This very melodious and lovely composition of Beethoven, having an obbligato accompaniment, is less known than, from the comparatively easy manner in which it is written, might have been expected. In the absence of a flute or violin, the accompaniment may be played by a third hand, occasionally omitting a note. or two, or by taking an octave higher such notes as interfere with the regular piano-forte part. We have not printed the final movement of this,-a sort of variation in three-eight time,— thinking it trivial, and by no means corresponding with the other parts of the work. The introduction to this is the adagio in Beethoven's Sonata, Op. 17, dedicated to the Baronne de Braun.

RONDO-(Page 6).

In the opinion of all musical critics, this is the best instrumental work that ever proceeded from the pen of the composer,

CARL-PHILIP-EMANUEL BACH,

second son of the famous Sebastian Bach. He was born at Weimar, in 1714, and when young studied the law, having been intended for a civilian; but his father, perceiving his son's strong predilection for music, acquiesced in his wish to make it his profession. Even while engaged in his legal pursuits, he composed, and conducted concerts, at Frankfort. In 1740, he entered the service of Frederick of Prussia (commonly called the Great'), whom, says Dr. Burney, he had the honor to accompany on the harpsichord, in the first flute-piece his majesty played at Charlottenberg, after he was king.' He continued at the court of that monarch twenty-seven years, though not well satisfied either with his salary or treatment, but could not obtain leave to quit till the year 1767, when he succeeded Telemann, as music-director at Hamburg, where he died in 1788.

In 1772, Dr. Burney visited Em. Bach at Hamburg. Speaking of his performance on the clavichord-an instrument which may be called the parent of the piano-forte-Dr. B. says, 'he convinced me that he is not only one of the greatest composers that ever existed, for keyed instruments, but the best player in point of expression; for others, perhaps, have had as rapid execution. However, he possesses every style, though he chiefly confines himself to the expressive. He is learned, I think, beyond his father, and is far before him in variety of modulation.' (Burney's German Tour.)

Em. Bach's compositions are numerous, the greater part vocal or for keyed instruments. In our possession is a considerable number of them, but except the rondo now republished, we have not discovered in the collection anything to justify the eulogiums pronounced on his instrumental works by so many persons who ought to have been able to form a correct estimate of their

merits.

RONDO (Page 10).

From the second of Three Sonatas, dedicated to Muzio Clementi, by Dussek; Op. 35.

The opera 35 of Dussek was composed much more with a view VOL. III.

to fame than profit. Indeed, he, who well knew the difference between what he wrote for immediate sale, and that by which his reputation was to be sustained, would never have offered to the 'father of the piano-forte' a work not entirely worthy of both parties. The time in which this is written is not in common use, but is virtually the same as six-eight; the only difference is in the notation, and in the word indicating the degree of quickness.

AIR, WITH VARIATIONS-(Page 16).

The air from BELLINI's opera Norma, the introduction and variations by W. PLACHY. But we have stripped the original of such parts as, apparently, were written to swell out the piece to a size better calculated to aid the mercantile views of the music-dealer, than to add to the effect of the work.

GLEE (Page 1).

Desolate is the dwelling of Moina *; silence is in the house of her fathers. Raise the song of mourning, O bards! over the land of strangers they have but fallen before us; for one day we must fall. ... Yet a few years, and the blast of the desert comes, and whistles round the half-worn shield. Let the blast of the desert come! We shall be renowned in our day! The mark of my arm shall be in battle, my name in the song of bards. by a storm into the river Clyde, and hospitably received at BalFrom Carthon, one of Ossian's poems. Clessàmmor was driven clutha by Reuthamer, who gave him Moina, his only daughter, Clessàmmor to combat, and was killed. The Britons resented his a Briton, and suitor of Moina, challenged death, and Clessàmmor was obliged to fly, leaving Moina with child, and she shortly became the mother of Carthon. Balclutha was afterwards attacked and burnt by Combal, father of Fingal, and Moina is supposed to have lost her life in the destruction of the town. When Carthon reached man's estate, he determined to avenge the fall of Balclutha, and meeting his father in battle, not knowing him, Clessàmmor fell by the hand of his son.

in

Fingal, who relates the story, commences his narration in the words selected by Dr. CALLCOTT, who set them to music in 1799, while on a visit to the late Duke of Marlborough, at Blenheim.

