![Symons, returned in joy and gladness to his now temporary home.
He was accompanied by the noisy felicitations of his neighbors, to
whom his liberation and sudden accession to a considerable fortune
had become at the same moment known. As he held his
passionately-weeping wife in his arms, and gazed with grateful
emotion in her tearful but rejoicing eyes, he whispered, "That kind
act of yours toward the despised hunchback has saved me, and
enriched our child. 'Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain
mercy!'"
[From Dickens's Household Words.]](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/37363-250306081414-dfd05ea6/85/Solution-Manual-for-Python-for-Everyone-2nd-Edition-Horstmann-24-320.jpg)
![has cost him years of cunning and self-denial to amass. And so on,
round the table, we find ill-dressed and well dressed Germans,
French, Russians, English, Yankees, Irish, mixed up together, in one
eager crowd; thirsting to gain gold without giving value in return;
risking what they have in an insane contest which they know has
destroyed thousands before them; losing their money, and winning
disgust, despondency, and often despair and premature death.
Never a year is said to go by without its complement of ruined fools
and hasty suicides. The neighboring woods afford a convenient
shelter; and a trigger, or a handkerchief and a bough, complete the
tragedy.
[From Chambers's Edinburgh Journal.]](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/37363-250306081414-dfd05ea6/85/Solution-Manual-for-Python-for-Everyone-2nd-Edition-Horstmann-29-320.jpg)
![basses; no "fudging" of difficult passages. We look upon such
players as musical missionaries who purvey the best music from the
opera houses and from the saloons of the nobility to the general
public, to the improvement of its musical taste. But where even
these choice pavé professionists have us at a disadvantage is in their
discoursing their excellent music at precisely the times when we do
not want the sounds of the charmer, charm he never so wisely. The
habitant of the "quiet neighborhood," fond as he is of Casta Diva or
the Rosen Waltz, would rather not be indulged with them just as he
is commencing to study a complicated brief, or while he is computing
the draft of a difficult survey. When he wants music he likes to go to
it; he never wants it to come to him.
[From Dickens's Household Words.]](https://image.slidesharecdn.com/37363-250306081414-dfd05ea6/85/Solution-Manual-for-Python-for-Everyone-2nd-Edition-Horstmann-47-320.jpg)
Solution Manual for Python for Everyone 2nd Edition Horstmann
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- 5. Solution Manual for Python for Everyone 2nd Edition Horstmann Full download chapter at: https:/ /testbankbell.com/product/solution-manual-for- python-for-everyone-2nd-edition-horstmann/ TABLE OF CONTENTS Preface iii Special Features xviii 1 Introduction 1
- 6. 1.1 Computer Programs 2 1.2 The Anatomy of a Computer 3 CS 1 Computers Are Everywhere 5 1.3 The Python Programming Language 5 1.4 Becoming Familiar with Your Programming Environment 6 PT 1 Interactive Mode 8 PT 2 Backup Copies 9 ST 1 The Python Interpreter 10 1.5 Analyzing Your First Program 11 1.6 Errors 13 CE 1 Misspelling Words 14 1.7 PROBLEM SOLVING: Algorithm Design 15 CS 2 Data Is Everywhere 17 HT 1 Describing an Algorithm with Pseudocode 18 WE 1 Writing an Algorithm for Tiling a Floor 20 2 Programming With Numbers and Strings 23 2.1 Variables 24 Defining Variables 24 Number Types 26 Variable Names 27 Constants 28 Comments 29 CE 1 Using Undefined Variables 30 PT 1 Choose Descriptive Variable Names 30 PT 2 Do Not Use Magic Numbers 30
- 7. 2.2 Arithmetic 31 Basic Arithmetic Operations 31 Powers 32 Floor Division and Remainder 32 Calling Functions 33 Mathematical Functions 35 CE 2 Roundoff Errors 36 CE 3 Unbalanced Parentheses 37 PT 3 Use Spaces in Expressions 37 ST 1 Other Ways to Import Modules 38 ST 2 Combining Assignment and Arithmetic 38 ST 3 Line Joining 38 2.3 PROBLEM SOLVING: First Do It By Hand 39 WE 1 Computing Travel Time 40 2.4 Strings 41 The String Type 41 Concatenation and Repetition 42 Converting Between Numbers and Strings 43 Strings and Characters 44 String Methods 45 ST 4 Character Values 46 ST 5 Escape Sequences 47 CS 1 International Alphabets and Unicode 47 2.5 Input and Output 48 User Input 48
- 8. Numerical Input 49 Formatted Output 50 PT 4 Don’t Wait to Convert 53 HT 1 Writing Simple Programs 53 WE 2 Computing the Cost of Stamps 56 CS 2 Bugs in Silicon 58 2.6 GRAPHICS: Simple Drawings 58 Creating a Window 59 Lines and Polygons 60 Filled Shapes and Color 62 Ovals, Circles, and Text 64 HT 2 GRAPHICS: Drawing Graphical Shapes 65 TOOLBOX 1 Symbolic Processing with SymPy 68 3 Decisions 73 3.1 The if Statement 74 CE 1 Tabs 77 PT 1 Avoid Duplication in Branches 78 ST 1 Conditional Expressions 78 3.2 Relational Operators 79 CE 2 Exact Comparison of Floating-Point Numbers 82 ST 2 Lexicographic Ordering of Strings 82 HT 1 Implementing an if Statement 83 WE 1 Extracting the Middle 85 3.3 Nested Branches 87 PT 2 Hand-Tracing 89
- 9. CS 1 Dysfunctional Computerized Systems 90 3.4 Multiple Alternatives 91 TOOLBOX 1 Sending E-mail 93 3.5 PROBLEM SOLVING: Flowcharts 96 3.6 PROBLEM SOLVING: Test Cases 99 PT 3 Make a Schedule and Make Time for Unexpected Problems 100 3.7 Boolean Variables and Operators 101 CE 3 Confusing and and or Conditions 104 PT 4 Readability 104 ST 3 Chaining Relational Operators 105 ST 4 Short-Circuit Evaluation of Boolean Operators 105 ST 5 De Morgan’s Law 106 3.8 Analyzing Strings 106 3.9 APPLICATION: Input Validation 110 ST 6 Terminating a Program 112 ST 7 Interactive Graphical Programs 112 CS 2 Artificial Intelligence 113 WE 2 GRAPHICS: Intersecting Circles 113 TOOLBOX 2 Plotting Simple Graphs 117 4 Loops 125 4.1 The while Loop 126 CE 1 Don’t Think “Are We There Yet?” 130 CE 2 Infinite Loops 130 CE 3 Off-by-One Errors 131 ST 1 Special Form of the print Function 132
