular, however, that the beauties of Gounod's "Romeo and Juliet" music were by no means so generally recognised as might have been expected. The audience were apathetic. Wherefore?

It was curious to observe, during Alfred Mellon's last season, which was prolonged from autumn to winter, one peculiarity in the appearance of the always thronged audiences. This was as regarded the changes in the "gents' and ladies' fashions." In the early autumn the light colours and habiliments of summer gave to the promenade a bright and pleasant aspect; but, as the season advanced and mellow October merged in drear November and drearier winter, we saw the butterflies of summer-life under different external conditions; the light-coloured silks and muslins of the ladies disappeared, and black silks and satins and cloth habits were worn; the white hats and white waistcoats of the gentlemen disappeared in favour of black hats and dark paletots and great coats; in short, the chameleons of society had changed their colour, and they who were wont to gaily disport in the beated atmosphere or temperature of

KINDLY JEM.

BY ADA M. KENNICOTT.

One day Jem had leave to gather bilberries. He had to go a long way for them; so he rose early in the morning, and, as soon as breakfast was over, his mother put some bread and butter and cold boiled eggs into a basket for his dinner, and he started merrily off. He had not gone far, when he saw a tiny gosling lying in the waggon-track, and seeming quite forlorn and helpless.

See here, my fine fellow !" cried he, "what is the matter with you?"

The gosling looked up at him, but only replied" Squeak! squeak!"

"A pretty story that!" said Jem; "but, as it seems we can't talk together, I'll help you what I can, without."

time," replied Jem, and went whistling on his way.

Soon he came to a wood, rustling with green, cool leaves, and so full of sweet flowers and gay birds that he thought, surely, here could be no trouble for him to aid, nothing but enjoyment. But, toward the end of it, hearing a great screaming and fluttering, and looking about for the cause, he saw a large company of birds gathered around a thorn-bush.

"Heigh-ho!" cried he, "what ails you, my friends?"

The birds screamed and fluttered all the more when he came near, for fear of him; but he soon saw that a poor young robin, trying to fly down from the tree, had got caught among the prickly bushes. He helped it out, and then ran off, without waiting for Redbreast's song of thanks. As he neared another farm-house, he heard a desolate "Peep! peep!" which made him look So he took up the poor little creature, and about him. Again he heard "Peep! peep! carried it in his arms till he came to a farm-peep!" and, by following the sound, after much house, where a little girl, who was standing by the gate, claimed it for hers. "But," said she, "I have a lame foot, and could not go to look for it. I am so glad it is found, and I thank you so much! What can I do for you?"

"Oh, help some other poor creature, some

careful searching he found a tiny chicken, that had strayed from its mother, and wandered about till it was tired nearly to death. Its poor wings drooped, and it had nestled down in the grass to die.

"You should not give it up so, little one,"

said Jem; "Madam Hen is somewhere about, | Jack used to tell me that the same God who I'll be bound."

-heigh-ho! what a fine song!" he cried, as a little robin lit on one of the tall bushes, and began singing away as if his heart was so full of joy that he could not keep still.

"Are you the same fellow that I helped out of trouble this morning? I believe you are the very same, speckled breast and all, come to give me thanks, and say you are sorry that you helped make me late. Well, never mind; we'll have a good time yet. You shall sing while I gather berries, and who knows but we may fill the basket, after all."

The bird seemed noways frightened at Jem's long speech, but hopped along the ground on its straight, stiff, little legs, and dived so eagerly after the snails and worms that lay hidden in the grass, that our friend laughed in spite of his hunger and weariness.

"You mean to fill yours, at least," he said, "and set a good example for an idle fellow like

me."

Whether or not the robin was the same Jem had helped, he liked to fancy so. It stayed by him for some time, cheering him by its songs and odd, busy ways. There were not many bilberries here; indeed, they were mostly red berries and unfit for eating; so, when redbreast flew away, the boy pushed further into the bog, where they grew thickly, and soon he could no longer see the bottom of the basket for the rich, blue-black clusters. Then he began, in fancy, to dispose of them. These he would give to his mother; but next day, if he could get leave, he would come again with a larger basket-yes, and bring this one, tooand fill them both with berries, which he would take to town and exchange for something very What should it be? A new calico dress for his mother, or a pair of shoes for himself to wear to Sunday-school?

nice.

The dress, of course; for only last Sunday his mother stayed home from church for want of one; and he could go barefoot till he earned the shoes in some other way. Very busy and very happy was Jem, thinking how much money he would be able to earn as he grew older, and how, some day, he might have enough to keep his mother in a nice house, with neat calico dresses for every-day wear, and a silk one for Sundays, pushing on through the thick bushes to pick the great berry clusters, never noticing that clouds were sailing up, full of big drops that were getting ready to come down and moisten the hot, dry earth. But at length he heard the thunder speaking, "yet a great way off," telling of the work that must be done in filling up the brooks and rivers, and washing the grass-blades, leaves, and corn-stalks, and saw that the clouds were shutting away the sunbeams, so that the air was cool and fresb, and that it was growing quite dark. Jem cast a sorrowful glance at his basket, not yet full.

"We must be going, friend," said he; "but, if it does not cloud too fast, I'll pick by the way. Here is a nice path; and if it does rain, why, the berries and I will get ourselves well washed, I suppose."

The

But the path did not come to the wood as soon as he thought it would, and the clouds grew blacker and blacker. At last he found an open space, covered with soft, thick grass, and with bushes growing thickly about it. This, he judged, must be near the wood; but the storm came up so fast, with such a strong wind, that he thought best to stop there. So he bent the bushes around, making quite a close shelter, and then crept into his leafy house to wait till the storm should be over. I dare say some boys would have been sadly frightened at thought of being alone in the woods during a thunderstorm, but Jem had been better taught. rain spoke to him of God's love, as well as the sunshine. He knew that all the trees, and plants, and flowers, and fields, had been thirsting for it a long time; that the little brooks would once more go singing over the pebbles, and there would now be water enough to turn the mill-wheel which had so long stood idle. So, though he would no doubt much rather have been at home in his snug chamber under the rafters, where he knew the rain-drops made soft, cooing music on the roof, yet he was not afraid, even when the sky grew dark, and the thunder crashed heavily, and the air was pierced by the red tongues of the lightning, but closed his eyes, and thought of the sweet words he had learned at Sunday-school

"Him no danger e'er can harm

Who cradled lies within Thine arm."

Down came the shower, swift and blinding, with a noise like the rush of mighty wings, and, even in his leafy shelter, our friend was drenched with rain. By-and-bye, however, the drops fell slower and slower, then ceased entirely; the clouds broke away, and the sun shone forth in a flood of glory. But it was quite low, would soon be below the hills, and Jem was far from home; so he hastened away, without stopping, as was his wont, to hear the bursts of music with which the birds were greeting the sunset. Nevertheless, the stars were throbbing in the sky, and the twilight shades were folded closely down over the earth when he gained the road. The way, as he passed the milestones, seemed to grow longer instead of shorter; for he was getting all the time more weary and hungry. At last, just as it seemed to him he could go no farther, he espied the light in the cottage window. Joy lent him new strength, and even quickened his footsteps as he passed the familiar waymarks, till, ere long, he had reached his humble but cheerful home, and returned his mother's joyful greeting. Their plain supper of bread and fresh milk was sauced with Jem's well-earned bilberries, and, after this and their simple devotions, he gladly sought his little couch, that seemed softer than ever before to his tired limbs.

As he slept he dreamed-changeful dreams; some bright, some troubled. All the creatures he had seen that day seemed to gather around him. There were lambs, with long necklaces of