ARIA-(Page 6).

Col sorriso d'innocenza,
Collo sguardo dell' amor,
Di perdono, di clemenza,
Deh! favella al genitor.
Digli, ah! digli che respiri,
Che sei libero per me,
Che pietoso un guardo ei giri
A chi tanto oprò per te.

From Il Pirata, a serious opera, composed by BELLINI, and first produced in London, for the début of a Madame Lalande, in 1830. The story is from Maturin's tragedy, Bertram. Between Gualtiero and Imogine a mutual attachment subsists, but to save her father's life, the latter bestows her hand on Ernesto, Duke of

* Dr. Callcott, probably from inadvertence, has changed Moina into Morna, and thus we have allowed it to stand under the notes. Morna, however, was the mother of Fingal, and Moina the wife of Clessàmmor, Morna's brother. B

There have been three distinguished musicians of this name. Vincenzo-sometimes called Spagnuolo-was born at Valentia in Spain, about the year 1754. In 1785 he was Maestro di Cappella to the Prince of Asturias, who afterwards ascended the Spanish throne as Charles III. In 1786 appeared his very charming opera La Cosa Rara, which, ten years after, was performed on the English stage as The Siege of Belgrade; though Stephen Storace, who brought it out, added some few compositions of his own. At nearly the same period it was also produced at the King's Theatre, in its original state. About that time, too, Martini's opera, L'Arbore di Diana,-composed for Vienna in 1787-was given at our Italian Opera-house, when the above delicious quartet was sung by Signora Storace, Signor Viganoni, Mr. Braham, and Signor Morelli. Gerber, in his Lexicon, mentions several other vocal works by this clever and original composer, the last of which appeared in 1800. From that year, nothing concerning him seems to be known.

CANTATA-(Page 14).

From rosy bowers, where sleeps the god of love,
Hither, ye little wanton Cupids, fly;
Teach me, in soft melodious strains, to move,

With tender passion, my heart's darling joy:
Ah! let the soul of music tune my voice
To win dear Strephon, who my soul enjoys.
Or, if more influencing

Is to be brisk and airy,
With a step and a bound,
With a frisk from the ground,
I'll trip like any fairy.

As once on Ida dancing

Were three celestial bodies,

With an air, and a face,

And a shape, and a grace,

I'll charm, like beauty's goddess.

Ah! 'tis in vain! 'tis all, 'tis all in vain!

Death and despair must end the fatal pain:

Cold, cold despair, disguised like snow and rain,

Falls on my breast. Bleak winds in tempests blow;

My veins all shiver, and my fingers glow;

My pulse beats a dead-march for lost repose,

And to a solid lump of ice my poor fond heart is froze.

Or say, ye powers! my peace to crown,

Shall I thaw myself, and drown

Among the foaming billows, Increasing all with tears I shed?

On beds of ooze, and crystal pillows, Lay down, lay down, my love-sick head? No! no! I'll strait run mad, mad, mad; That soon my heart will warm: When once the sense is fled,

Love has no power to charm.

Wild through the woods I'll fly, I'll fly!
Robes, locks, shall thus be tore!

A thousand thousand times I'll die,
Ere thus in vain adore!

6

These words are from the third part of D'Urfey's comedy, Don Quixote, performed in 1694. They are likewise printed in his collection, entitled, Pills to purge Melancholy, a work in six volumes, now exceedingly rare, in which he calls this, 'The lady distracted with love,' and represents, says Dr. Percy, his pretty mad-woman, as, 1. sullenly mad: 2. mirthfully mad: 3. melancholy mad: 4. fantastically mad: 5. stark mad. And in an ancient copy, in our possession, of this cantata, the five movementsare so marked in manuscript, apparently as directions to the singer. It was first sung by Mrs. Cross, in the character of Altisidora, and has ever since been assigned to the best soprano performer of the day; for to execute it well, every variety of vocal talent, and a power of expressing the strongest feeling, are requisite.