- 10. CS 1 The First Bug 132 4.2 PROBLEM SOLVING: Hand-Tracing 133 4.3 APPLICATION: Processing Sentinel Values 135 ST 2 Processing Sentinel Values with a Boolean Variable 138 ST 3 Redirection of Input and Output 138 4.4 PROBLEM SOLVING: Storyboards 139 4.5 Common Loop Algorithms 141 Sum and Average Value 141 Counting Matches 142 Prompting Until a Match is Found 142 Maximum and Minimum 142 Comparing Adjacent Values 143 4.6 The for Loop 145 PT 1 Count Iterations 148 HT 1 Writing a Loop 149 4.7 Nested Loops 152 WE 1 Average Exam Grades 155 WE 2 A Grade Distribution Histogram 157 4.8 Processing Strings 159 Counting Matches 159 Finding All Matches 160 Finding the First or Last Match 160 Validating a String 161 Building a New String 162 4.9 APPLICATION: Random Numbers and Simulations 164
- 11. Generating Random Numbers 164 Simulating Die Tosses 165 The Monte Carlo Method 165 WE 3 GRAPHICS: Bull’s Eye 167 4.10 GRAPHICS: Digital Image Processing 169 Filtering Images 170 Reconfiguring Images 172 4.11 PROBLEM SOLVING: Solve a Simpler Problem First 174 CS 2 Digital Piracy 180 5 Functions 183 5.1 Functions as Black Boxes 184 5.2 Implementing and Testing Functions 185 Implementing a Function 186 Testing a Function 186 Programs that Contain Functions 187 PT 1 Function Comments 189 PT 2 Naming Functions 190 5.3 Parameter Passing 190 PT 3 Do Not Modify Parameter Variables 191 CE 1 Trying to Modify Arguments 192 5.4 Return Values 192 ST 1 Using Single-Line Compound Statements 193 HT 1 Implementing a Function 194 WE 1 Generating Random Passwords 196 5.5 Functions Without Return Values 201
- 12. CS 1 Personal Computing 202 5.6 PROBLEM SOLVING: Reusable Functions 203 5.7 PROBLEM SOLVING: Stepwise Refinement 205 PT 4 Keep Functions Short 209 PT 5 Tracing Functions 210 PT 6 Stubs 211 WE 2 Calculating a Course Grade 211 WE 3 Using a Debugger 214 5.8 Variable Scope 219 PT 7 Avoid Global Variables 221 WE 4 GRAPHICS: Rolling Dice 221 5.9 GRAPHICS: Building an Image Processing Toolkit 224 Getting Started 224 Comparing Images 225 Adjusting Image Brightness 226 Rotating an Image 227 Using the Toolkit 228 WE 5 Plotting Growth or Decay 230 5.10 Recursive Functions (Optional) 232 HT 2 Thinking Recursively 234 TOOLBOX 1 Turtle Graphics 236 LISTS 245 6.1 Basic Properties of Lists 246 Creating Lists 246 Accessing List Elements 247
- 13. Traversing Lists 248 List References 249 CE 1 Out-of-Range Errors 250 PT 1 Use Lists for Sequences of Related Items 250 ST 1 Negative Subscripts 250 ST 2 Common Container Functions 251 CS 1 Computer Viruses 251 6.2 List Operations 252 Appending Elements 252 Inserting an Element 253 Finding an Element 254 Removing an Element 254 Concatenation and Replication 255 Equality Testing 256 Sum, Maximum, Minimum, and Sorting 256 Copying Lists 256 ST 3 Slices 258 6.3 Common List Algorithms 259 Filling 259 Combining List Elements 259 Element Separators 260 Maximum and Minimum 260 Linear Search 261 Collecting and Counting Matches 261 Removing Matches 262
- 14. Swapping Elements 263 Reading Input 264 WE 1 Plotting Trigonometric Functions 265 6.4 Using Lists with Functions 268 ST 4 Call by Value and Call by Reference 271 ST 5 Tuples 271 ST 6 Functions with a Variable Number of Arguments 272 ST 7 Tuple Assignment 272 ST 8 Returning Multiple Values with Tuples 273 TOOLBOX 1 Editing Sound Files 273 6.5 PROBLEM SOLVING: Adapting Algorithms 275 HT 1 Working with Lists 276 WE 2 Rolling the Dice 278 6.6 PROBLEM SOLVING: Discovering Algorithms by Manipulating Physical Objects 282 6.7 Tables 285 Creating Tables 286 Accessing Elements 287 Locating Neighboring Elements 287 Computing Row and Column Totals 288 Using Tables with Functions 289 WE 3 A World Population Table 290 ST 9 Tables with Variable Row Lengths 292 WE 4 GRAPHICS: Drawing Regular Polygons 293 7 Files and Exceptions 299 7.1 Reading and Writing Text Files 300
- 15. Opening a File 300 Reading from a File 301 Writing from a File 302 A File Processing Example 302 CE 1 Backslashes in File Names 303 7.2 Text Input and Output 304 Iterating over the Lines of a File 304 Reading Words 306 Reading Characters 308 Reading Records 309 ST 1 Reading the Entire File 312 ST 2 Regular Expressions 312 ST 3 Character Encodings 313 TOOLBOX 1 Working with CSV Files 314 7.3 Command Line Arguments 316 HT 1 Processing Text Files 319 WE 1 Analyzing Baby Names 322 TOOLBOX 2 Working with Files and Directories 325 CS 1 Encryption Algorithms 327 7.4 Binary Files and Random Access (Optional) 328 Reading and Writing Binary Files 328 Random Access 329 Image Files 330 Processing BMP Files 331 WE 2 GRAPHICS: Displaying a Scene File 334
- 16. 7.5 Exception Handling 337 Raising Exceptions 338 Handling Exceptions 339 The finally Clause 341 PT 1 Raise Early, Handle Late 342 PT 2 Do Not Use except and finally in the Same try Statement 342 ST 4 The with Statement 343 TOOLBOX 3 Reading Web Pages 343 7.6 APPLICATION: Handling Input Errors 344 TOOLBOX 4 Statistical Analysis 348 WE 3 Creating a Bubble Chart 352 CS 2 The Ariane Rocket Incident 355 8 Sets and Dictionaries 357 8.1 Sets 358 Creating and Using Sets 358 Adding and Removing Elements 359 Subsets 360 Set Union, Intersection, and Difference 361 WE 1 Counting Unique Words 364 PT 1 Use Python Sets, Not Lists, for Efficient Set Operations 366 ST 1 Hashing 367 CS 1 Standardization 368 8.2 Dictionaries 368 Creating Dictionaries 369
- 17. Accessing Dictionary Values 370 Adding and Modifying Items 370 Removing Items 371 Traversing a Dictionary 372 ST 2 Iterating over Dictionary Items 374 ST 3 Storing Data Records 375 WE 2 Translating Text Messages 375 8.3 Complex Structures 378 A Dictionary of Sets 378 A Dictionary of Lists 381 ST 4 User Modules 383 WE 3 GRAPHICS: Pie Charts 384 TOOLBOX 1 Harvesting JSON Data from the Web 388 9 Objects and Classes 393 9.1 Object-Oriented Programming 394 9.2 Implementing a Simple Class 396 9.3 Specifying the Public Interface of a Class 399 9.4 Designing the Data Representation 401 PT 1 Make All Instance Variables Private, Most Methods Public 402 9.5 Constructors 402 CE 1 Trying to Call a Constructor 404 ST 1 Default and Named Arguments 404 9.6 Implementing Methods 405 PT 2 Define Instance Variables Only in the Constructor 407 ST 2 Class Variables 408
