Litchfield enquirer., 1875-08-26
From the Atlantic Monthly.l SCHUMAN'S QUIMTETTE IN E FLAT MAJOR.

IG was near SundOwn when we reached the seaside hotel. By the time we were settled in our apartments, and I had my invalid undressed and in bed, the soft, long summer twilight was nearly over The maid, having cleared away the litter of unpacking, was sitting in the anteroom, near enough to be within call. The poor suffering body that held so lightly the half escaped spirit lay on the bed, exhaust ed with the journey, but feeling already soothed by the pleasant sea-breeze which sighed gently in at the open window.
 Cur rooms were on the ground floor of Q One-story cottage. A little distance of was the large hotel. to which the cottage was attached by long arcade or covered gallery. We could hear fragments of the music which the band was playing to the gay idlers who were wandering about the balconies or through the hotel grounds; while laughs and little shrieks, uttered by the children as their pursuing nurses pleasantly with the silvery hum arising from the fashionable crowd and the festal clang of the instruments
 Sleep half hovered over, half winged of the pillow. l famed the peacock plumes slowly to and fro in the delicious air, gaz- ed with a suppressed sigh on the darken- ing West, and repeated with rhythmical beat the beautiful Hebrew poem in Eccle- siasticus, which 1 had so often recited through the many long years by the side of that sick bed, to soothe the ear of the sufferer. I had just reached these lines,-
 "A present remedy of all
 Is the speeding coming of cloud
 And a dew that meeteth it,
 By the heat that eOmeth,
 Shall oyerf ower it.
 '.At His word the wind is still;
 And with His thought.
 He apeaseth the deep;
 And the Lord planteth islands therein,"- when noticed that sleep had settled firm ly on the dark eyelids, and the panting breath came through the poor clay in little soughs and sighs, as if body and soul, tired with combat, had each sunk down for a momentary rest on the weary battlefield of life.
 The music of the band had ceased; the gay crowd had withdrawn into the hotel to prepare for the entertainments of the evening, and there was Hull of human sounds. Then arose the grand roar of the ocean, which the regular break of the pillows on the beach beneath the cliff made the theme where before it had play ed the bass.
 crept stealthily out of the bedroom, and, after exchanging my travelling gown for a cool white robe, stretched my tired body on the loungelln the ante-room.
 There lay with cold finger lips pressed against burning eyelids, and icy palms holding with firm grasp throbbing tenn pies, under which fiowed.the hot. seeth- ing tide of mortal anguish, anxiety, and aching love Some one touched me on the shoulder. looked up. It was Max who was standing beside me.
 's1here is great mtisical treat for you" he said in a low voice. 1.-The A. Society is here, and also part of B B-'s Opera Troupe, with Madame ,and D. the great tenor. The troupe and society united are to give such a concert as rarely falls to the lot of mortals to hear. I never saw a better programme. Look p
 read over the concert bill First there was an overture; then several scenes from Lucia di Lammermoor, ,"-that great Shakesperian. drama, whose dread catastrophe of Death and Doom leaves in the memory of the nearer heavenly sor- row unmixed with earthly taint. It was the master-work of two poets, Scott and DOnizetti, NhO had conceived it at the best period of their lives, when they were in all the vigor of manhood, and when mind and fancy had become rpened by experience. It was formed in one of those supreme instants, which come like 'an- gels visits" to ari1sts. when they are en- abied through 8 power more like inspira- tion than art, to throw aside all outward influences, and fashion as deftly as Nature could the sad life of the Master of Ravens wood and his sweet spirits mate.' The Lucia scenes were grouped together and occupied the main part of the pro- gramme. They were those that told the story of the brief passion, from the sweet birth of love up to the solemn hour when both lovers passed away to that resting place "where nothing could touch them further"
 My eye fingered over the titles of the scenes, while my memory. swiftly recalled their characteristics: First Duet be- tween Lucia and Edgardo, a passionate burst of youthful love, as delicious as the tender dialogues between Romeo and his Juliet;-the Sextette, that masterly pyra- midal piece of vocal harmony, in which the voices group around those of the two lovers, and all mount up glowiDgly like a flame on sacrifcial altar;-the heart rending passage where Lucia's spirit, fran tic through woe, rises supreme over na- tive timidity and irresolution, and, with one fierce burst of love and grief, which startles alike tyrant and friend, scars aloft in the terrible, but grand relm of mad ness;-and the Finale, where the dying Edguardo sighs out that delicious ar | which has beEsu we'll styled ssa melody of