This, the widow of the composer tells us, in the first edition of the Orpheus Britannicus, was the last song that Mr. Purcell set, it being in his sickness.' He seems, as Dr. Burney remarks, to have realised the poetical fable of the swan, and to have sung. more sweetly as he approached nearer his dissolution.'

TOM D'URFEY,

-for by this familiar name he is almost invariably mentionedwas born in Devonshire, about the year 1655, and bred to the law; but, as so frequently had before and has since happened, the Muses seduced him from a road that generally leads to wealth, into the path of imagination and wit, which, in his case, led only to fame, and not of the highest kind; though he certainly was a man of superior ability, the delight,' says one of his biographers, of the most polite companies, from the beginning of Charles II.'s to the latter part of George I.'s reign; and many an honest gentleman got a reputation in his county, by pretending to have been in company with Tom D'Urfey.' The writer of No. 67 in The Guardian, states, that he remembered king Charles II. leaning on Tom D'Urfey's shoulder more than once, and humming over a song with him.' He was a tory of the most decided kind, and frequently diverted queen Anne, in the latter part of her life, with pieces of humour, written by himself. From his pen proceeded upwards of thirty dramatic pieces, all of which quitted the stage long ago; and his reputation as a wit rests on the above-mentioned work, in which are many productions of his own, several of them abominably gross, most unquestionably but in the good old times,' the manners were licentious, the taste coarse and vulgar, and D'Urfey, who lived by his writings, had to choose between pleasing the town, and poverty. He died in 1723.

AIR-(Page 20).

1.

Que le jour me dure
Passé loin de toi !
Toute la nature

N'est plus rien pour moi. Le plus verd boccage, Quand tu n'y viens pas, N'est qu'un lieu sauvage, Pour moi sans appas.

2.

Helas! si je passe
Un jour sans te voir,
Je cherche ta trace
Dans mon désespoir.
Quand je l'ai perdue
Je reste à pleurer;
Mon ame éperdue
Est près d'expirer.

3.

Le cœur me palpite

Quand j'entends ta voix; Tout mon sang s'agite

Dès que je te vois. Ouvres-tu la bouche?

Les cieux vont s'ouvrir ; Si ta main me touche, Je me sens frémir.

Written and composed by

JEAN-JAQUES ROUSSEAU,

the distinguished philosopher and eloquent writer of Geneva, which city gave him birth in 1712. His father, a watchmaker, at first purposed bringing him up as an enameller; then as an engraver; but he, rejecting both, in 1728 quitted his native city, and travelled in France and Italy, where he subsisted by his knowledge in music. It was at Venice he acquired a taste for the compositions of Italy, of which he thenceforward became the champion; though, while asserting the unsuitableness of the French language for music, he composed a French opera, Le Devin du Village. Governed by the same inconsistent spirit, he wrote a comedy, Narcisse, and a novel, Héloise, after inveighing, in his powerful, persuasive manner, against the immorality of the stage, and such works of imagination as romances. It is no disparagement of Rousseau to say, that, for a considerable time, he copied music as a business; but it ought also to be added, that he applied the profits to the support of a distressed female relation. His attack on French music, in his celebrated letter, incensed the nation against him, and the various articles in his Dictionnaire de Musique by no means appeased public resentment. These, and his other controversies, moral, political, and literary, at length made Paris irksome to him; he, therefore, retired to the village of Ermennonville, where he died in 1778.

Rousseau was not profound, either as a musical theorist or composer, but his quickness of apprehension, and delicacy of taste, supplied the want of both. His dictionary is still a useful work; much of it is extremely eloquent; but, as an authority, it cannot be always relied on. His compositions exhibit great tenderness, and are always appropriate. The air now given is composed on three notes only, a fact which passes unobserved by many, so sweet is the melody, and so well adapted to the words.