- 18. 9.7 Testing a Class 409 HT 1 Implementing a Class 410 WE 1 Implementing a Bank Account Class 414 9.8 PROBLEM SOLVING: Tracing Objects 416 9.9 PROBLEM SOLVING: Patterns for Object Data 419 Keeping a Total 419 Counting Events 420 Collecting Values 420 Managing Properties of an Object 421 Modeling Objects with Distinct States 421 Describing the Position of an Object 422 9.10 Object References 423 Shared References 424 The None Reference 425 The self Reference 426 The Lifetime of Objects 426 CS 1 Electronic Voting 427 9.11 APPLICATION: Writing a Fraction Class 428 Fraction Class Design 428 The Constructor 429 Special Methods 430 Arithmetic Operations 432 Logical Operations 433 ST 3 Object Types and Instances 435 WE 2 GRAPHICS: A Die Class 436
- 19. CS 2 Open Source and Free Software 439 10 Inheritance 443 10.1 Inheritance Hierarchies 444 PT 1 Use a Single Class for Variation in Values, Inheritance for Variation in Behavior 447 ST 1 The Cosmic Superclass: object 447 10.2 Implementing Subclasses 449 CE 1 Confusing Super- and Subclasses 451 10.3 Calling the Superclass Constructor 452 10.4 Overriding Methods 455 CE 2 Forgetting to Use the super Function When Invoking a Superclass Method 458 10.5 Polymorphism 458 ST 2 Subclasses and Instances 461 ST 3 Dynamic Method Lookup 461 ST 4 Abstract Classes 462 CE 3 Don’t Use Type Tests 463 HT 1 Developing an Inheritance Hierarchy 463 WE 1 Implementing an Employee Hierarchy for Payroll Processing 468 10.6 APPLICATION: A Geometric Shape Class Hierarchy 472 The Base Class 472 Basic Shapes 474 Groups of Shapes 477 TOOLBOX 1 Game Programming 480 11 Recursion 489 11.1 Triangle Numbers Revisited 490 CE 1 Infinite Recursion 493
- 20. ST 1 Recursion with Objects 493 11.2 PROBLEM SOLVING: Thinking Recursively 494 WE 1 Finding Files 497 11.3 Recursive Helper Functions 498 11.4 The Efficiency of Recursion 499 11.5 Permutations 504 CS 1 The Limits of Computation 506 11.6 Backtracking 508 WE 2 Towers of Hanoi 512 11.7 Mutual Recursion 515 TOOLBOX 1 Analyzing Web Pages with Beautiful Soup 519 12 Sorting and Searching 525 12.1 Selection Sort 526 12.2 Profiling the Selection Sort Algorithm 528 12.3 Analyzing the Performance of the Selection Sort Algorithm 530 ST 1 Oh, Omega, and Theta 531 ST 2 Insertion Sort 532 12.4 Merge Sort 534 12.5 Analyzing the Merge Sort Algorithm 536 ST 3 The Quicksort Algorithm 538 CS 1 The First Programmer 540 12.6 Searching 541 Linear Search 541 Binary Search 542 12.7 PROBLEM SOLVING: Estimating the Running Time of an Algorithm 544
- 21. Linear Time 545 Quadratic Time 546 The Triangle Pattern 547 Logarithmic Time 548 PT 1 Searching and Sorting 549 ST 4 Comparing Objects 549 WE 1 Enhancing the Insertion Sort Algorithm 549 Appendix A Python Operator Summary A-1 Appendix B Python Reserved Word Summary A-3 Appendix C The Python Standard Library A-5 Appendix D The Basic Latin and Latin-1 Subsets of Unicode A-22 Appendix E Binary Numbers and Bit Operations* Appendix F HTML Summary* Glossary R-1 Index R-6 Credits R-22 Quick Reference R-23
- 22. Another Random Scribd Document with Unrelated Content
- 23. of it." He had been gone but a few minutes; the elder Nichols was silently meditating the perilous position in which he had placed himself, when a noiseless step approached him from behind, and a heavy hand was suddenly placed upon his shoulder. He started wildly to his feet, and confronted the stern and triumphant glance of the once humble and submissive Charity Symons. The suddenness of the shock overcame him, and he fainted. Mary Lovegrove, whose child had sobbed itself to sleep, was sitting in solitude and darkness in the lower room of the cottage, her head bowed in mute and tearless agony upon the table, when, as on a previous evening, a tap at the back window challenged her attention. It was once more Charity Symons. "What do you here again?" exclaimed the wretched wife with some asperity of tone: "you no doubt intended well; but you have nevertheless ruined, destroyed me." "Not so," rejoined the deformed clerk, his pale, uncouth, but expressive features gleaming with wild exultation in the clear starlight. "God has at last enabled me to requite your kindness to a contemned outcast. Fear not for to-morrow. Your husband is safe, and you are rich." With these words he vanished. On the next morning a letter was placed in the magistrate's hands from Mr. Nichols, stating that circumstances had come to the writer's knowledge which convinced him that Edward Lovegrove was entirely innocent of the offense imputed to him; that the letter, which he had destroyed, bore quite another meaning from that which he had first attributed to it; and that he consequently abandoned the prosecution. On further inquiry, it was found that the attorney had left his house late the preceding night, accompanied by his son, had walked to Christchurch, and from thence set off post for London. His property and the winding up of his affairs had been legally confided to his late clerk. Under these circumstances the prisoner was of course immediately discharged; and after a private interview with
- 24. Symons, returned in joy and gladness to his now temporary home. He was accompanied by the noisy felicitations of his neighbors, to whom his liberation and sudden accession to a considerable fortune had become at the same moment known. As he held his passionately-weeping wife in his arms, and gazed with grateful emotion in her tearful but rejoicing eyes, he whispered, "That kind act of yours toward the despised hunchback has saved me, and enriched our child. 'Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy!'" [From Dickens's Household Words.]
