the wall on either hand, and then hermetical- ognize one of the most extraordinary men of his time. He was not a soldier, like Garibaldi, nor a statesman, like Cavour, and yet he was the precursor of both, and as moral must ever precede political revolutions, he occupies no subordinate position in the AN UPPER GALLERY, CAMPO SANTO. eration. great Italian triumvirate. Mazzini gave to Italy a faith and a conscience. His motto was, "Thought and action," his creed, "God and the people." Не was the civil educator par excellence of the masses. He is the oracle of Italian liberals, and his Doveri dell' Uomo is the working-man's catechism. In the grand national epopee Mazzini was the symbol of the national energy and intelligence work marble, constitutes its most striking archi- |ing out the problem of the national regen- it well deserves a Here, by the side graphical expres sion," was brand The constant ideal of Mazzini was to see Italy one, free, independent, and republican, with Rome as its capital-that Rome which had been the centre of two great civilizations, and which, on the ushering in of the universal republic, was to become the head of the political, as it long had been of the ecclesiastical, world. His was "the Titanic AN INNER GALLERY, CAMPO SANTO. ed as a crime but little short of high trea- | dream," as he himself says of Dante, "of an son. Without sharing the idolatry of his more devout worshipers, for whom he was the apostle of a new faith, if not the evangel of a new dispensation, in Mazzini we must rec Italy the leader of humanity and the angel of liberty among the nations." To secure the triumph of this lofty ideal he suffered poverty, exile, persecution, and imprisonment. Branded as a conspirator and assas pendence as Carlo Alberto-in fine, proscribed by all the Italian governments and exiled from Europe, he never doubted for a moment of the sacredness of his cause, or despaired of its ultimate success. Neither exile, nor imprisonment, nor defeat could make him hesitate or waver, and he never lost sight of the objective point toward which his operations were constantly directed. And thus, without arms, or men, or material resources, he maintained for nearly forty years, almost single-handed, the unequal struggle in favor of nationalities against dynasties, and of popular rights against royal prerogative and priestly domination. The political faults of Mazzini were of the same type as his political virtues. His fanaticism was the dynamometer of his patriotism. His non possumus was as irrevocable as the Pope's. He was actuated by the profound conviction that he had a divine mission to fulfill, and though it must be confessed that the means he sometimes employed to secure its accomplishment were unworthy of himself and the holy cause he had espoused, no one can call in question the singleness of his purpose or the purity of his motives. In presenting to the monarchy the alternative of "liberty of propagandism or conspiracy," he was compelled to embrace the latter; yet he was not a conspirator in the ordinary sense of the term. He belonged to the same school as Dante, Macchiavelli, Arnoldo, and Savonarola, and was the legitimate interpreter of their doctrines. A radical republican, he abhorred Communism and denounced the International. He may have been an idealist, but his ideal was a grand and lofty one. Mazzini was doubtless a dreamer, but he fortunately lived to see his splendid dream for the most part realized. But whatever may have been his faults and extravagances, whether we regard him as the founder of "Young Italy" or master of the Carbonari, as Florentine deputy or Roman triumvir, as a political prisoner in the fortress of Gaeta or political refugee on the free soil of England; whether we see him reduced to the extremity of pledging an old coat at a pawnbroker's or issuing incendiary proclamations and exciting political revolutions; whether teaching gratuitously a night school of organ-grinders or proclaiming the constitution from the heights of the Capitol at Rome, while French republican bomb-shells were every where bursting over the ill-fated city-Mazzini was ever governed by what he himself calls the "sacred, inexorable, dominant idea of duty." His birth-place is in the "Via Lomillina," not far from the Oratorio of San Filippo, and is now occupied as a Mazzinian club-room. The façade, still decorated with funereal wreaths and garlands, bears upon a marble tablet the following inscription: Qui Nacque GIUSEPPE MAZZINI Il 22 Giugno, 1805. Over the main entrance is another in Greek, which, though probably antedating the birth of the Genoese exile, is singularly appropri ate. Ο ΒΙΟΣ ΒΡΑΧΥΣ Ή ΔΕ ΤΕΧΝΗ ΜΑΚΡΗ. Life is short, but art is long. In dying, Mazzini only commenced to live. The day of his death was his coronation day. Though, after an exile of nearly a quarter of a century, he breathed his last in humble state in Pisa, surrounded by a few of his more intimate friends, a hundred Italian cities presented the sublime spectacle of a whole people, without distinction of party, uniting in the last tribute of respect to the great Italian patriot. Florence decreed him a monument in Santa Croce by the side of Dante and Macchiavelli, while the Roman people carried his bust in triumphal procession to the Capitol and placed it beside those of her illustrious men in her Pantheon of glory. His obsequies in Genoa, at which all parts of Italy were represented, were the most imposing it has ever been our fortune to witness. And every year on the anniversary of his death the solemn pageant repeats itself. His funeral seemed an apotheosis. His tomb has become an altar. GIUSEPPE MAZZINI. Verdi, the "Euripides of Italian opera," though not a native, is a resident of Genoa. The son of a peasant of Busseto, from his first "ineffable joy" on hearing the church organ in his native village, his career was decided. From henceforth he dedicated himself to music. At eight years of age, his fa upon him from all parts of Italy. Operatic managers tendered him engagements at fabulous figures, or left the contract price in blank for the composer himself to fill up. Other operas followed each other in rapid succession. The popularity acquired with a rapidity almost unexampled, has been maintained with a constancy truly extraordinary. For thirty-three years the magic baton of Verdi has ruled the Italian operatic stage. From the Nabucco, with its choral symphonies full of Biblical inspiration, to the grand Requiem Mass in commemoration of the death of the great Italian poet Manzoni, his career has been an almost uninterrupted series of