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the lime trees, telling a tale of hapless love. But since it has been allowed a place in the orchestra, its character has entirely changed :* it is no longer the Soft-complaining flute,' its language is rather that of pertness than modesty. This great alteration has arisen from the circumstance of its having been called upon to play its part an octave higher than formerly, which has so augmented its tones, and the difficulties of execution, that it is a rare thing to meet with a performer who can sufficiently restrain it.t

Of all instruments in the orchestra it is the most prominent; being elevated so high in the sphere of sounds, so much above the other instruments, it is completely unmolested, and free from those checks which are incident to those who are placed in a lower station in the band. Hence it is a dangerous instrument to place in the hands of an unskilful musician, as the least deviation in time or tune renders it intolerable to the ear. In brightness of tone it so transcends the other instruments, that the composer reserves it for particular occasions. In the song which describes the creation of man, 'In his eyes brightness,' how beautifully is it introduced !

• The one-keyed flute had nearly the fulness of the pan-pipe, the most rich and powerful tone of its kind. If the same scale of notes could be formed in a pan-organ, for the purpose of the orchestra, then the most difficult flute parts could be properly executed by a piano-forte performer.

† Mozart was the first writer who drew forth the sparkling tones of this instrument, which were utterly unknown to Cimarosa before him.

The few pointed notes impart the same brilliancy as the spots of light upon the eyes, given by the painter.

The flute, like the rest of the wind instruments, has no pretension to become a concerto instrument. Its powers are not sufficiently various to engage the attention for the length of time to which these pieces extend. Though handled in this way with great dexterity by Nicholson, it never appears to so much advantage, as when it retires to its own station in the orchestra, occasionally decorating and giving the finishing stroke to the band.



Not a hundred years ago, the metropolis was famous for its cries,-a sort of music in the streets, which attracted the attention of all strangers. As the noise of the carriages, and the din of traffic increased, these intonations have died away, and are scarcely heard, but in the quiet of the morning in the most solitary parts of the town. The articles of commerce being chiefly brought from the country, were cried in the artless tones of the peasantry, founded upon the natural exclamations of the voice; but


those of a more melodious turn were chiefly introduced by itinerant foreigners. The Italian, who had long wandered over Europe, so famous in the arts, was the great vender of idols, images, and pictures. The Dutch was noted for his toys and posies, and the French for their minstrelsy. This traffic of the streets, however, is at an end, and those articles which were sold by the power of incantation, are now cheapened in terms less musical in the shops.

Let us not forget these morceaux of melody, but put them down as recollections of an age that is past.

In the prime of the morning--as soon as we open the window to let in the refreshing air—the sbrill voice of the milkmaid salutes us with her

the cry out there are

Mi-eau, mi-eau, milk be-low maids, mieau, mi-eau dispensing rich luxurious draughts. Soon follows the cry of the muffin-man, with his pure fare—the staff of life.


rolls, hot rolls! Muffeens, Muffeens! hot rolls!

By the time the breakfast cups are set, the tripping maid, from clear meandering rills, with voice as bright, cries her healthful herb for 'lurking humors dire!'

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cres - ses! buy my nice wa - tercres - ses ! Nor does the mind go unsupplied; then comes the post-man with his wet newspaper, announcing


Great news! extro’rd'nary news, in the London Gazette! The little warblers are not forgot, caged up in narrow streets, they only dream of woods and trees. Viewing nothing green, but the sprig of mint in the spoutless teapot hung high in air, they know the cry full well of

Chick -- weed,

Chickweed; here's my

Chickweed and groundsel for birds, and eye the basket as well as cheer the song.

It is an observation of good Quaker Darton, in his book of London Cries, that people who keep dogs and cats for their own safety and convenience, think there is no need to provide food for them; but dumb animals really do not like the pains of hunger any better than their masters, though they often bear it more patiently. Then who can wonder if those who are never fed by others, sometimes take the liberty of helping themselves! And yet, if ever a poor half-starved cat is caught lapping the milk, or running away with a bone, she often has the tongs and poker thrown at her, and is called a good-for-nothing thief. Now, if people would but take the trouble of saving for them the useless remains of their own dainty meals, or now and then purchasing them food sold in the streets, many a poor faithful animal might be spared a painful life and miserable death.* With ears erect these knowing creatures dart to the door at the cry of

Do you want a - ny dog's meat, cat's meat;

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do you want a - ny dog's meat. * A very sagacious dog was in the habit of going to his master for a penny when he wanted meat ; the master used to put a penny in his mouth, which he instantly delivered to the man who sold dog's meat, from whom he received his food. By this means the dog became acquainted with the use of money ; so that if he happened to see boys or idle men gambling, or tossing up halfpence, he would watch his opportunity, seize a halfpenny or penny, and run off with it to buy a luncheon.

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