CORRESPONDENCE OF ZELTER AND GOETHE, No. I.

[WE at length present our readers with the first of a series of copious extracts from this memorable correspondence. We intend that these selections shall be fuller than those which have

appeared in any other English work. Or, at least we shall give,

in an entire state, the letters we select, for we consider that mutilation destroys the effect of the epistolary style.]

To MADAME UNGER.

HEREWITH, my revered friend, I send you my newest songs; and these, by-the-bye, on the first of May. There are two copies. One is for yourself, the other you will have the goodness to send to the excellent author of Wilhelm Meister, if a convenient opportunity should offer. I wished that my songs might not be so unknown to him as my name. I have composed the music to his verses, in no superficial manner, and for that very reason fear it will circulate but little. The songs are not made for the public at large; and who will study my few trivial notes as I have studied his incomparable verses? Herr von Goethe will best know whether I have hit upon his meaning. In such matters I do not in the least trust to my friends; they praise that which I could do much better, and that which no one does better, or even so well, they pass over in silence. This puts me out of all patience. The notes are now printed once for all; they may try their fortune in the world. Remember me to Herr Unger. I remain, with the greatest respect, yours, ZELTER. Berlin, 1st May, 1796.

No. II.

To the same.

You have, most worthy lady, given me great pleasure by your letter, and the songs which sent me. you I met with the excellent compositions of Herr Zelter in a society, which first made

me acquainted with his labours. His melody to the song Ich denke dein (I think of thee), had for me an incredible charm, and I could not refrain from writing for it those words which are in Schiller's Musenalmanach.

I cannot judge of music, since I have no knowledge of the means by which it attains its end; I can only speak of the effects it produces on me, when I give myself up to it purely and repeatedly; and thus I can say of Herr Zelter's compositions to my songs, that I scarcely gave music credit for such heartfelt tones.

Give him many thanks, and tell him that I much wish to know him personally, to converse with him on various subjects. In the eighth volume of my romance there will indeed be no room for songs, but the remains of Mignon and the Old Harper* are not exhausted; and all of which any thing can be made, I most willingly leave in the hands of Herr Zelter.

However, I shall soon, perhaps, send some more songs, with a request to compose them for Schiller's Musenalmanach; I hoped to have sent them with this answer, wherefore it was delayed beyond the limits of courtesy.

Thanks, most worthy lady, for your trouble, and believe that I know how to prize the interest which good and cultivated souls take in me, and in those labours, by which I am enabled to approximate a part of my existence to those unknown minds who

are at a distance from me.

Weimar, 13th June, 1796.

No III.

To GOETHE,

GOETHE.

My excellent friend, Herr Unger, gave me inexpressible delight by showing me a passage of your letter to him. The applause which my attempts could receive from you, is a happiness I have long desired, yet never hoped for with confidence; and though, concerning many a successful composition, I have felt no doubts in myself, yet has the approbation of a man, whose works are my Penates, afforded me a satisfaction, which I never felt so purely and warmly before.

I regard it as a great reward, that you further wish to trust to me the composition of your poems, poems which I know not how to praise, otherwise than by the unmingled echo of my inmost feelings; and I make bold to say, that I have worked at your poems with the most devotional care, and to the extent of the talents I possess.

Besides the poems which are printed after my music in Schiller's Musenalmanach, I have composed Der Zauberlehrling (the Apprentice in Magic), Die Braut von Corinth (the Bride of Corinth), Das Blümlein Wunderschön (the flower Wonder-fair), Der Singgesell und der Mühlbach (the Youngster and the Millstream), and Das Bundeslied (Song of the Union), which I should readily send you, would you permit me. I have long thought of so doing, yet dared not venture. A hint from you, and they shall be in your hands as soon as possible.