brilliant triumphs. In the musical heavens the harpsichord of the peasant boy of Busseto has taken its place among the constellations. ther having purchased for him a spinet or clavichord, he commenced his musical studies. At seventeen, with a few quattrini in his pocket, and some of his musical compositions under his arm, he goes to Milan, where, on presenting himself to the Conservatory for admission, he is rejected as being destitute of musical talent. His father, finding his art an unprofitable investment, advised him to return to the plow. But the young Verdi, suspecting that the Conservatory can claim neither infallibility of judgment nor a monopoly of success, though disappointed, was not disheartened. Taking a private master, he studies composition, spending his evenings in his desolate room with the Bible and the classics, only too happy when he can save enough from his monthly gratuity of twenty-five francs from the Monte di Pietà to gain admittance to the gallery of the Verdi divides his time between Genoa Scala. and his native village, where he owns an His first opera met with indifferent suc-estate valued at a million of francs. Here cess. His second was a complete failure, compelled as he was by his contract and a cruel fortune to write a comic opera over the open graves of his wife and two children. But his heart, thus stricken by bereavement, was touched to diviner harmonies, that found expression in the sublime choruses of the Nabucco, which obtained at once a brilliant success. Verdi suddenly became famous. Milan was wild with enthusiasm. The young composer became the hero of the day, was lionized and patronized by the wealth and beauty of the Lombard capital, while Verdi hats, Verdi shawls, and even ragouts à la Verdi became epidemic. Fortune followed fame. Verdi had become the fashion, and tempting offers poured in he diversifies his musical studies with agricultural pursuits, of which he is very fond. He loves the sea and the sunshine, and his Genoese residence commands both. The latter appears to constitute an important factor in his musical success. Like the sundial, his genius marks only the sunny hours. On dark and rainy days it appears to desert him, though he composes for the most part shut up in his cabinet, and then he devotes himself to reading or other light occupations. Paris is his favorite city, whither he repairs when in need of relaxation; but he imagines that he never could have produced any thing good under either a Parisian or English sky. I am indebted to an intimate friend of the great composer for some interesting de- | who was destined to inherit the sceptre of tails relating to his personal habits and manner of composition. One evening, he remarks, Madame Verdi having expressed a wish that the maestro, on account of his hysterical humor during the period of musical "gestation," might never compose another opera, Verdi observed that nearly all composers had their peculiar moods and methods of composition, and after citing Meyerbeer as an example, thus referred to himself: "When I compose, I first study thoroughly the characters of the dramatis persona; then I commit the libretto to memory, and girding myself for the task, work away for eight or nine months, and more if necessary, until the opera is completed. Meanwhile I only live in my imagination. Hence my irritability, ill humor, and incivility; for though I am a bear by nature, at such times I become more of a bear than ever." Verdi rarely attends the theatre, especially the opera. It is said that he never witnessed the representation of his Ballo in Maschera until ten years after its first appearance upon the stage. Perhaps there is less music in his household than almost any other where there is a piano-forte. Here one will find only Don Carlos and Aida of his many operas, his celebrated Requiem Mass, and some compositions of Handel, Haydn, Beethoven, and Wagner. A man of culture, he is a connoisseur in art, is thoroughly versed in Italian, French, and Spanish literature, and is familiar with the best German and English authors. He has frequent recourse to the original source of his inspiration-the Bible-delights in Dante, and is a great admirer of Tasso and Ariosto. the great Genoese violinist. It was Sivori, the future pupil rushing forward with precipitate haste to greet Paganini, his future master. But little known in America, Sivori, regarded in Italy as second only to Paganini himself, is thus characterized by Romani: "Young in years and delicate in person, he advances, his violin in hand, with calmness and grace. Modest, composed, and I would say almost timid, he seems to ignore himself, and to have no confidence in his own masterly skill. There is no ostentation, no studied gesture, no artifice. One does not think of the performer; you do not see, as Though he styles himself a "bear," and often alludes with a spice of pleasantry to his peasant birth, he is courteous though simple in his manners, easy and fluent in his conversation, and personally a great favorite among his more intimate friends. A good smoker, with a passion for billiards, he is not decidedly domestic in his tastes. He seems to prefer the artistic freedom of hotel life to the more exacting requirements of home, and during the winter months may | it were, that he plays. You would say that frequently be seen at the Caffè Rossini taking his coffee or smoking his cigar. A senator of the kingdom, he betrays no ambition to shine as a parliamentary leader, but, content with his laurels, will doubtless go down to posterity as Verdi the composer, and not as Verdi the statesman. During one of Paganini's concerts in Genoa, while he was executing the finishing notes of a brilliant agitato, the profound silence of the theatre was broken by a prolonged groan that issued from one of the boxes. A moment later a fainting woman was borne away hurriedly to her home, where she soon after gave premature birth to one VOL LIV.-No. 319.-2 A PALACE ENTRANCE, the strings, untouched by the bow, vibrated spontaneously, or that an invisible zephyr breathed upon them as upon an Eolian harp, and disclosed all their hidden melodies. So many are these, so various and variable, they overflow and then unite, dissolve and blend together so naturally, smoothly, and harmoniously, that no one on hearing them would believe them to be the result of art. You would imagine the rather that Nature had poured them out into that mnsical instrument with the same prodigality with which she lavishes perfumes in a garden, the murmurs in a brook, or the zephyrs in a summer morning. Amidst such an opu |