have hearts) that he looked paler and thinner than ever-that "his voice was certainly going"-and that they never saw a boy with such large eyes" -it was answered, that Alfred Fielding had a cold; and he was taken down to Hastings, where, in six weeks, he was laid in his silent grave, and the sea-mew dips her white wing over it. DID it ever occur to our readers, as they sat in a concert-room, that the warbling beings in the orchestra were genuine fellow-creatures? that those plumed and jewelled heads might ache, those eyes flow with tears, those white-gloved hands be wrung with anguish? We think not; contented to gaze and to listen, we vaguely imagine the dark-eyed signora, and ringletted English girl, live only to sing; that they dwell forever in a sort of mysterious musical existence-she was never reproached for it again. By that vox, et præterea nihil. The contrary is, however, sometimes forced on the spectator's senses. Clara Fielding was born with the finest musical capabilities. Her mother died almost in Clara's infancy, and the child was educated by her remaining parent, amidst poverty and difficulties of various kinds. Himself a public singer, though not of celebrity, his life had been one long struggle with penury; whilst the mortifications to which a second-rate public performer is inevitably and constantly subjected had soured his temper, and rendered him but a harsh preceptor. He had a son, three years older than Clara, who was brought forward as one of those "wonderful children," who are so frequently offered up to the parental Moloch. The diminutive spectres of the past will sweep before my readers-perhaps the victims they have seen, applauded, and involuntarily aided to destroy-George Aspull, the infant Lyra, and a crowd more, whose innocent voices cry from their untimely graves. Alfred Fielding, however, was indeed a boy of astonishing musical abilities; at seven years old he had his concerts, where crowded hundreds listened in amazement to his instrumental performance, and hung with delight on the melodious sounds that issued from his infant mouth. Sometimes the attenuated form and pallid cheek were remarked to the father, who instantly replied by an assurance that he was in perfect health, and “never so happy as when playing." This last assertion was in a great measure correct. Besides a natural passion for music, vanity and premature ambition had been instilled into his little heart, and there was no degree of application to which he would not have submitted, rather than be surpassed. Clara was now alone. It has been said and sung, that the tears of childhood are forgotten as soon as shed; but such is not always the case; the brother and sister had loved each other with uncommon affection; and it might truly be said, that in Alfred's grave Clara's vivacity was buried; skill in self-delusion which every mortal possesses so exquisitely, Fielding easily persuaded himself that a cold caught at his last concert, or a damp bed at an inn, or a variety of purely accidental causes, had occasioned the boy's death; and turned, with redoubled ardor, to cultivate his little daughter's talents. As an instrumental performer, she seemed never likely to equal her brother: but her voice promised to be of most surpassing beauty, and by the earnest advice of his professional friends, he refrained from any public exhibition of it during her childhood. Over these years we will pass; they were marked by none of the enjoyments peculiar to that season of existence. Alfred's death had reconsigned the family to poverty; for Fielding, with the usual carelessness of his caste, had saved but little; so that poor Clara's time was divided be tween the laborious pursuit of her future profession and the severest household drudgery. Yet, authoritative and exacting as her father was, she loved him most affectionately; for hers was a heart overflowing with tenderness. and, except an Italian greyhound, that a foreign prince had given her brother, Clara had nothing else on earth to love. At length she approached womanhood, and, in spite of toil and privation, grew up tall and handsome, if not blooming; her hair and eyes were so dark, and her general turn of features so Italian, that at one time her father meditated bringing her out as a native of that country. But an idea that still greater interest would attach to her as the sister of the celebrated Alfred Fielding, occasioned this plan to be finally relinquished. Clara was not quite sixteen when she made her début. It was a most brilliant one; constant and judicious cultivation from her infancy had given every possible perfection to a splendid voice, of unusual power, of almost unrivalled compass, of unearthly sweetness. She also possessed all the sensibility indispensable for a truly great singer At five years old, Clara made her first appearance before the public; rather to inure her early to their gaze, than from any display of which she was then capable. She was a beautiful, clever, but very volatile child, and it required great occasional severity to oblige her to a sufficient dili--a sensibility that, having little else on which gence for her father's future plans. to expend its power, exhaled itself in music with Four years Fielding