a-half, during which time my quarterly remittances of one hundred pounds came as punctually as the quarter itself. But they were always sent by the post, enclosed in a blank envelope; like the first one, which I received from the hands of the stranger himself. The visits of the aged female to Agnes, on the other hand, were nearly as punctual as my remittances, and through her, Agnes was provided with every thing she required, apparel, books, music, or whatever else she might wish. Her books were read to her, sometimes by my wife, sometimes by myself, but more frequently by Frances; except French and Italian authors, and they were always my department. Frances, too, who was moderately well skilled in piano-forte music, used to play any new pieces, till by repetition, Agnes obtained an exact knowledge of the notes, when she would execute them with a taste, a brilliancy, and an expression, derived wholly from herself.

I have mentioned that very soon after her coming, I circumscribed within the narrowest possible limits, the number of my visiters, as well as the number of their visits, in order that I might prevent the frequent necessity for Agnes to withdraw from our little circle. It is true, I was not absolutely forbidden to let any one approach her, but only enjoined to be wary in my selection of those that did; and I carried this circumspection so far (partly from prudential motives, and partly from respect to Agnes, who had an evident repugnance to the presence of strangers), that I believe only three, out of a rather extensive acquaintance, ever saw her. Nor to them did I give the slightest intimation that there was any thing peculiar in her situation, beyond the affliction which was apparent.

At the house of one of these three friends, I often met a gentleman of the name of SEYMOUR. He appeared to be about five-and-twenty; and had the air of a person who had always moved in superior society. He was what my own sex would call good-looking; and the other, decidedly handsome. His manners were more than agreeable, they were fascinating; not the fascination which lies in telling a droll story, playing off smart repartees, giving a humourous turn to the ordinary matter of ordi

nary conversation, and bringing to the dinner-table, or the drawing-room coterie, an infinite fund of small talk, gracefully delivered; but the fascination of a mind and heart, both of which nature had touched with some of her finest qualities. To an easy and elegant carriage, he added a gentleness of deportment that partook as much of pensiveness as of refined feeling. His large, melancholy eyes, seemed to borrow their humid expression of subdued fire from a soul too sensitive, or from a life already overcast, though in its spring only, with misfortune.

It was not easy frequently to meet such a person in general society, without forming the wish to cultivate a closer intimacy; and I perhaps felt this wish the more strongly, because on all occasions I had perceived in Mr. Seymour's manner a marked desire to improve his acquaintance with myself. He always took his seat next me, held me in conversation upon topics which he found interested me, lavished upon me many flattering attentions, and in the midst of these courtesies, discovered so many of his own superior qualities, that I was no less delighted with, than proud of, the distinction he made in my favour.

I asked my friend one day, who Mr. Seymour was.

"A gentleman of family and fortune," was the reply.

"Do you know his family?"

"I do not; but only because I have never thought it worth while to make the inquiry. I was first introduced to him professionally. He came to me, recommended by Sir Edward Croton, to consult me confidentially upon a matter in which he is deeply interested, and which, I expect, will soon be brought before the Lord Chancellor; and if so, it will present a case far more extraordinary in many of its features, than the famous Douglas cause, of which you have no doubt read. From a client, he became a visiting acquaintance, and from a visiting acquaintance he has grown into an intimate friend."

"Where does he live?"

"At one of the principal hotels near St. James's Street. It amuses me, by the by, to hear you asking these questions, for it is not very long since that Mr. Seymour was just as inquisitive about yourself."

"About me!" I exclaimed. "Yes; about you," replied my friend; "and about where you lived. But though I could not say of you, as I have of him, that you were a gentleman of family and fortune, yet for my own credit's sake, I protested you were a gentleman; and for your sake, added thereto, that I believed you were a most excellent fellow."

I was more than satisfied with my inquiries. I fixed a day for my friend to dine with me, and deputed him to be the bearer of an invitation to Mr. Seymour, which was accepted.

I mentioned the circumstance to Agnes, leaving her to use her own pleasure whether she would be present. She declined joining us at dinner, but consented that we should join her in the evening, to hear some music.

The day came. I thought Mr. Seymour appeared depressed in spirits, at first; but after a few glasses of wine he rallied, and conversed with his accustomed energy and brilliancy. While we were sitting over our dessert, Agnes began to play the organ.

"That is a beautiful instrument, and seems to be beautifully touched," observed Mr. Seymour, his voice trembling as he spoke.

"You are fond of music," I replied. "Too fond, too passionately fond!" he exclaimed, with increasing agitation, "for I can never hear it-and above all the soul-reaching organ-without being affected in the way you see. It is pleasure bordering on agony, from its intensity. Who is playing?"

me

"A young lady who is residing with

"Miss Mandeville," added my friend, "of whom you have heard me speak so often. She is blind."

There came at that moment a deep, full-toned swell upon the ear, of melancholy harmony, so touching, so plaintive, and so expressive of what we fancy celestial strains to be, in its soft, lingering, melting cadence, as it died gently away, that Mr. Seymour burst into tears.

"You perceive," said he, forcing a languid smile, "that music is a dangerous indulgence to me. It was always thus, from my very boyhood. I have stood and wept when a child, to hear my mother on the harp, when she has swept the strings so as to produce those mur

muring tones which resemble, to my fancy at least, the choral mingling of angelic voices."