- 25. THE GAMBLERS OF THE RHINE. In literature, in science, in art, we find Germany quite on a level with the present age. She has produced men and books equal to the men and books of England or France, as the names of Goethe, Schiller, Humboldt, Liebig, and a score of others bear testimony. But while in poetry, philosophy, and science, she is on a par with the best portions of modern Europe; in politics—in the practical science of government—she is an indefinite number of centuries behindhand. Governmentally, she is now where the English were during the Saxon Heptarchy, with seven or more kingdoms in a space that might be well governed by one sceptre. Where she might get along very well with two, she has a dozen petty kings, and petty courts, and petty national debts, and petty pension-lists, and paltry debased and confusing coinages, and petty cabals, quarrels, and intermixture of contending interests. Out of this division of territory arises, of course, a number of small poor princes; and as poor princes do not like to work hard when their pockets are low, we find them busy with the schemes, shifts, and contrivances, common from time immemorial with penniless people who have large appetites for pleasure, small stomachs for honest work—real, living, reigning dukes though they be, they have added to the royal "businesses" to which they were born, little private speculations for the encouragement of rouge et noir and roulette. These small princes have, in fact, turned gambling house keepers—hell-keepers, in the vulgar but expressive slang of a London police court—proprietors of establishments where the vicious and the unwary, the greedy hawk and the silly pigeon, congregate, the one to plunder and the other to be plucked. That which has been expelled from huge London, as too great an addition to its vice, or, if not quite expelled, is carried on with iron-barred doors, unequal at times to protect its followers from the police and the
- 26. infamy of exposure—that which has been outlawed from the Palais Royal and Paris, as too bad even for the lax morality of a most free- living city—that huge vice which caters to the low senses of cunning and greediness, and tempts men to lose fortune, position, character, even hope, in the frantic excitements of, perhaps, one desperate night—such a vice is housed in fine buildings raised near mineral springs, surrounded by beautiful gardens, enlivened by music, and sanctioned by the open patronage of petty German princes holding sway in the valley watered by the Rhine. In fact, unscrupulous speculators are found to carry on German gaming-tables at German spas, paying the sovereign of the country certain thousands of pounds a year for the privilege of fleecing the public. The weakened in body are naturally weakened in mental power. The weak in body are promised health by "taking the waters" at a German bath. The early hours, the pleasant walks, the good music, the promised economy, are inducements. The weakened mind wants more occupation than it finds, for these places are very monotonous, and the gaming-table is placed by the sovereign of the country in a noble room—the Kursaal, to afford excitement to the visitor, and profits—the profits of infamy—to himself. There are grades in these great gaming-houses for Europe. Taking them in the order in which they are reached from Cologne, it may be said that Wiesbaden is the finest town, having very pleasant environs, and the least play. The Grand Duke of Nassau, therefore, has probably the smallest share of the gaming-table booty. Homburg which comes next in order, is far more out of reach, is smaller, duller—(it is indeed very, very dreary)—and has to keep its gaming-tables going all the year round, to make up the money paid by the lessees of the gambling-house to the duke. The range of the Taunus is at the back of the "town" (a village about as large, imposing, and lively as Hounslow), and affords its chief attraction. The rides are agreeable, if the visitor has a good horse—(a difficult thing to get in that locality)—and is fond of trotting up steep hills,
- 27. and then ambling down again. In beauty of position, and other attractions, it is very far below both Wiesbaden and Baden. Baden-Baden is the third, and certainly most beautiful of these German gambling-towns. The town nestles, as it were, in a sheltered valley, opening among the hills of the Black Forest. In summer its aspect is very picturesque and pleasant; but it looks as if in winter it must be very damp and liable to the atmosphere which provokes the growth of goitre. At Baden there is said to be more play than at the other two places put together. From May till the end of September, roulette and rouge et noir—the mutter of the man who deals the cards, and the rattle of the marble—are never still. The profits of the table at this place are very large. The man who had them some years ago retired with an immense fortune; and one of his successors came from the Palais Royal when public gaming was forbidden in Paris, and was little less successful than his predecessor. The permanent residents at Baden could alone form any idea of the sums netted, and only such of those as were living near the bankers. They could scarcely avoid seeing the bags of silver, five franc pieces chiefly, that passed between the gaming-tables and the bank. A profit of one thousand pounds a fortnight was thought a sign of a bad season; and so it must have been, when it is calculated that the gambling-table keeper paid the duke a clear four thousand pounds a year as the regal share of the plunder, and agreed to spend two thousand a year in decorating the town of Baden. The play goes on in a noble hall called the Conversations House, decorated with frescoes and fitted up most handsomely. This building stands in a fine ornamental garden, with green lawns and fine avenues of tall trees; and all this has been paid for by the profits of roulette and rouge et noir. Seeing this, it may cause surprise that people play at all; yet the fascination is so great that, once within its influence, good resolutions and common sense seem alike unequal to resistance. All seems fair enough, and some appear to win, and then self-love suggests, "Oh, my luck will surely carry me through!" The game is so arranged that some win and some lose every game, the table having, it is said, only a small percentage of chance in its favor.
- 28. These chances are avowedly greater at roulette than at rouge et noir, but at both it is practically shown that the player, in the long run, always loses. It is whispered that, contrary to the schoolboy maxim, cheating does thrive at German baths; and those who have watched the matter closely, say a Dutch banker won every season by following a certain plan. He waited till he saw a heavy stake upon the table, and then backed the other side. He always won. Go into one of the rooms at any of these places, and whom do you see? The off-scourings of European cities—professional gamblers, ex-officers of all sorts of armies; portionless younger brothers; pensioners; old men and old women who have outlived all other excitements; a multitude of silly gulls, attracted by the waters, or the music, or the fascination of play; and a sprinkling of passing tourists, who come—"just look in on their way," generally to be disappointed —often to be fleeced. Young and handsome women are not very often seen playing. Gaming is a vice reserved for middle age. While hearts are to be won, dollars are not worth playing for. Cards, and rouge, and dyspepsy seem to be nearly allied, if we may judge by the specimens of humanity seen at the baths of Wiesbaden, Homburg, and Baden. The players—and player and loser are almost synonymous terms—are generally thin and anxious; the bankers, fat and stolid. As the brass whirls round, the table-keeper has the look of a quiet bloated spider, seemingly passionless, but with an eye that glances over every chance on the board. At his side see an elderly man, pale and thin, the muscles of whose lower jaw are twitching spasmodically, yet with jaded, forced resignation, he loses his last five pounds. Next him is a woman highly dressed, with false hair and teeth, and a great deal of paint. She has a card in her hand, on which she pricks the numbers played, and thus flatters herself she learns the best chances to take. Next to her see one of the most painful sights these places display. A father, mother, and young girl are all trying their fortune; the parents giving money to the child that they "may have her good luck," reckless of the fatal taste they are implanting in her mind. Next is a Jew, looking all sorts of agonies, and one may fancy he knows he is losing in an hour, what it
- 29. has cost him years of cunning and self-denial to amass. And so on, round the table, we find ill-dressed and well dressed Germans, French, Russians, English, Yankees, Irish, mixed up together, in one eager crowd; thirsting to gain gold without giving value in return; risking what they have in an insane contest which they know has destroyed thousands before them; losing their money, and winning disgust, despondency, and often despair and premature death. Never a year is said to go by without its complement of ruined fools and hasty suicides. The neighboring woods afford a convenient shelter; and a trigger, or a handkerchief and a bough, complete the tragedy. [From Chambers's Edinburgh Journal.]