continued to reap a golden irresistible charm and pathos. Although naturaland abundant harvest. He went on the continent ly timid and retiring, early habit had so familiarwith his children, and Alfred was admired and ized her to the public gaze, that her self-possession caressed by the potentates of Europe; he returned was almost that of a veteran; her elegant figure to his native country to be still more celebrated; and handsome face had, doubtless, their share in and, after appearing for a fourth season before a producing the rapturous reception with which the London audience, who did observe (for people young aspirant was almost overwhelmed. The exulting father anticipated golden days once | reserve with him, because she was perfectly igmore; and felt tempted to fall at her feet and norant of views, which in a younger man she worship her. might have suspected; and when she became From this moment began that dazzling, that in- aware of their nature, she knew not how to sheltoxicating career, which has been run so often, ter herself from his assiduities. Her father was and which has sometimes terminated in a night as no protection to her; the ladies of rank, who insudden, as profound, as the early burst of morning vited her to their houses, never dreamed of exwas splendid and astonishing. Public and pri- tending to Clara the shield they held over the vate concerts; musical festivals at York, at Bir- young females of their own class. "She, you mingham, at Manchester; private exhibitions for know, is a singer," was enough to make such the especial behoof of royalty; suppers at the neglect intelligible. But there was one person in duke of this, and breakfasts at the marchioness the world, who always could, and always did, of that; visits, and invitations, and fêtes, and afford her succor. verses, and gold bracelets clasped with emeralds, and bouquets of flowers, and baskets of fruit, crowded on each other, leaving Clara scarcely time to breathe. Hardly more complete is the change experienced by the poor little unsightly worm, that, after a two years' residence in the mud, one summer's morn climbs a stem of grass by its native water, and then becomes, it knows not how, a splendid insect, glittering like a jewel, and pursued, as it floats through the air, by the coveting eye of admiration. Aldovini, the first tenor of the day, frequently sang with Clara; he was as celebrated as herself, and had enjoyed his fame much longer. It was condescension to sing with any but a countrywo man, and Clara felt flattered by the distinction. They practised and they rehearsed together, and an intimacy naturally grew up between them; she formed her taste by his opinion, and it was amazing how her expression increased when she sang with Aldovini. On his part, he appeared sometimes entirely to forget that he had any other tempt for everything English, from its climate to its music-Clara Fielding, perhaps, being the sole exception. Respecting the duke, Aldovini had no greater pleasure than exhibiting to his grace the sense of his own superiority, and shielding her completely from his attentions. He could always pretend, as a foreigner, not to understand what the duke said, and his grace felt that he could not conveniently quarrel with such a person; so that there were few objects in creation more hateful to him than Aldovini's falcon eye, raven whisker, and aquiline nose, relieved by the fair pale forehead of Clara. Without a mother, or any other female protec-auditor; for, il primo tenore had a profound contor, the youthful Clara was beset by dangers, to which she had no advantages of education or example to oppose. Fielding was not exactly a bad man, but he had no guiding principles, save interest and self-indulgence; nor had he ever attempted to warn his inexperienced child of the precipices she must approach. But there are some soils so excellent, that although no careful hand has ever sought to cultivate them, scatter but a few grains of good seed, and they will produce a luxuriant harvest. There are also hearts thus constituted and such a heart was Clara's. In addition to this inestimable possession, notwithstanding her natural and inevitable enjoyment of her own fame, there would, at times, come over her inmost soul, amidst the glare and the glitter, the mighty rush of the orchestra behind her, the waving sea of uplifted faces, the ringing of plaudits in front, or even whilst the titled steward was handing her up to the orchestra as if she were a queen, a feeling that her position and her triumph were unreal, hollow, and evanescent. Perhaps this humility and sense of insecurity had been acquired, when, as a little child, at Hastings, she pillowed her dying brother's head on her bosom, and heard him faintly whisper, 66 Clara, it was that last concert that killed me." The poor girl herself, thus thrown on his protection, and ardently grateful for the readiness and address with which it was always afforded, speedily learned to look up to him, to trust him. to obey him-to love him. A sort of sentimental, Platonic connection was gradually established between them: a mere amusement to the Italian; to Clara the only real source of happiness she possessed on earth. This attachment, such as it