full dress—full dress, which, like Florimel's magic girdle, is the true test of beauty—to the moment when she lingered to catch the last swell of the superb orchestra—she was "under the wand of the enchanter." Emily possessed what, like songs and sonnets, must be born with you,—a musical ear; that sixth sense, in search of which you may subscribe to the Ancient Music and the Philharmonic, you may go to every concert—you may go into ecstasies, and encore every song—you may prefer Italian singing, talk learnedly of tone and touch, all in vain—a musical ear is no more to be acquired than Lady H.'s beauty or Mrs. T.'s grace.
"What a pity," said old Lord E., a man whom a peerage spoilt for a professor, whose heart had performed Cowley's ballad for the whole succession of prima donnas,—"what a pity you have not seen Pasta—a Greek statue stepped from its pedestal, and animated by the Promethean fire of genius! Why is not such personified poetry immortal? My feeling of regret for my grandchildren half destroys my enjoyment of the present; it is the feeling of a patriot, Miss Arundel. Every other species of talent carries with it its eternity; we enjoy
