In the metropolis, music has advanced with far greater rapidity than in the provinces. This appears the natural and inevitable result of causes to which we have already alluded. Ten or fifteen years ago, the street-music of London consisted of such tunes as Tom and Jerry--an especial favourite--the Copenhagen Waltz, and other _melodies_ of the same class. Now we have instruments imitating a full orchestra, which execute elaborate overtures in addition to the best airs of the first masters of Europe. The better the music the greater the attraction, even in the streets of London; and the people may be seen daily to crowd around these instruments, and to listen with attention to Italian and German melodies. We have, of late, repeatedly heard the juvenile unwashed, whistling airs learned from these instruments, which, however humble, thus appear to influence the taste of the poorer classes. During several weeks of the present year, operas in an English dress were simultaneously performed at three of our theatres. The very gods in the galleries now look benignly down upon the Italian strangers, which--to use a theatrical phrase--draw better houses than any other performances would command. In the country, the advancement is less manifest. A provincial musical party is generally a fearful thing. In the society of the metropolis, none but the really skilful musician is ever heard; in the country, these are rare beings; or, if the scientific performer is sometimes found, like the diamond in the mine, he shines in vain, there are none to appreciate his excellence. It is truly painful to see a number of fair young creatures, one after another, brought up to the instrument; there to exhibit, not taste or skill, but ignorance and inability. It is even still more painful to be condemned to listen to the performance of the best specimens, selected from the stock of school-taught pieces, beyond which many of the fair performers know little or nothing. We beg pardon of our fair young countrywomen; the fault lies not with them. The indiscriminate teaching of music cannot make all musicians. Many have no warm taste for music, and many more, who, under other circumstances, might have pursued the art as an amusement and recreation, are disgusted from their earliest youth by its being made a task, the difficulty of which is immeasurably increased by imperfect instruments. The general taste of the provincial world has advanced but little, for many years. There is a certain class of music, which has been respectfully listened to for upwards of a century; which, having been admired before, is therefore proper to be admired again. Few would dare to criticize, or avow a distaste for, music which has so long been popular. Handel and some others still meet with universal deference, and their very names alone suffice to silence any one who, more hardy than the rest, should be disposed to find fault. This music, however, is heard with cold