Rossini was much attached to Evelyn, her remarkable musical talents and profound worship of his genius, made them a most happy pair of friends. On her acquainting him with her possible marriage with the Duc di Balzano, “My child,” replied the old man, “Never marry except for one of three things: a great name, a great talent, or a large fortune.” ’Tis true for him matrimony had offered but few attractions. From his first wife—Madame Colbran—a singer of undoubted talent, the _maestro_ was soon separated. As to the second, let us respect her name, she is yet living, but I fear she conduces little to the domestic comfort of her lord. It is remarkable how few celebrities of either sex have been happy in their affections. Commencing with Socrates and his Xantippe, we may cite Milton, Shakespeare, Byron, Dante, Tasso, Goethe, Mrs. Hemans, Mrs. Norton, and a crowd of others, all mis-matched or crossed in love, while Mr. and Mrs. Jones, and Tom Smith and wife, with A and B, and numerous other worthies, whose thoughts are centred in pounds or dollars, as may be, and their multiplied progeny, are perfectly content. Is it that they have bodies but no souls to satisfy? or doth God when he confers on his children the divine gift of creative power, ever twine with thorns the laurel wreath which encircles their noble brow, baptizing them for His own with the drops of agony wrung from their hearts? So thought and so feared our heroine, and Rossini confirmed her in her resolve to preserve her liberty for the present. Evelyn had continued to correspond with Balzano, but still repudiated the idea of marriage on the plea that she could not at present conscientiously change her belief. The latter, after some months, became, very naturally, anxious that his ladye-love should come to some decision, and to enable her to do so, he consented, he said, to her remaining a Protestant, and would, on receiving her reply, at once exert his interest to get a dispensation from the Pope. Thus was my fair friend obliged at last either to accept the love of one to whom she felt unable to give her whole heart, or to lose the friendship, perhaps forever, of the man she esteemed most on earth—a common but not the less an unpleasant dilemma. Well, what did she do? Why, she put off answering the letter as long as she could; asked the advice of all her friends on a point on which she alone could judge; and after having consulted every one was as far from a decision as ever.