Nature and Art, September 1, I860.] 
ARTICLES DE PARIS. 
123 
in the humour, and the clever treatment of specified sub- 
jects, although interesting' in its way, is apt to produce only 
fugitive impressions. 
On the 18th of July a painful exhibition was made of an 
untaught negro pianist at the Hanover Square Rooms — 
those genteel apartments to which the third King George 
gave a plate-glass mirror. Since that horrible insult to the 
majesty of death (the embalmed body of Julia Pastrana) 
was shown there for a shilling, the people of colour con- 
templated by admiring London have been principally of the 
mild Christy Minstrel order. “ Blind Tom ” has, however, 
stimulated the Ethiopian interest ; and is supposed to be 
mad upon every subject excepting music. He can name any 
note immediately after hearing it played ; can sing any 
given note without that assistance, can give an imitation of 
anything he hears on the pianoforte, and can sing one of 
Henry Russell’s songs. The first exploit is not very re- 
markable, the second is so ; the third is to a great extent a 
failure, and the fourth a simple fact. This African is pro- 
nounced to be of the lowest type ; and, we apprehend, he 
may fairly claim to be of the ugliest. Granting that his 
musical capacity is unusually extensive, and crediting the 
assertion as to his being entirely “ untaught,” a black youth 
standing on a platform and making the most horrible 
grimaces is not a pleasant sight. The negro visage, when 
twisted and contorted by the mowings of an idiot, becomes 
repulsive in the highest degree. In Eng'land we keep im- 
becility out of sight, and do not turn a penny by making' a 
sensational exhibition of mental vacuity. In a sense of 
true musical feeling, Blind Tom’s performance is beneath 
contempt. He plays crack-brained fantasias of his own, 
and uses a piano with as much delicacy as a blacksmith 
does his anvil, or a thresher the corn beneath his flail. 
Blind Tom, we are told, would be quite as much delighted 
to hear himself hissed as applauded. It is a pity the ex- 
periment is not tried, and that, with the enforced discon- 
tinuance of this lamentable spectacle, the character of the 
English public for reason cannot be, at least partially, 
vindicated. 
The Societies have, for the time being, had their day, or, 
properly speaking, their nights. The Schubert brethren 
have rested from their labours ; but, being wise in its genera- 
tion, the Schubert Society does not explain its mission. 
The public, left to speculate on the subject, naturally be- 
think themselves of Franz — his genius and his exquisite 
songs ; and foolishly conclude that all three are to be 
honoured and reverenced by the Schubert Society. Unfor- 
tunately for Franz, who was and will be always great, there 
is an E. Schubert, who, musically speaking, and arguing 
from his compositions played at the concert of July 25th, 
is not, and never will be, even mediocre. That Franz 
Schubert should have no place in the programme was bad 
enough ; but that the great man should be ousted by a very 
small violoncello player of the same surname, was a piece 
of impertinence absolutely sublime. At the Dramatic 
College Concert, on the 20th of July, the public were treated 
to a scandalous scene. Probably for the first time in the 
history of the Hanover Square Rooms, a lady vocalist came 
on to sing, and waited on the platform while a squabble was 
progressing outside. The scene ended by one of the con- 
ductors telling the audience that the artists were disgusted 
with the whole thing. Everything was done out of order, 
and not one Shakesperian song was given, though the 
concert was intended to further the interests of the stage. 
Mr. Alfred Mellon began his new reign on the 7th of 
August. Promenaders have found but little inconvenience 
as yet. Mr. Mellon’s scheme for the present season extends 
to three months of the concerts, and an operetta and pan- 
tomime at Christmas. Master Bonnay, xylophonist in 
ordinary to everybody of consequence, has made a very 
palpable hit. The xylophone is not new ; clowns have, be- 
fore now, extracted from pieces of wood just enough of 
something to call a tone. Master Bonnay does more, and 
plays with extraordinary precision. 
ARTICLES 
T HERE is always something new in Paris. Many have 
said this, some scornfully, some complaining-ly, but 
certainly the greater number admiringly ; and as it is in 
the spirit of admiration that the prettiest lips have spoken, 
it is the banner of this faction that waves the highest and 
whose triumph is the most secure. Novelty is a queen 
whose sway extends far and wide, and who, with her faithful 
and zealous servitors, taste, creative fancy, and nimble- 
fingered ingenuity, has chosen Paris, of all the cities which 
her presence graces, for her favourite residence. Her 
creations here are not perhaps always quite correct accord- 
ing- to strict views of art. Severe taste might sometimes 
note shortcomings and exaggerations ; conventionality finds 
in them many wild fancies overleaping her boundaries, 
laughing fearlessly in her face, and trying- to blind her eyes 
with their 4clat as with golden dust : but the productions 
are generally pretty, even if extravagant, and often most 
graceful and charming. Perhaps the adjective best fitted 
to them is the well-worn word coquet; some ladies, still 
greater advocates for novelty, go farther, and adopt the 
horrid word chic ; but, prenez garde, mesdames, you have 
borrowed that direct from argot, which is not an elegant 
creditor in a lady’s boudoir. It must be admitted that the 
lower qualities are most common in the crowd of novelties 
in dress and parure ; but in what is this not the case ? 
Hard, indeed, is the struggle to get free from their domina- 
tion : but Paris has its share in the higher grades of taste, 
often raising fancy into art, and producing that which is so 
charming to the cultivated eye, harmony and grace in adorn- 
ment. 
You do not, however, require or expect from me an essay 
on taste, but simply a short notice of that which is novel 
and pretty. As I have said above, there is always some- 
DB PARIS. 
thing new to be seen in Paris by those who have eyes — and 
use them for observation. 
Who has not dwelt with delight on the humming-birds, 
those wondrous little foreigners, so magnificent — indeed, 
almost incomparable — in colour ? The poet has called them 
the “ winged jewels of the air,” and never did poetic fancy 
adorn its object more truthfully. Their exquisite plumage 
has graced many a pretty head, and been imitated on many 
a delicate trinket and elegant fan ; but I was surprised, the 
other day, to see some charming specimens set, as jewels 
should be, in shining gold. I saw a tiara, a comb, brooches, 
a ring even, exceedingly rich and bright, and deriving their 
principal charm from the metallic plumage of these birds. 
I send you a sketch of the centre of the tiara, which had 
five humming-birds’ heads on its semicircle. Each lovely 
little head, as you see, is set up on its golden shield just as 
the head and antlers of the noble stag are mounted in 
baronial halls ; the slender bill is bordered by a fine fillet of 
gold, and the little eyes are replaced by diamonds, rubies, or 
emeralds, set in tiny rings of gold. Between the shields 
are oval medallions, filled with the smallest feathers of 
the humming-bird, in fan-like arrangement. The whole 
forms a wonderfully-brilliant ornament ; and I should like 
to see it flashing its bright colours over some fair brow. 
The comb-top was only a smaller kind of tiara, with three 
birds’ heads set on the gold rim. The brooches had, of 
course, but one head each, and I can fancy them charming, 
fastening at the neck some white material. The ring, which 
occupies the centre of my sketch, is a true Parisian fantasy : 
the idea of a “winged jewel” on the finger is certainly 
pretty enough, though not very convenient, and would 
tempt, I think, only the most devoted lovers of oddity to be 
its wearer. But, in this case, the bird is a jeweller’s bird, 