- 30. THE CONFLICT OF LOVE—A TALE OF REAL LIFE. In the north of France, near the Belgian frontier, is situated a small, obscure town. It is surrounded by high fortifications, which seem ready to crush the mean houses in the centre. Inclosed, so to speak, in a net-work of walls, the poor little town has never sent a suburb to wander on the smooth green turf outside; but as the population increased, new streets sprang up within the boundary, crowding the already narrow space, and giving to the whole the aspect of some huge prison. The climate of the north of France during half the year is usually damp and gloomy. I shall never forget the sensation of sadness which I felt when obliged by circumstances to leave the gay, sunny south, and take up my abode for a while in the town I have described. Every day I walked out; and in order to reach the nearest gate, I had to pass through a narrow lane, so very steep, that steps were cut across it in order to render the ascent less difficult. Traversing this disagreeable alley, it happened one day that my eyes rested on a mean-looking, gray-colored house, which stood detached from the others. Seldom, indeed, could a ray of sunshine light up its small, green-paned windows, and penetrate the interior of its gloomy apartments. During the winter the frozen snow on the steps made it so dangerous to pass through the narrow alley, that its slippery pavement seemed quite deserted. I do not remember to have met a single person there in the course of my daily walk; and my eye used to rest with compassion on the silent gray house. "I hope," thought I, "that its inhabitants are old—it would be fearful to be young there!" Spring came; and in the narrow lane the ice changed into moisture; then the damp gradually dried up, and a few blades of grass began to appear beneath the rampart wall. Even in
- 31. this gloomy passage there were tokens of awakening life, but the gray house remained silent and sad as before. Passing by it, as usual, in the beginning of June, I remarked, placed on the window- sill of the open casement, a glass containing a bunch of violets. "Ah," thought I, "there is a soul here!" To love flowers, one must either be young, or have preserved the memories of youth. The enjoyment of their perfume implies something ideal and refined; and among the poor a struggle between the necessities of the body and the instincts of the soul. I looked at the violets with a feeling of sadness, thinking that they probably formed the single solace of some weary life. The next day I returned. Even in that gloomy place the sweet rejoicing face of summer had appeared, and dissipated the chill silence of the air. Birds were twittering, insects humming, and one of the windows in the old gray house was wide open. Seated near it was a woman working busily with her needle. It would be difficult to tell her age, for the pallor and sadness of her countenance might have been caused as much by sorrow as by years, and her cheek was shadowed by a profusion of rich dark hair. She was thin, and her fingers were long and white. She wore a simple brown dress, a black apron, and white collar; and I remarked the sweet, though fading bunch of violets carefully placed within the folds of her kerchief. Her eyes met mine, and she gently inclined her head. I then saw more distinctly that she had just reached the limit which separates youth from mature age. She had suffered, but probably without a struggle, without a murmur—perhaps without a tear. Her countenance was calm and resigned, but it was the stillness of death. I fancied she was like a drooping flower, which, without being broken, bends noiselessly toward the earth. Every day I saw her in the same place, and, without speaking, we exchanged a salutation. On Sundays I missed her, and concluded that she walked into the country, for each Monday a fresh bunch of violets appeared in the window. I conjectured that she was poor, working at embroidery for her support; and I discovered that she
- 32. was not alone in the house, for one day a somewhat impatient voice called "Ursula!" and she rose hastily. The tone was not that of a master, neither did she obey the summons after the manner of a servant, but with an expression of heartfelt readiness; yet the voice breathed no affection; and I thought that Ursula perchance was not loved by those with whom she lived. Time passed on, and our silent intimacy increased. At length each day I gathered some fresh flowers, and placed them on the window- sill. Ursula blushed, and took them with a gentle, grateful smile. Clustering in her girdle, and arranged within her room, they brought summer to the old gray house. It happened one evening that as I was returning through the alley a sudden storm of rain came on. Ursula darted toward the door, caught my hand as I was passing, and drew me into the narrow passage which led to her room. Then the poor girl clasped both my hands in hers, and murmured, softly, "Thanks!" It was the first time I had heard her voice, and I entered her apartment. It was a large, low room, with a red-tiled floor, furnished with straw chairs ranged along the walls. Being lighted by only one small window, it felt damp and gloomy. Ursula was right to seat herself close by the casement to seek a little light and air. I understood the reason of her paleness—it was not that she had lost the freshness of youth, but that she had never possessed it. She was bleached like a flower that has blossomed in the shade. In the farthest corner of the room, seated on arm-chairs, were two persons, an old man and woman. The latter was knitting without looking at her work—she was blind. The man was unemployed: he gazed vacantly at his companion without a ray of intelligence in his face: it was evident that he had overpassed the ordinary limit of human life, and that now his body alone existed. Sometimes in extreme old age the mind, as though irritated by its long captivity, tries to escape from its prison, and in its efforts, breaks the harmonious chord that links them together. It chafes against the shattered walls; it has not taken flight, but it feels itself no longer in a place of rest.
- 33. These, then, were the inhabitants of the silent gray house—a blind old woman, an imbecile old man, and a young girl faded before her time by the sadness and gloom that surrounded her! Her life had been a blank; each year had borne away some portion of her youth, her beauty, and her hope, and left her nothing but silence and oblivion. I often returned to visit Ursula, and one day, while I sat next her in the window, she told me the simple story of her life. "I was born," said she, "in this house; and I have never quitted it; but my parents are not natives of this country—they came here as strangers, without either friends or relatives. When they married, they were already advanced in life; for I can not remember them ever being young. My mother became blind, and this misfortune rendered her melancholy and austere; so that our house was enveloped in gloom. I was never permitted to sing, or play, or make the slightest noise: very rarely did I receive a caress. Yet my parents loved me: they never told me that they did; but I judged their hearts by my own, and I felt that I loved them. My days were not always as solitary as they are now; I had a sister"—Her eyes filled with tears, but they did not overflow; they were wont to remain hidden in the depths of her heart. After a few moments, she continued—"I had an elder sister: like our mother, she was grave and silent, but toward me she was tender and affectionate. We loved each other dearly, and shared between us the cares which our parents required. We never enjoyed the pleasure of rambling together through the fields, for one always remained at home; but whichever of us went out, brought flowers to the other, and talked to her of the sun, and the trees, and the fresh air. In the evenings we worked together by the light of a lamp; we could not converse much, for our parents used to slumber by our side; but whenever we looked up, we could see a loving smile on each other's face; and we went to repose in the same room, never lying down without saying 'Good-night! I hope, dear sister, you will sleep well!' Was it not a trial to part? Yet I do not murmur: Martha is happy in heaven. I know not if it was the want of air and exercise, or the dull monotony of her life, which caused the commencement of Martha's illness, but I saw her gradually languish
- 34. and fade. I alone was disquieted by it; my mother did not see her, and she never complained. With much difficulty I at length prevailed on my sister to see a physician. Alas! nothing could be done: she lingered for a time, and then died. The evening before her death, as I was seated by her bed, she clasped my hand between her trembling ones: 'Adieu! my poor Ursula!' she said: 'take courage, and watch well over our father and mother. They love us, Ursula; they love us, although they do not often say so. Take care of your health for their sake; you can not die before them. Adieu! sister: don't weep for me too much, but pray to our heavenly Father. We shall meet again, Ursula!' Three days afterward, Martha was borne away in her coffin, and I remained alone with my parents. When my mother first heard of my sister's death, she uttered a loud cry, sprang up, took a few hasty steps across the room, and then fell on the ground. I raised her up, and led her back to her arm-chair. Since then she has not wept, but she is more silent than before, save that her lips move in secret prayer. I have little more to tell. My father became completely imbecile, and at the same time we lost nearly the whole of our little property. I have succeeded in concealing this loss from my parents; making money for their support by selling my embroidery. I have no one to speak to since my sister's death; I love books, but I have no time for reading—I must work. It is only on Sunday that I breathe the fresh air; and I do not walk far, as I am alone. Some years since, when I was very young, I used to dream while I sat in this window. I peopled the solitude with a thousand visions which brightened the dark hours. Now a sort of numbness has fallen on my thoughts—I dream no more. While I was young, I used to hope for some change in my destiny; now I am twenty-nine years old, and sorrow has chastened my spirit: I no longer hope or fear. In this place I shall finish my lonely days. Do not think that I have found resignation without a conflict. There were times when my heart revolted at living without being loved, but I thought of Martha's gentle words, 'We shall meet again, sister!' and I found peace. Now I often pray—I seldom weep. And you, madam—are you happy?"
