This was a cheerful question.

66

Pretty good, I think. What have you got to give me?" "A kind of Pollonius supper-cold meat and bread, and, well, for drink, you shall name your own liquor from two." "The cold meat is good enough, and for drink, beer will suit me as well as anything."

"Stay, Mr. Harte, the banquet to which I now invite you is one of dread; you are yourself the meat, and your blood is the drink, enter and enjoy."

But as he said these words in a calm and unruffled voice, with almost a smile on his face, and a half melo-dramatic air, I thought he had at last gone quite out of his senses, and not fearing a madman, I acceded to his invitation, and passed through a door in the wall which he had suddenly flung open.

LOVE versus LEARNING.

LAS, for the blight of
my fancies!
Alas, for the fall of my pride!
I planned, in my girlish romances,
To be a philosopher's bride.

I pictured him learned and witty,
The sage and the lover combined:
Not scorning to say I was pretty,
Nor only adoring my mind.

No elderly, spectacled Mentor,

But one who would worship and woo:
Perhaps I might take an inventor,
Or even a poet would do.

And tender and gay and well-favoured
My fate overtook me at last :

I saw, and I heard, and I wavered;
I smiled, and my freedom was past.

He promised to love me for ever,

He pleaded, and what could I say?
I thought he must surely be clever,
For he was an Oxford M.A.

But now I begin to discover
My visions are fatally marred :
Perfection itself as a lover,

He's neither a sage nor a bard.

He's been through the usual knowledge,
And says it's a terrible bore;
He formed his opinions at college,

Then why should he think any more.

My logic he sets at defiance,

Declares that my Latin's no use, And when I begin to talk science, He calls me a dear little goose.

He says that my lips are too rosy
To speak in a language that's dead,
And all that is dismal and prosy,
Should fly from so sunny a head.

He scoffs at each grave occupation,
Turns everything off with a pun,
And says that his sole calculation
Is how to make two into one.

He says Mathematics may vary,
Geometry cease to be true,
But scorning the slightest vagary,
He still will continue to woo.

He

says that the sun may stop action, But he will not swerve from his course;

My love is his law of attraction,

My smile, his centripetal force.

His levity's truly terrific,

And often I think we must part;
But compliments so scientific
Recapture my fluttering heart.

Yet sometimes 'tis very confusing,
This conflict of love and of lore:

But hark! I must cease from my musing,
For that is his knock at the door!

C. C. W. NADEN.

WAGNER IN LONDON.

LTHOUGH the season of noble and polite society in London is yet young, many events have already contributed towards making it one of unusual brilliancy; one that will be remembered for many years to come. It is by occurrences political, social, scientific, or otherwise, that the spirit and tone of society is governed, and those we allude to as having conveyed a cheerful and lively character to the present London season are numerous and various. But it is alone with one of these that we have here to deal. The musical world has been startled by the sonorous sound of future harmony. The musical public has had placed before it the choicest works and specimens of music based upon the new theory of harmony without melody, and the English nation has been afforded an opportunity of judging whether the new style of art which has been so generously planned, projected, and offered, through the instrumentality and labour of a single individual, to Germany, and has been as contemptuously treated by the Teutonic race, will root out in this country the older styles of the gentle art to which we are so much attached and accustomed. Not only shall we hear these specimens. and examples of the new theory of the great German master mind, but we have heard them to the best advantage; Wagner has conducted them in person, and many of his satellites have taken part in their performance. The sojourn of Wagner in London, therefore, makes the time seasonable to inquire into the claims he lays to hero-worship, and to see what manner of man he is, and what manner of music it is that he so pertinaciously advocates and upholds.

William Richard Wagner (the first name being generally

omitted) was born at Leipzig in the year 1813, and has become known to the world at large as a musician and composer only within recent years. His father, who was a police-actuary, he lost in early infancy, and his mother, after but a short interval, renewed the connubial state by allying herself with an actor named Geyer. The family then settled down at Dresden, and we may safely assume that the occupation of the stepfather was the means of awakening the artistic taste in young Wagner, which at first he displayed by throwing off poetical effusions, dramatic pieces, and the like. This was at the age of eleven; five years later, on returning to Leipzig, attending there the Nicolai School, he took up music as his particular study. His intuitive ambitious aspiration led him to commence almost immediately the composition of great orches tral pieces without having the requisite amount of knowledge of the theory of music. Fortunately for himself he discovered, or was apprised of his mistake, and very wisely gave up composing for the present, applying himself the more diligently to the theory of his newly adopted art. In 1831 he once more attempted composition, and this time. with more success. Two years later he composed at Würzburg his first opera, known as "Die drei Feen "; next year he produced another opera, called "Liebes-verbot "; and both were attended with considerable success.

From this time up to the present Wagner has led a peculiarly restless and roving kind of life, which in several respects has been spiced with romance. After the completion of the two operas just named he was in turn Director of the Theatres at Magdeburg, Königsberg, and Riga. He then visited Paris and London, making at the latter place the acquaintance of Meyerbeer. Returning again to his native land Wagner worked for a few years quietly at his operas, producing "Rienzi," "Der fliegende Holländer," Tannhäuser," and some minor works. The Revolution of 1849 obliged him to flee from the country. Going first to Weimar to bid his friend Liszt good-bye, he went first to Paris, and finally to Zürich. Here, we are told, he lived in the greatest seclusion, and interested himself in nothing but music, labouring day after day to deduce