"It will be better then," I replied, "that we should not join the lady who is now playing.”

"By no means!" interrupted Mr. Seymour, vehemently. "Only leave me to myself, while she plays. The excitement soon goes off; and half painful though it be, it is compensated by emotions so nearly approaching to ecstasy, that I would at all times rather seek than shun them.”

Well; in the evening we went up stairs. I introduced Mr. Seymour to Agnes, who took her by the hand, without speaking; but I observed he was violently agitated. I attributed this to the twofold cause of his remembering with what an inspired feeling she had touched the organ, and to the effect which her appearance, so beautiful in her affliction, was calculated to produce upon any one, much more upon a nature so highly wrought in its sensibilities, as Mr. Seymour's.

During the conversation that ensued, he was silent; or if spoken to, answered in a low voice, audible only to the person addressed; but his eyes were rivetted on Agnes; and observing also, by his countenance, that there were feelings tumultuously working within, which he could hardly control, I became alarmed, from an idea that there must be a reason for such agitation beyond what I could penetrate. I was considering what step I should take, when my friend, requesting permission of Agnes, led her to the organ.

She played various airs, and during her performance of them, Mr. Seymour took his station by her side. Frances, who was on the other side, asked her to play "one of her own pieces," meaning one of those extempore effusions which, as I have said, seemed like the breathings of her troubled spirit. She paused for a moment, then began. It was one of those strains that I have described, after the playing of which she would exclaim, "There! I have been holding converse with the past! I have beheld the departed! I have heard the voice that enthralled me. I have shed unseen tears-basked in unseen smilesand with miraculous speech, which only two can understand-the living and the dead-I have told what I am!"

in respect to violin-music, possessed the most complete collection known of compositions of every kind, as well ancient as modern. They also spoke of the hospitality and magnificence with which the Baron did the honours of his house, as well as of his generosity towards artists; and they were unanimous in declaring that his residence in Berlin was an event of the highest importance to them all.

All this was sufficient to awaken my curiosity; but it was intensely excited when these gentlemen laid their heads together, and spoke with great earnestness in a whisper. I could catch enough to know that the question was of the Baron, and of music lessons given by him; at the mention of these, I saw a satiric smile play upon Duport's lips, and the laugh seemed to go against Haak, who, on his side, made but a feeble defence, and seemed half-inclined to join in his friend's merriment. He frequently turned round abruptly, and at length, taking his violin to give the signal for the overture, said, in a tone loud enough to be heard: "Well, say what you will, he is an extraordinary man!"

I could contain no longer; at the risk of being bluntly repulsed, I begged Haak to present me, if possible, to M. de B., and to obtain permission for me to assist at his musical soirées.

He stared at my mentioning the name of the Baron, and I was prepared for the storm which I imagined was gathering, when the gravity of the professor was suddenly changed into a smile of peculiar expression; and this was all the answer I obtained.

A day or two after, when I had finished performing with Haak some very difficult violin duos, he said to me, "Go home and dress yourself, and call for me at my house; we will go together to the Baron de B's; there will be but a small party this evening, and it will be a good opportunity for presenting you."

My heart beat with delight, for, without explaining to myself the reason, I was led to expect something more than ordinary.

We accordingly repaired to the Baron's. I beheld a man of a certain age, of somewhat tall stature, and in a whimsical costume of the old school; he came forward to receive us, and pressed my master's hand with great cordiality.

Never yet had any one inspired me with more profound veneration, not to say sympathy, of the most pleasing kind. The expression of his countenance was benevolence itself, and his eye sparkled with that internal fire which bespeaks the artist fully conscious of his calling. The natural timidity against which I struggled but an instant before, left me

at once.

"How do you do, my worthy Haak?" said the Baron, in a voice whose tones were at once full and pleasing. "Well, have you gone over my concerto? We shall see to that to-morrow. Ah! doubtless this is the young virtuoso of whom you spoke to me."

I was all confusion; I could not raise my eyes from the ground, and felt myself blush up to the ears. Haak mentioned my name, said something in my praise, spoke of my musical dispositions, and the rapid progress I had made.

"And so, my child," said the Baron, turning to me, "the violin is the instrument you have made choice of; but have you duly reflected that it is the most difficult that was ever invented? The violin, under an appearance of simplicity, contains treasures of harmony rich and inexhaustible. The violin is a secret revealed only to the privileged few. Have you consulted your genius? Has it discovered to you this marvellous mystery? Others have supposed themselves in possession of it, and have remained the whole of their lives the merest scrapers. I should be sorry, my child, to see you one of the number.Come, you shall play us something; I will tell you what hopes you are justified in forming of yourself, and you shall be guided by my counsel. Do you know what happened to Charles Stamitz, who imagined himself a prodigy on the violin? I convinced him of his error, and set him right. He instantly threw aside the instrument, and took to the alto and viole d'amour; and he did well. There his large fingers had room to play freely, and he succeeded tolerably. But come, my child, let me hear you.'

,,

As I perceived afterwards, the term my child," was an appellation which he bestowed on all those for whom he had a feeling of regard.

This first and singular harangue made a lively impression upon me. I felt that, in spite of all my enthusiasm, I had, in devoting myself to the most