- 35. I did not answer this question of Ursula's. Speaking to her of happiness would be like talking of an ungrateful friend to one whom he has deserted. Some months afterward, on a fine autumn morning, as I was preparing to go to Ursula, I received a visit from a young officer who had lately joined the garrison. He was the son of an old friend of my husband's, and we both felt a lively interest in his welfare. Seeing me prepared for a walk, he offered his arm, and we proceeded toward the dwelling of Ursula. I chanced to speak of her; and as the young officer, whom I shall call Maurice d'Erval, seemed to take an interest in her story, I related it to him as we walked slowly along. When we reached the old gray house he looked at her with pity and respect, saluted her, and withdrew. Ursula, startled at the presence of a stranger, blushed slightly. At that moment she looked almost beautiful. I know not what vague ideas crossed my brain, but I looked at her, and then, without speaking, I drew the rich bands of her hair into a more becoming form, I took a narrow black velvet collar off my own neck, and passed it round hers, and I arranged a few brilliant flowers in her girdle. Ursula smiled without understanding why I did so: her smile always pained me—there is nothing more sad than the smile of the unhappy. They seem to smile for others, not for themselves. Many days passed without my seeing Maurice d'Erval, and many more before chance led us together near the old gray house. It was on our return from a country excursion with a large gay party. On entering the town, we all dispersed in different directions: I took the arm of Maurice, and led him toward Ursula's abode. It was one of those soft, calm autumn evenings, when the still trees are colored by the rays of the setting sun, and every thing breathes repose. It is a time when the soul is softened, when we become better, when we feel ready to weep without the bitterness of sorrow. Ursula, as usual, was seated in the window. A slanting ray of sunshine falling on her head lent an unwonted lustre to her dark hair: her eyes brightened when she saw me, and she smiled her own sad smile. Her sombre
- 36. dress showed to advantage her slender, gracefully-bending figure, and a bunch of violets, her favorite flower, was fastened in her bosom. There was something in the whole appearance of Ursula which suited harmoniously the calm, sad beauty of the evening, and my companion felt it. As we approached, he fixed his eyes on the poor girl, who, timid as a child of fifteen, hung down her head, and blushed deeply. Maurice stopped, exchanged a few words with us both, and then took his leave. But from that time he constantly passed through the narrow alley, and paused each time for a moment to salute Ursula. One day, accompanied by me, he entered her house. There are hearts in this world so unaccustomed to hope, that they can not comprehend happiness when it comes to them. Enveloped in her sadness, which, like a thick vail, hid from her sight all external things, Ursula neither saw nor understood. She remained under the eyes of Maurice as under mine—dejected and resigned. As to the young man, I could not clearly make out what was passing in his mind. It was not love for Ursula, at least so I thought, but it was that tender pity which is nearly allied to it. The romantic soul of Maurice pleased itself in the atmosphere of sadness which surrounded Ursula. Gradually they began to converse; and in sympathizing with each other on the misery of life, they experienced that happiness whose existence they denied. Months passed on; the pleasant spring came back again; and one evening, while walking with a large party, Maurice d'Erval drew me aside, and after some indifferent remarks, said, "Does not the most exalted happiness consist in making others share it with you? Is there not great sweetness in imparting joy to one who would otherwise pass a life of tears?" I looked at him anxiously without speaking. "Yes," said he, "dear friend, go ask Ursula if she will marry me!" An exclamation of joy was my reply, and I hurried toward the gray house. I found Ursula, as usual, seated at her work. Solitude, silence, and the absence of all excitement had lulled her spirit into a sort of drowsiness. She did not suffer; she even smiled languidly
- 37. when I appeared, but this was the only sign of animation she displayed. I feared not giving a sudden shock to this poor paralyzed soul, or stirring it into a violent tumult of happiness: I wanted to see if the mental vigor was extinct, or merely dormant. I placed my chair next hers, I took both her hands in mine, and fixing my eyes on hers, I said, "Ursula, Maurice d'Erval has desired me to ask you if you will be his wife!" The girl was struck as if with a thunderbolt; her eyes beamed through the tears that filled them, and her blood, rushing through the veins, mantled richly beneath her skin. Her chest heaved, her heart beat almost audibly, and her hands grasped mine with a convulsive pressure. Ursula had only slumbered, and now the voice of love awakened her. She loved suddenly: hitherto she might, perchance, have loved unwittingly, but now the vail was rent, and she knew that she loved. After a few moments, she passed her hand across her forehead, and said, in a low voice, "No: it is not possible!" I simply repeated the same phrase, "Maurice d'Erval asks you if you will be his wife," in order to accustom her to the sound of the words, which, like the notes of a harmonious chord, formed for her, poor thing, a sweet, unwonted melody. "His wife!" repeated she with ecstasy; "his wife!" And running toward her mother, she cried, "Mother, do you hear it? He asks me to be his wife!" "Daughter," replied the old blind woman, "my beloved daughter, I knew that, sooner or later, God would recompense your virtues." "My God!" cried Ursula, "what hast Thou done for me this day? His wife! beloved daughter!" And she fell on her knees with clasped hands, and her face covered with tears. At that moment footsteps were heard in the passage. "It is he!" cried Ursula. "He brings life!" I hastened away, and left Ursula glowing with tearful happiness to receive Maurice d'Erval alone.
