BY JAMES PARTON.
THERE are those who think it unjust that we should bestow upon the children of song honors such as are seldom given to the most illustrious servants of their kind.
What a scene does the interior of an opera-house present when a great singer comes upon the stage, or leaves it after a brilliant display of her talent! In Italy the whole audience spring to their feet, and give cheer upon cheer, continuing their vociferation for several minutes; and it has occasionally happened that a great crowd has rushed round to the stage door and drawn home the vocalist in her own carriage. In these colder climes we bestow less applause, but more money. The favorite of the public who enchants us upon the operatic stage receives a larger income in the northern nations of Europe and America than England bestowed upon Wellington for maintaining her honor in the field, and larger than any nation has ever bestowed upon its savior.
There may be some injustice in this. It is not, however, a part of the general scheme that the greatest sum of money shall be the reward of the greatest merit; and we are generally inclined to pay a far higher price for pleasure than for more substantial benefits. Life needs cheering. Among the thousands of our countrymen who gave three dollars, or five, or ten, to hear Jenny Lind sing four songs, who does not now feel that he received the worth of his money? and who would