was, was never interfered with nor commented on by her father, beyond a satirical smile, with which he sometimes looked at them. Under these auspices, Clara's second London season commenced; her health was impaired, but This triumphant career had continued for a her father was not a man to consent to any relax year, and Fielding, grown wiser, carefully amassed ation in her efforts, and of late her spirits had their earnings, and lived economically. During risen, and supplied any lack of strength. Early this period, incessant labor in her profession, com- in the year her fresh career began; "Miss Fieldbined with late hours and all the vicissitudes of a ing's first morning concert" was duly announced public singer's life, had materially impaired and advertised; all the difficulties, and heartClara's health, whilst cares of a different nature burnings, and quarrellings ensued, that invariably oppressed her mind. A nobleman, whose years precede the public production of harmony, vocal might have enabled him to be her grandfather, or instrumental. But, at length, everything was pursued and annoyed her by attentions, by presents, satisfactorily arranged; the prima donna of the by a thousand polite arts of persecution. For a day, at Aldovini's earnest request, consented to considerable period she abstained from her usual sing once "for the chalk-faced child;" whilst he "Father," reiterated Clara, "you will kill me if you talk in this way." These words, and the voice of agony in which they were uttered, arrested Fielding's attention; and perceiving, from her ghastly countenance, that he must try different methods, he softened his tone, soothed or rather endeavored to soothe her, and began a gentle enumeration of the duke's many claims on her attention. Clara had sunk on a seat; she arose, and in a faint, hollow tone said, "Let me go now, father. I cannot talk to-night any more. To-morrow- ;' and, seemingly unable to utter another word, she quitted the room. acceded to all Fielding wished, except permitting but to me! No, no; you may fancy, foolish Clara to sing a duet with anybody but himself; child, that you are very cunning! but you cannot on that one point he was inexorable. deceive me. What make me believe that AlThe very night before the concert, when Clara, dovini, who can live with the noblest in the land, exhausted by the fatigues of the day-the coax- and has them all at his beck, comes and sups with ings, and the practising, and the signing the tick-you on bread and butter and radishes, only to sing ets—was resting herself in a little sitting-room duets! Clara, I think it my duty not to allow you called her own, her father came hastily in, with a to throw yourself away; and, therefore, I shall bewildered air of consternation, and an open letter tell the duke." in his hand. Its contents were speedily communicated. A professional friend of Fielding had induced him to vest the large profits of the preceding year in a theatrical speculation in which he had engaged. This man had become a bankrupt and fled; and Fielding was, in all probability, liable to a share of his responsibility. Mere poverty was not greatly dreaded by either Fielding or Clara; they were familiarized to it; and, moreover, they both felt that she had the power "Be merely civil; but at present you are really of commanding affluence; but this personal liabil-quite rude to him. And then there is Dr. Grimsity was something vague and terrible. Not a worth always saying you sing too much; and all word of reproach passed Clara's lips, although she that." had combated this manner of appropriating her earnings with as much firmness as she had ever ventured to exhibit, in opposition to her father; but she was overwhelmed, like himself, by the idea of what exasperated creditors might attempt. After a short pause, Fielding, who was traversing Fielding immediately proceeded to some persons the room with hasty steps, approached his daugh- connected with his treacherous friend, and enter, and said, in a low, hoarse voice, "You can deavored to enter into an arrangement with them save me, Clara; and you must." as to his affairs. A representation respecting the "Me! I!" she cried, in surprise and half-concert, procured him a promise of personal imawakened joy, while she sprang from her seat. munity for the following day; and Fielding re"Can I tell me how." turned home, resolved, in the course of it, to con"Yes, you can; I have sometimes thought of clude such a treaty with the duke as should relieve speaking to you about it before, but I was unwil-him effectually from his present horrid anticipations. ling; and, besides, you were so young, and—and Long habituated to live by expedients, he revolved 80-. But now it must be done. The duke, many schemes in his mind for his extrication. One Clara, has often offered me almost any sum I re- was to fly with Clara to the continent the moment quired, to use my influence over you to treat him the concert was over, and thus avoid forcing her to more graciously; and I really feel it a duty now, a step for which she evinced so violent a repugboth to you and myself, to accept his proposals.nance. In justice to Fielding it must be said, that Therefore —. Don't look at me in that way, not