- 38. From that day Ursula was changed. She grew young and beautiful under the magic influence of joy, yet her happiness partook in some measure of her former character: it was calm, silent, and reserved; so that Maurice, who had first loved a pale, sad woman, seated in the shade, was not obliged to change the coloring of the picture, although Ursula was now happy. They passed long evenings together in the low, dull room, lighted only by the moonbeams, conversing and musing together. Ursula loved with simplicity. She said to Maurice, "I love you—I am happy—and I thank you for it!" The old gray house was the only scene of these interviews. Ursula worked with unabated diligence, and never left her parents. But the walls of that narrow dwelling no longer confined her soul: it had risen to freedom, and taken its flight. The sweet magic of hope brightens not only the future, but the present, and through the medium of its all-powerful prism changes the coloring of all things. The old house was as mean- looking and gloomy as ever, but one feeling, enshrined in the heart of a woman, changed it to a palace. Dreams of hope, although you fleet and vanish like golden clouds in the sky, yet come, come to us ever! Those who have never known you, are a thousand times poorer than those who live to regret you! Thus there passed a happy time for Ursula. But a day came when Maurice entering her room in haste, said, "Dearest, we must hasten our marriage; the regiment is about to be moved to another garrison, and we must be ready to set out." "Are we going far, Maurice?" "Does it frighten my Ursula to think of seeing distant countries? There are many lands more beautiful than this." "Oh, no, Maurice, not for myself, but for my parents: they are too old to bear a long journey." Maurice looked at his betrothed without speaking. Although he well knew that, in order to share his wandering destiny, Ursula must leave her parents, yet he had never
- 39. reflected seriously on the subject. He had foreseen her grief, but confiding in her affection, he had thought that his devoted love would soothe every sorrow of which he was not himself the cause. It was now necessary to come to an explanation; and sad at the inevitable pain which he was about to inflict on his betrothed, Maurice took her hand, made her sit down in her accustomed place, and said, gently, "Dearest, it would be impossible for your father and mother to accompany us in our wandering life. Until now, my Ursula, we have led a loving, dreamy life, without entering soberly into our future plans. I have no fortune but my sword; and now, at the commencement of my career, my income is so small, that we shall have to submit together to many privations. I reckon on your courage; but you alone must follow me. The presence of your parents would only serve to entail misery on them, and hopeless poverty on us." "Leave my father and my mother!" cried Ursula. "Leave them, with their little property, in this house; confide them to careful hands; and follow the fortunes of your husband." "Leave my father and my mother!" repeated Ursula. "But do you know that the pittance they possess would never suffice for their support—that without their knowledge, I work to increase it—and that, during many years, I have tended them alone?" "My poor Ursula!" replied Maurice, "we must submit to what is inevitable. Hitherto you have concealed from them the loss of their little fortune; tell it to them now, as it can not be helped. Try to regulate their expenditure of the little which remains; for, alas! we shall have nothing to give them." "Go away, and leave them here! Impossible! I tell you, I must work for them!" "Ursula, my Ursula!" said Maurice, pressing both her hands in his, "do not allow yourself, I conjure you, to be carried away by the first impulse of your generous heart. Reflect for a moment: we do not
- 40. refuse to give, but we have it not. Even living alone, we shall have to endure many privations." "I can not leave them," said Ursula, looking mournfully at the two old people slumbering in their arm-chairs. "Do you not love me, Ursula?" The poor girl only replied by a torrent of tears. Maurice remained long with her, pouring forth protestations of love, and repeating explanations of their actual position. She listened without replying; and at length he took his leave. Left alone, Ursula leaned her head on her hand, and remained without moving for many hours. Alas! the tardy gloom of happiness which brightened her life for a moment was passing away: the blessed dream was fled never to return! Silence, oblivion, darkness, regained possession of that heart whence love had chased them. During the long midnight hours who can tell what passed in the poor girl's mind? God knew: she never spoke of it. When day dawned, she shuddered, closed the window, which had remained open during the night, and, trembling from the chill which seized both mind and body, she took paper and pen, and wrote —"Farewell, Maurice! I remain with my father and my mother: they have need of me. To abandon them in their old age would be to cause their death: they have only me in the world. My sister, on her death-bed, confided them to me, saying, 'We shall meet again, Ursula!' If I neglected my duties, I should never see her more. I have loved you well—I shall love you always. You have been very kind, but I know now that we are too poor to marry. Farewell! How hard to write that word! Farewell, dear friend—I knew that happiness was not for me, Ursula." I went to the old gray house, and so did Maurice; but all our representations were useless—she would not leave her parents. "I must work for them!" she said. In vain I spoke to her of Maurice's love, and, with a sort of cruelty, reminded her of her waning youth,
- 41. and the improbability of her meeting another husband. She listened, while her tears dropped on the delicate work at which she labored without intermission, and then in a low voice she murmured, "They would die: I must work for them!" She begged us not to tell her mother what had passed. Those for whom she had sacrificed herself remained ignorant of her devotion. Some slight reason was assigned for the breaking off of the marriage, and Ursula resumed her place and her employment near the window, pale, dejected, and bowed down as before. Maurice d'Erval possessed one of those prudent, deliberating minds which never allow themselves to be carried away by feeling or by impulse. His love had a limit: he prayed and intreated for a time, but at length he grew weary, and desisted. It happened one day, while Ursula was seated in her window, that she heard a distant sound of military music, and the measured trampling of many feet. It was the regiment departing. Tremblingly she listened to the air, which sounded as a knell in her ears; and when the last faint notes died away in the distance, she let her work fall on her lap, and covered her face with her hands. A few tears trickled between her fingers, but she speedily wiped them away, and resumed her work: she resumed it for the rest of her life. On the evening of this day of separation—this day when the sacrifice was consummated—Ursula, after having bestowed her usual care on her parents, seated herself at the foot of her mother's bed, and, bending toward her with a look, whose tearful tenderness the blind old woman could not know, the poor deserted one took her hand, and murmured softly, "Mother! you love me; do you not? Is not my presence a comfort to you? Would you not grieve to part with me, my mother?" The old woman turned her face to the wall, and said in a fretful tone, "Nonsense, Ursula. I'm tired; let me go to sleep!" The word of tenderness which she had sought as her only recompense was not uttered; the mother fell asleep without pressing her daughter's
- 42. hand; and the poor girl, falling on her knees, poured out her sorrows in prayer to One who could both hear and heal them. From that time Ursula became more pale, more silent, more cast down than ever. The last sharp sorrow bore away all traces of her youth and beauty. "All is ended!" she used to say; and all, save duty, was ended for her on earth. No tidings came of Maurice d'Erval. Ursula had pleased his imagination, like some graceful melancholy picture, but time effaced its coloring from his memory, and he forgot. How many things are forgotten in this life! How rarely do the absent mourn each other long! One year after these events, Ursula's mother began visibly to decline, yet without suffering from any positive malady. Her daughter watched and prayed by her bed, and received her last benediction. "Once more she is with thee, Martha!" sighed Ursula: "be it thine to watch over her in heaven." She knelt down, and prayed by the side of the solitary old man. She dressed him in mourning without his being conscious of it; but on the second day he turned toward the empty arm-chair next his own, and cried, "My wife!" Ursula spoke to him, and tried to divert his attention; but he repeated, "My wife!" while the tears rolled down his cheeks. In the evening, when his supper was brought, he turned away from it, and fixing his eyes on the vacant chair, said, "My wife!" Ursula tried every expedient that love and sorrow could suggest; but in vain. The old man continued watching the place which his wife was wont to occupy; and refusing food, he would look at Ursula, and with clasped hands, in the querulous tone of a child imploring some forbidden indulgence, repeat, "My wife!" In a month afterward he died. His last movement was to raise his clasped hands, look up to Heaven, and cry "My wife!" as though he saw her waiting to receive him. When the last coffin was borne away from the old gray house, Ursula murmured softly, "My God! couldst thou not have spared
- 43. them to me a little longer?" She was left alone; and many years have passed since then. I left the dark old town and Ursula to travel into distant lands. By degrees she ceased to write to me, and after many vain efforts to induce her to continue the correspondence, I gradually lost all trace of her. I sometimes ask myself, "What has been her fate? Is she dead?" Alas! the poor girl was ever unfortunate: I fear she still lives!
