they often exist among the individuals of these classes, are for this reason seldom cultivated.  In Italy, insurmountable barriers are erected across these paths, which, in England, all are invited to pursue.  The jealousy of despotic governments is ever on the watch to stifle and put down the genius that would busy itself on the serious affairs of men.  Instances might be mentioned in which this monstrous system has been carried into effect.  The smothered energies of these restless spirits must somewhere find a vent, and Arteaga has eloquently described one of the effects thus produced upon the Italians.  “The love of pleasure,” he remarks, “the only recompense for the loss of their ancient liberty which the Italians possess, and which in every nation decreases in proportion as political virtue diminishes, has caused an excessive frequency of theatrical pageants and amusements.  In every small town, in every village, a theatre may be found.  Subsistence may fail the indigent, the rivers may want bridges, drainage may be necessary to fertilize the plains, hospitals may be needful for the sick and infirm, there may even be no provision to meet a public calamity, but a species of Coliseum is nowhere wanting for the idle and unemployed.”  Operas are the national entertainments at these numerous theatres.  The impresario, or manager, is generally one of the most wealthy and considerable personages of the little town which he inhabits.  He forms a company, and he engages a composer to write an opera for the opening of the season, which generally consists of twenty or thirty nights, during which period seldom more than two operas are performed.  The first night of one of these seasons is most amusingly described by the biographer of Rossini.  “The theatre overflows, the people flock from ten leagues’ distance; the curious form an encampment round the theatre in their calashes; all the inns are filled to excess, where insolence reigns at its height.  All occupations have ceased; at the moment of the performance the town has the aspect of a desert.  All the passions, all the solicitudes, all the life, of a whole population, is concentrated at the theatre.  The overture commences; so intense is the attention, that the buzzing of a fly could be heard.  On its conclusion, the most tremendous uproar ensues.  It is either applauded to the clouds, or hissed, or rather howled at, without mercy.  In an Italian theatre, they shout, they scream, they stamp, they belabour the backs of their seats with their canes, with all the violence of persons possessed.  It is thus that they force on others the judgment which they have formed, and strive to prove it a sound one; for, strange to say, there is no intolerance equal to that of the eminently sensitive.  At the close of each air the same terrific uproar ensues; the bellowings of an angry sea could give but a faint idea of its fury.  Such, at the same time, is the taste of an Italian audience, that they at once distinguish whether the merit of an air belongs to the singer, or composer.”