without a severe struggle, not till a prison Clara, and shudder, as if it was something mon- stared him in the face, had he resolved on sacristrous and unheard of. Let me tell you, such ficing his daughter. How far he really was inoffers have been made me more than once; and I fluenced by her supposed weakness with Aldovini, believe that I have been a fool to refuse them. in yielding to the duke's proposals, cannot be said; Only that I was certainly proud of your being so at least, it formed part of the unction he laid to his correct; and had you continued as particular, with soul, on the occasion. While Fielding was thus regard to all others, you should never have heard occupied, Clara sat on the floor in her own chama word on this subject from me, come what might. ber in a state of mind difficult to be described. A But after this silly connection with that fellow, blow had been struck to her very heart, and a Aldovini, I don't see why I am to be more scrupu- sense of her utter hopelessness, of being a lonely, lous than other people." wretched, enslaved creature, bowed to the earth by immeasurable calamity, long filled her soul, depriving her of all energy, all power, even of thought. The pecuniary embarrassment was forgotten-one sole image stood before her-her father! One only sound rung in her ear-these words, never to be forgotten-those unutterably Father!" shrieked Clara, who had hitherto stood entranced in horror, "you are not in earnest! you cannot mean what you say! Aldovini! there is nothing, I swear to you, father, wrong between us. Oh! how can you think so ill of your child?" "Clara, Clara! don't, when I am half dis-hideous words! Clara had dearly loved that sole tracted, drive me quite mad! It may be very well to talk in this way with your fine ladies, though they a'n't a bit nicer than you, perhaps, after all; parent; she had even respected him; and now the overwhelming sense of his loathsome baseness was paramount to every other. Hours passed unheed sake!" "More experienced, indeed," replied Aldovini, with a smile and a sigh; "I thought something was the matter. Stay-let me think; and don't tremble poverina; but, sit down-remember the cavatina is still to be sung." ed, during which she shed no tears, but sat motion- | rible. Oh, Aldovini! you are so much more less as a statue, gazing on vacancy. At length experienced than I am! Advise me, for pity's she partially recovered the first stunning shock, and began to think. She had only one friend on earth to consult in her extremity; and to that one she knew the most unsupportable part of her grief would occasion no surprise. Aldovini had more than once uttered mysterious expressions, which Clara now understood but too well. A single ray of hope, too, gleamed faintly on her benighted soul it was possible that there was even happiness in store for her; but she ventured not to dwell on this vision. Towards morning, exhausted nature sank into a brief oblivion. She awoke somewhat refreshed, and comparatively calm. She had been visited with strange but soothing dreams. Her brother's form had hovered before her, clad in long glittering garments; and, smiling on her, said, "Fear nothing, Clara, you shall be happy to-morrow." The following morning, the actual business of the concert pressed on both father and daughter so engrossingly that they had no time for conversation. Clara, accustomed from infancy to share in such labors, moved mechanically through her duties; only an occasionally convulsive shudder, and the wandering of her eye, betraying the perturbation and anguish within. All the machinery being in order, her toilet completed, a soupçon of rouge on her wan cheek, the transparent bonnet tied loosely under her chin, even the bouquet and pocket-handkerchief ready, she repaired to the apartments adjoining the concert-room, and gazed around in speechless impatience for Aldovini. The night before, he had been engaged to sing at a fête given by a lady of rank, and, perchance, the marquess' claret was unusually tempting. Be that as it might, the overture was actually over before he appeared; and the vocal part of the concert was to open with a duet between Clara and himself. When she saw him, when she heard his voice, a sudden sense of peace and security came over her; her eyes lit up, and her "O Aldovini! how late you are!" was uttered with something like a smile. In another moment she was facing a brilliant audience, and tumults of applause were echoing round her. She had frequently sung the appointed duet with Aldovini; it was one which the public were never weary of listening to from their voices; and as those ravishing tones floated round the room, rising and falling-now singly in melodious stream -now blending in one mingling gush of harmony -all listened in breathless, entranced delight, nor dreamed of the throbbing anguish beneath the veiled bosom of the siren. As Aldovini led her away, she entreated him, in an eager whisper, to speak to her alone; they entered a small apartment adjoining the one where refreshments were placed; and in a few nearly inarticulate, broken words, she communicated the events of the preceding evening. "Advise me for I am almost out of my mind -How can I escape? How can I avoid this ter She sank in a chair. After manifest disturbance, and even embarrassment, he approached, and taking her cold hand, said, "You have only one refuge, Clara, if you will accept it. Here!" and he struck his breast. "Come with me; Chiarina mia; it will be better than being sold to that old scelerato. Come to Italy with me, cara fanciulla. My engagement is broken with those opera fools; and within a week I will be ready. I hate the country, and shall rejoice to quit it. I have lost two notes since I came. You, meanwhile—” "But my father," interrupted Clara; "he would never consent." "Consent!