"The fight, God wot, was short and hot.
Bear Hildebrand aboard.
Renew your oath," Doge Orso quoth,
" And take your lawful lord.

"The Duke is dead," he laugh'd, and said,
" The city is all our own.
Stand forth Exarch! To thee St. Mark
Gives back Ravenna town."

Then all outright, for great delight.
The Exarch wept, I trow.
As he had woful been before,
So was he joyful now.

By that night's cost, the Lombard lost
What our Duke Orso won
With great renown, the stoutest town
That ever was built of stone.

MUSICAL PHYSIOGNOMIES.

LAVATER'S followers saw, in the shape of the
features, sure marks of the individual's moral
nature. According to them, all the predominant
sentiments and passions contract the muscles in
a way peculiar to that class of sentiment and
passion. These contractions, frequently renewed,
impress upon the countenance a certain
type of expression, and at last sensibly modify
the features: which thus betray, in a palpable
manner, the inclinations of the soul and the
secret longings of the heart.

By carrying similar inductions a little further,
you may determine, in a way that is mostly
satisfactory, a man's position in the world, his
private tastes, his mode of life, the amount of
his education, and frequently even his profession
(if he have a profession), from his gait, manner,
and outward behaviour. As to people living on
their incomes; their railway shares, rents, and
cash in the funds, transpire at every pore. It is
impossible to confound them for a moment with
poor devils who have to work for their living.

A clever man makes a bow unlike a fool's
bow. An office clerk does not walk like a shop-
man; and a violinist's ways differ, in many
points, from a clarinetist's, a flutist's, or a
cornist' s (horn-players). There are even, in
the visage of every artist belonging to the
different categories of instruments, distinctive
characters which quite prevent one from being
mistaken for the other.

Thus, says M. COMETTANT, from whose clever
sketches we cull more harmonious flowers,*
horn- players have a certain swollen look
about the face, arising from their constant
efforts while blowing in their instrument. But
besides the physical influence, there is also the
moral influence which the practice of such or
such an instrument produces on the musician.
Cornists, for instance, are the most distinguished,
both by education and manners, of all the
orchestral artists who perform on brass instruments.
The horn is essentially poetic by nature,
and enjoys the privilege of being admitted into
"salons" and ball-rooms. The artist takes the
rank of his instrument, and makes himself a man
of the world, in order to shine there with his
favoured horn. The well-known proverb may
be modified to " Tell me what instrument you
play, and I will tell you what company you
keep, and consequently what you are."

* See A French Hand on the Piano, page 9 of the
current volume of All the Year Round.

The cornist himself borrows something of the
gentle gravity of his instrument—of its rural
and fantastic character. Kind, tender-hearted,
impressionable by the beauties of nature, he
loves the country, the sombre woods and their
solitary nooks. In love, he is faithful by duty,
but inconstant by nature. He is incessantly
dreaming of a happiness which he cannot attain;
for, alas! he knows not where to fix it. His
love is an unhappy love which blooms for all
womankind, and stops to make choice of none.
It, is an affair of the imagination rather than of
the heart. And so the cornist, often misunderstood,
often also deceived and disillusioned,
remains single— unless Cupid, in his crafty sliness,
sacrifice him as a victim to some innocent
maiden of thirty-six, or to some colonel's widow
whose dear first husband was passionately fond
of the horn.

The most astonishing horn-player known, is
VIVIER, who, by some inexplicable means, by a
multiple pressure of the lips no doubt, has succeeded
in producing flourishes on his instrument
with several parts sounding at once. If M.
Comettant had not himself heard the artist, in
the intimacy of a private tete-a-tete, he would
have refused to believe so extraordinary a fact.
Vivier (an exception to the usual type of
cornists) is no less eccentric as a man than as
a musician. His life is a long succession of
jokes.

He was once crossing the Belgian frontier,
on his return to France. Whoever has done
the same, will have a recollection of the French
douaniers (customs officers) probably more
lively than agreeable. His luggage consisted
of a couple of trunks, one of which he 'appeared
to attempt to conceal from their prying eyes.
Instantly, hands were laid on that trunk and the
key demanded.

"Monsieur," said Vivier, whispering in the
douanier's ear and casting an anxious glance
around, " do let me pass this trunk without
opening it. I assure you it contains nothing
subject to duty."

"The key," snarled the douanier, "or I force
the lock."

"Monsieur, I entreat you."

"Enough, monsieur. The key, I say."

"No, not enough. If necessary, I will go
down on my knees."

"Useless, monsieur. The key! The key!"

"In the name of Heaven, monsieur! In the
name of your beloved wife and your darling
children, I conjure you not to open the trunk!
For I swear it on the ashes of my departed
aunt there is nothing in it liable to duty."

Of course, the lock was forced. A dozen
douaniers' hands lifted the lid; and the dozen