the work of its leader fruitful for its own good
should itself protect his name from aspersion,
and support his efforts with a wholesome strength
of opinion.

For good and for bad there are, in fewer
words, the whole contents of the yellow
pamphlet that has jaundiced many a high
aristocratic German eye, royal and noble, and that
should interest England, with its curious photograph
of the political condition of the Germans;
for the people of Gotha are but as the people
of Vienna or Berlin. It should interest
England also in her Majesty's most excellent brother-
in-law, and make us all wish the day long
distant when Prince Alfred succeeds to his ducal
throne.

AN UNREPORTED SPEECH.

I WISH with all my heart that some gentleman
would "get up in his place in parliament" when
next it meets, and, having caught the Speaker's
eye, would direct that brilliant orb towards
certain dark spots in the social life of the present
day, certain blemishes in our civilisation which
decidedly want looking to:—Sir, he might say,
calling attention at once to one of the very
worst of these blemishes, I wish to say a few
words on the subject of music. I think that
anything, be it an art, a science, or what not,
occupying so high a social position, and possessing
so great a social influence among us as
music undoubtedly does, I consider, I say, that
any such thing is a fit and appropriate subject to
claim the attention of this honourable House,
and that it is in no wise derogatory to this
House that such a subject should be brought
before it. Sir, there is this great difference
between music and other arts—and it is just this
difference which makes it peculiarly necessary
to legislate for it—music does not wait till it is
wanted, but, on the contrary, comes to us self-
invited, and often unsought. Let me make
myself better understood. In the case of literature,
it will be obvious to every one I am addressing
that a book does not force itself upon us, it
remains on the book-shelves till we go, knowing
what we are doing, and take it down and read it.
It does not come out of the library and bellow
its contents in our ears whether we like it or
not. Except on the rare occasions—for which
I would also legislate—when a lady or gentleman
volunteers to read his own or somebody
else's poem aloud, except in this rare instance,
literature lets us entirely alone, and it is our
own doing if we are troubled or amused by it.
With regard, again, to painting, drawing, and
sculpture, the same observations apply which I
have just made on the subject of literature. We
go to the Royal Academy or some other exhibition,
or to the Louvre, the National or Vernon
Galleries, if we want to see the pictures. The
pictures do not detach themselves from the walls
and follow us about the streets, or pursue us
into the retirement of home. It is true that a
friend will occasionally compel us to look over a
portfolio of drawings, but this does not happen
often after all.

But, sir, in the case of music, we find
ourselves altogether in a different position. While,
as I have pointed out, literature and art both
wait till we seek them, and let us alone if
we let them alone, music is altogether of a less
retiring character, comes to us often uninvited,
often continues with us unsolicited, and sometimes
even refuses to withdraw its beneficent
influences when directly requested to do so. As
to its coming to us uninvited, I suppose there
is no member of this House who cannot
remember many occasions when he has found
himself in a society where music has come upon
him—if I may so speak—without his having any
voice in the matter. He has been taking a
hand at whist, we will say, and has been getting
on successfully, he has a good knowledge of his
partner's cards, and can make one or two shrewd
surmises as to his adversary's trumps—suddenly
the first notes of a symphony make themselves
heard, and in a very short time he begins
to find himself all abroad; his partner's trumps
and his adversary's become mixed up in his
mind, and his enjoyment of the game is over.
I give this trifling example of the case I have
asserted, that music often comes to us
uninvited. That it frequently remains with us
unsolicited is equally easy to prove. It is not
unfrequently the case that a lady or gentleman
—and it must be owned that gentlemen, when
they do sit down to the piano, most often offend
in this sort—it is frequently the case, I say, that
an individual will establish himself on the music-
stool and will remain wedded to that piece of
furniture long after his music has ceased to give
pleasure. One thing will remind him of another,
and from regular musical performances such as
opera selections and well-known morsels, he
will get on to a "little thing that he picked up
among the peasants in Calabria," or "a favourite
national air in Hungary," till at last one gets to
wish that he had never visited either of these
countries, and to be so impatient of his musical
memory as to wish that on the whole it were a
little less retentive.

It is not, however, to such disfigurements of
our social system as these that it is necessary I
should direct the attention of this House.
Distressing as these things are, we can scarcely
interfere in cases of so essentially private a nature.
But what I do wish to lay before this House (as
a matter in which it ought undoubtedly to act,
and that with as little delay as may be) is the
state of the case with regard to what may be
called our public music—the music which not
only, as I have before said, comes to us uninvited,
and remains with us unsolicted, but declines to
leave us when distinctly requested to do so.
Sir, I am well aware that there are many
members present here to-night who would be
inclined to correct me at this point, and who would
remind me that it has been established by law
that any musician playing upon any instrument
in the public street, may be requested to move
out of hearing, and is under the necessity, when