-to what? Consent to what, Clara ?" "To-to such a thing; he has so great a horror of my marrying a foreigner." At these words, Aldovini suddenly withdrew the arm he had thrown round Clara; and, drawing back, looked earnestly upon her. The whole expression of his countenance changed; his eyelids dropped; a softened smile quivered for a moment on his lip. Then he said, in a tone of great feeling, "And is it indeed so? is it possible?" Still he remained gazing fixedly upon her; while she stood in breathless surprise and anxiety. A struggle was visible on his countenance; a second change succeeded; and then, as if resolved, he returned to her side, retook her passive hand, and said: "I might deceive you, but I will not, Clara. Un sol baccio; perhaps it is the first and the last you will ever give me, for, cara mia, though it appears you have never heard the fact-I am married. Cara mia," he repeated in alarm, as she sprang back with a faint, suppressed cry, and sank on her seat. There was a pause; Clara uttered not a word; and, after a moment, Aldovini continued: "I am nearly twenty years older than you, Clara, and have been married these dozen years. My wife is a beauty; and has the voice of an angel. She likes the Prince of Hesse Brennenberg better than poor Giulio Aldovini, the singer; and you-you-dear and innocent child, are, I fear-" At this moment, several eager voices called on her for her attendance in the orchestra. "Clara, forgive me!" whispered Aldovini, as he raised her from her seat. Still silent, a convulsive shudder was her only reply. Her father appeared, calling her hastily and sternly. She stepped quickly forward and followed him. The noonday sun shone full on Clara as she appeared in the orchestra; her numerous admirers looked at her and were struck by her bewildered air. 66 "Oh! then it is quite time to give up concerts, if the singers are to be so devoid of decency as actually to die before one's very face!" said the same lady. Rumor, for once, spoke truly. Clara had, indeed, expired as she fell; although the fact was not ascertained for some time afterwards. The cavatina was put into her hand, and the symphony began. It terminated with a single trumpet note, and the thunder roll of the kettle drums. At that instant she started, and gazed wildly around. One soft sound from a flute, and Clara's lips parted for the first note of the recitative. A shriek-a single piercing shriek issued from them; and she fell forward in the orchestra. The utmost con- - Aldovini, as he rushed past every one else, and fusion instantly prevailed; a strange discordant lifted her from the ground, was the first who even sound, produced by the ready bows of the various imagined this terrible event; but he recalled her instruments, slipping hurriedly down the strings, look when that fatal word escaped his lips-her mingled with the surrounding voices. The un- total silence afterwards; and now he gazed on happy girl was carried off, and some minutes her livid countenance, and felt all was indeed elapsed; several of the audience inquired at the entrance to the private apartments, and strange rumors began to circulate. At length, it was currently reported in the concert-room that Miss Fielding was dead. "Dead! you don't mean to say that she died in the orchestra?" exclaimed a lady of very high rank, in an indignant tone. "I rather think she did." From the National Whig. "MAN'S LOVE.” BY MISS MARY ANN BROWN. WHEN Woman's eye grows dull, That o'er her brow lingers. He comes but a moment in, Though her eye lightens, He goes from her chamber straight He meets at the very gate He thinks not of her within He forgets in that noisy din And when the young heart is still, What though he mourneth, Wearied he turneth. "WOMAN'S LOVE." BY THE SAME. When man is waxing frail, And his hand is thin and weak, over. "Back, old man!" he exclaimed to the duke "Back, fiend!" he repeated to her father, as, all his Italian passions roused to frenzy, he struck him away. Then, clasping her in his arms, he continued in a broken voice, "She is at rest! you cannot harm her now! Clara, Clara, pray for me in your bright abode, and forgive me!" And his lips are parched and pale, Oh, then doth woman prove She sitteth by his chair, And holds his feeble hand, His wants to understand; She leads him, when the noon Of the honey bees, are still, To sit 'midst herbs and flowers. And when he goes not there, To feast on breath and bloom, Into his darkened room; Until the hour when death His lamp of life doth dim, She never leaveth him; And when his trial's o'er, And his turf is on his breast, Lie sorrows unexprest; And though there may arise |