- 44. STREET MUSIC IN LONDON. "Charming place this," said a mad lady to us while looking out of a window of the finest Lunatic Asylum in North Britain; "so retired, so quiet, so genteel, so remote from the busy hum of men and women. The view you perceive is lovely—quite sylvan (there were two trees in the remote distance), 'Silence reigns around,' as the poet says, and then you see, sir, we do not allow street bands to come here." On inquiry, we were told that this patient was a London literary lady. Her mania, like Morose in Ben Jonson's Epicure, was against noise. She constantly prayed for deafness. She walked in list shoes, and spoke in a whisper as an example to others. The immediate cause of her confinement had not been ascertained, but we have no doubt that she had been driven stark mad by the street discord of the metropolis. We firmly believe her case is not singular. Judging from our own experience of the extremest brink of insanity, to which we have been occasionally driven by the organic and Pandean persecutions to which we have been subjected, we should say that much of the madness existing and wrought in this county of Middlesex originates in street music. If Dr. Connolly can not bear us out in this opinion, we shall be rather astonished. A man of thoughtful habit, and of a timid, or nervous temperament, has only to take apartments in what lodging-house-keepers wickedly call, in their advertisements, "a quiet neighborhood," to be tolerably sure of making his next move in a strait waistcoat to an asylum for the insane. In retired streets, squares, terraces, or "rows," where the more pleasing music of cart, coach, and cab wheels does not abound, the void is discordantly filled up by peripatetic concerts, which last all day long. You are forced, each morning, to shave to the hundredth psalm groaned out from an impious organ; at breakfast you are stunned by the basses of a wretched waltz
- 45. belched forth from a bass trombone; and your morning is ruined for study by the tinkling of a barrel piano-forte; at luncheon acute dyspepsia communicates itself to your vitals in the stunning buldering of a big-drum; tuneless trumpets, discordant cornets, and blundering bass-viols form a running accompaniment of discord to your afternoon walk; hurdy-gurdies, peradventure, destroy your dinner; fiddles and harps squeak away the peace of your whole evening; and, when you lay your distracted head on your pillow you are robbed of sleep by a banditti of glee singers, hoarsely croaking, "Up rouse ye then, my merry, merry men!" Yet this is a land of liberty, and every man's house is his castle! A man may have every comfort this world can afford—the prettiest house, the sweetest wife, the most unexceptionable cook, lovely children, and a good library—but what are these when the enjoyment they afford is destroyed by an endless charivari; when domestic happiness is made misery by street discord; when an English gentleman is denied what is insured to every Pentonville prisoner—peace; when a wise legislation has patented the silent system for convicts only, and supplies no free-born Briton with a defense from hideous invasions of his inmost privacy: a legislature which, here, in London, in the year of grace eighteen hundred and fifty, where civilization is said to have made some advances—permits bag-pipes! This is a subject upon which it is impossible, without the most superhuman self-control, to write with calmness. Justice is supposed in this country to be meted out with an even hand. A humane maxim says, "Better let ten guilty men escape, than one innocent man suffer." Yet what have the public, especially of "quiet neighborhoods," done; what crimes have we committed; what retribution have we invoked; that we are to be visited with the indiscriminating punishment, the excruciating agony, squealed and screeched into our ears out of that instrument of ineffable torture, the Scotch bagpipe? If our neighbor be a slanderer, a screw, a giver
- 46. of bad dinners, or any other sort of criminal for whom the law has provided no punishment and a bag-pipe serenade be your mode of revenge on him, shut him up with a piper or pipers in the padded room in Bedlam, or take him out to the Eddystone lighthouse; but for the love of mercy, do not make us, his unoffending neighbors, partakers of his probably just, but certainly condign punishment! We have, however, a better opinion of human nature than to believe in such extreme vindictiveness. We rather attribute these public performances of sonorous savagery to the perverted taste of a few unfortunate individuals, who pretend to relish the discords, and who actually pay the kilted executioners of harmony. The existence of such wretched amateurs might be doubted, if we did not remember that the most revolting propensities are to be found among mankind. There are people who chew tobacco; a certain tribe of Polynesian aborigines deem assafœtida the most delicious of perfumes; and Southey, in his Travels in Spain, states that the Gallician carters positively refused to grease their wheels because of the delight the creaking gave them. Yet although the grating of wooden axles, or even the sharpening of saws, is music to the pibroch, it appears from a variety of evidence that bad taste can actually reach, even in the female mind, to the acme of encouraging and patronizing street bagpipers. Do we wish to banish all music from the busy haunts of men? By no means. Good music is sometimes emitted from our pavements—the kerb sends forth here and there, and now and then, sounds not unworthy of the best appointed orchestra. Where these superior street performers received their musical education it is not our business to inquire; but their arrangements of some of the most popular opera music, show that their training has been strictly professional. Quintette, Sestette, and Septette bands of brass and string are occasionally heard in the open street, whose performances show that the pieces have been regularly scored and rigidly rehearsed. "Tune, time, and distance" are excellently kept; the pianos and fortes are admirably colored—there is no vamping of
- 47. basses; no "fudging" of difficult passages. We look upon such players as musical missionaries who purvey the best music from the opera houses and from the saloons of the nobility to the general public, to the improvement of its musical taste. But where even these choice pavé professionists have us at a disadvantage is in their discoursing their excellent music at precisely the times when we do not want the sounds of the charmer, charm he never so wisely. The habitant of the "quiet neighborhood," fond as he is of Casta Diva or the Rosen Waltz, would rather not be indulged with them just as he is commencing to study a complicated brief, or while he is computing the draft of a difficult survey. When he wants music he likes to go to it; he never wants it to come to him. [From Dickens's Household Words.]
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