ow loud the grand chorus in 'Nabucco' should be performed? What
endless litigation will be instituted by any attempt to provide for
all these and a score more of similar casualties, not to speak of the
insolent persecution that may be practised by the performance of tunes
of a party character. Fancy Dr Wiseman composing a pastoral to the air
of 'Croppies, lie down,' or the Danish Minister writing a despatch to
the inspiriting strains of 'Schleswig-Holstein meer-umschlungen.' There
might come a time, too, when 'Sie sollen ihm nicht haben' might grate on
a French ambassador's ears. Can your Act take cognisance of all these?

I see nothing but inextricable confusion in the attempt--confusion,
difficulty, and defeat. There will be an Act, and an Act to amend that
Act, and another Act to alter so much of such an Act, and then a final
Act to repeal them all; so that at last the mover of a bill on the
subject will be the greatest "organ nuisance" that the world has yet
heard of.

It was "much reflecting" over these things, as my Lord Brougham says,
that I sauntered along the Riviera from Genoa, and came to the little
town of Chiavari, with its long sweep of yellow beach in front and its
glorious grove of orange-trees behind--sure, whether the breeze came
from land or sea, to inhale health and perfume. There is a wide old
Piazza in the centre of the town, with a strange, dreary sort of inn
with a low-arched entrance, under whose shade sit certain dignitaries of
the place of an evening, sipping their coffee and talking over what they
imagine to be the last news of the day. From these "Conscript Fathers" I
learned that Chiavari is the native place of the barrel-organ, that
from this little town go forth to all the dwellers in remotest lands
the grinders of the many-cylindered torment, the persecutor of the
prose-writer, the curse of him who calculates. Just as the valleys of
Savoy supply white-mice men, and Lucca produces image-carriers, so does
Chiavari yield its special product, the organ-grinder. Other towns,
in their ambitions, have attempted the "industry," but they have
egregiously failed; and Chiavari remains as distinctive in its product
as Spitalfields for its shawls, or Dresden for its china. Whether there
may be some peculiarity in the biceps of the Chiavarian, or some ulnar
development which imparts power to his performance, I know not. I am
forced to own that I have failed to discover to what circumstance or
from wh