Every harmonic meeting I attend leads me to ponder with new astonishment, the universal affectation of musical feeling, while the audience evince so little of its reality. How often do we perceive them either not listening at all, or with the most languid attention, to the sublimest compositions, both vocal and instrumental; to which, when a trifling ballad has succeeded, its notes have been imbibed with eager transport, and dismissed with vollies of applause. A great master takes a common country-dance as the subject of his solo, and forms, upon that worthless ground, the most elegant embroidery that florid and inventive fancy, united to consummate taste, can produce. Strange it is, to observe no general transport expressed during those daring efforts of ingenuity, while his return to Malbrook, or "Come, haste to the wedding," has been hailed with the glance of delight from a thousand eyes.

By the same prevalence of bad taste, have I seen a London audience neglect the delicate and pathetic songs of the late Miss Linly (sic), when the more powerful, but coarser and inexpressive tones of the then Miss Philips, now Mrs Crouch, were received with the loudest manual acclamation.