In the country, the advancement is less manifest.  A provincial musical party is generally a fearful thing.  In the society of the metropolis, none but the really skilful musician is ever heard; in the country, these are rare beings; or, if the scientific performer is sometimes found, like the diamond in the mine, he shines in vain, there are none to appreciate his excellence.  It is truly painful to see a number of fair young creatures, one after another, brought up to the instrument; there to exhibit, not taste or skill, but ignorance and inability.  It is even still more painful to be condemned to listen to the performance of the best specimens, selected from the stock of school-taught pieces, beyond which many of the fair performers know little or nothing.  We beg pardon of our fair young countrywomen; the fault lies not with them.  The indiscriminate teaching of music cannot make all musicians.  Many have no warm taste for music, and many more, who, under other circumstances, might have pursued the art as an amusement and recreation, are disgusted from their earliest youth by its being made a task, the difficulty of which is immeasurably increased by imperfect instruments.  The general taste of the provincial world has advanced but little, for many years.  There is a certain class of music, which has been respectfully listened to for upwards of a century; which, having been admired before, is therefore proper to be admired again.  Few would dare to criticize, or avow a distaste for, music which has so long been popular.  Handel and some others still meet with universal deference, and their very names alone suffice to silence any one who, more hardy than the rest, should be disposed to find fault.  This music, however, is heard with cold indifference; it calls forth no feeling, and excites no enthusiasm.  It is, indeed, seldom adequately performed.  Many of Handel’s songs are truly dramatic; but the purists of “the good old school,” sternly adhering to their—­self-styled classic—­insipidity, never condescend to a meretricious display of dramatic power.  The Italian and German schools are not understood by the “million.”  We have on many occasions observed a large audience, who, after having listened with an air of puzzled stupidity to the performance of the most beautiful cavatine by the first singers of the day, would the next moment, one and all, be thrown into apparent ecstasy by a wretched ballad, wound up by the everlasting ponderous English shake.  This mode of conclusion, to which true taste is an utter stranger, is still considered indispensable; though, in the Italian school, it has been exploded upwards of a century.  Such is the music which calls forth the latent enthusiasm of an English assembly, and a very respectable degree of excitement is often thus produced.  There are many, who believe this music to be of the highest class of excellence, and who affect to despise the music of every other school.  There are also many, who