READER:—Did you ever behold the tumultuous excitement of the populace at
a Race Course, as the furious steeds neared the judge’s stand on the
last heat? Then go and see Gazzaniga’s reflection of the passions at the
Academy of Music, and behold the glow and palor, and joy and terror, and
stamps and screams of the excited and enraptured multitudes. Did you
ever see the moon emerge from a tranquil ocean, or the sun descend a
wild horison? Then see Gazzaniga. Did you ever see a peerless virgin at
the altar, or on her journey to the sepulchre? Then see Gazzaniga. Do
you remember the merry laugh of childhood, or your fond mother’s gentle
tones? Then see Gazzaniga. Do you lament Ophelia’s sadness and mournful
destiny, and the fatal grief of Portia at the absence of Brutus? Then
see Gazzaniga. Do you love the murmurs of the rivulet, or of summer
zephyrs on the moonlight waters? Then see Gazzaniga. Do you love the
melody of the birds, and the hues of the pastures, and the romance of
the forest, and the perfume of the foliage, and the silence of the
wilderness, and the beauty of the vales, and the majesty of the
mountains? Then see Gazzaniga. Do you love the security of a calm, or
the sublimity of a storm? Then see Gazzaniga. Have you seen Niagara or
Vesuvius, and admired and trembled in their glorious and awful presence?
Then see Gazzaniga. Have you read and dreamed of Antony and Cleopatra?
Then see Brignoli and Gazzaniga. Have you read Cæsar’s hatred of Cassius
and Horace Greeley, and his love of Matsell and fat men? Then see Ullman
and Armodio. Do you love to roam in dells and caves and deserts? Do you
love the pensive meditations of genius in cavern solitudes? Do you love
to gaze at Heaven’s Panorama, in the silence and glory of midnight? Do
you love your parent’s admonitions, and the sweet tones of your brothers
and sisters, and wives and children? Do you remember your early love,
and pleasant rambles with your devoted and beauteous Juliet? Do you love
to witness the reflection of your own heart? Do you love to shed tears
of joy at the triumph of the virtuous, and to paralyse the vicious with
your terrible execrations? Have you breathed Italian skies, and wandered
by Italian streams, and fondly lingered on Italian sunsets? O then go
and see and hear Gazzaniga, whose mighty soul reflects the smiles and
tears—lovers and misanthropes—beauties and melodies—calms and
storms—rainbows and landscapes—plains and mountains—cataracts and
volcanoes—thunder and lightning—rain and hail—tornadoes and
earthquakes—witches and angels—devils and demons—ghosts and hobgoblins,
and suns and globes and caravans of Universal Nature. O Gazzaniga! Thy
tranquil music is the echo of a Choir of Angels, and thy frenzied strain
is the yell of a gang of devils. More than a thousand millions of human
pilgrims rove in the romantic paths of earth, but in all this mighty
throng, on its march to a common sepulchre, there is but one Gazzaniga
in the delightful realms of melody.
Stephen H. Branch’s Alligator.
------------------------------------------------------