I commend myself to your condescending regards, and remain, with the deepest respect and love, right honourable Sir, yours, ZELTER. most devotedly,

Berlin, 11th August, 1799.

No. IV. TO ZELTER.

WITH the sincerest thanks I reply to your friendly letter, in which you would tell me, by words, that of which your compositions have long since convinced me, viz., that you take a lively interest in my works, and from pure inclination have made some entirely your own. The beauty of an active sympathy is, that it is reproductive; since if my songs awaken you to melodies, I can truly say that your melodies have aroused me to many a song; and I am sure, that if we lived together, I should feel myself elevated to a lyric mood oftener than at present. By communications of any kind you will give me the greatest pleasure.

I send also a production, which has a somewhat singular appearance. It owes its origin to this thought: Whether dramatic ballads cannot be so constituted, as to give the composer matter for a vocal piece of greater magnitude? Unfortunately the piece in question is not worthy of so great an expenditure of trouble. I wish you good health, and request you to remember me to GOETHE. Herr Unger.

Weimar, 26th August, 1799.

*Two characters in Wilhelm Meister. ED.

ON MUSICAL EDUCATION.

[From the French of M. GRETRY.] THERE is no truth that should be more frequently, and certainly no one that can be more profitably, repeated to the student than this: "That it is by observing and following nature, that the imitative arts are brought to perfection." It must, however, be at the same time remembered, that all the modes of following nature are not equally good. Every passion, every character, has a variety of features; and according to the subject treated, and the situation presented, there is always one which will claim the preference over the rest. Hence the danger of imitating even a good production, if that production be itself but an imitation; this copy of a copy cannot but feebly reflect the lively sentiment with which the man of genius was animated. In a word, if in his productions the artist imitate only the works of man, his labours will perish, whereas the nearer he approximates nature, which is imperishable, the nearer he approaches immortality.

There is nothing that would tend more to the happiness of my declining days, than to be able to point out to the young artist the path he ought to follow; to inspire him with a confidence of being able to attain the object in view; to awaken in his breast a spirit of emulation which no checks, no discouragements, can cool. Whatever the road he had marked out for himself, whatever the peculiar bent of his genius, I should wish to encourage him in the race, by pointing out the prize that awaits him at the goal. In a word, I should wish to convince him of this important truth, that his talents must be directed to some particular branch of excellence, to which he should limit his ambition, for that, of all delusions, the most fatal is the presumption of being able to attain to universal perfection.

But, it may be urged, is it not according to the more or less active nature of his being, according as his organization is more or less favourable to the science which forms the object of his pursuit; is it not after having called all his faculties into activity, and tried every kind of excellence, that the young artist succeeds in selecting that which is best adapted to him? In some respects this is true. Such is the course which many have followed in reaching the term of their studies; but it is not the best. It requires a mass of dispositions, which do not fall to the lot of all the aspirants to excellence, to enable them to surmount the dangers by which this method is attended. We may rest assured, that many talents which would have attained perfection, have been destroyed in the very bud of their promise, from an ignorance of the means of giving them a due direction, and of forming them according to models of acknowledged excellence. It will not be denied, 1st, That a young man is often thrown almost at hazard, into the hands of an ignorant master, who has no pretension either to taste or discernment; and that, unfortunately, whatever this master does, whatever he esteems, admires, and prefers, will, in his pupil's regard, become the model of perfection to which he will aspire. Is it not melancholy to see that, in such a case, every step he takes towards the point of imaginary perfection is but an aberration from the right line? 2dly, That the pupil, ere yet scarcely initiated into the science, may fall into the hands of some pedant, who by dint of checking, the sallies of genius, and of moulding nature, as he terms it, may render both the one and the other contemptible. 3dly, That he may fall into 3dly, That he may fall into the hands of some coterie, some knot of partisans of a particular species of bad taste, who, recognise nothing as good beyond their little contracted sphere of excellence. 4thly, That if he frequent the society of amateurs of noisy music, of the grand effects of harmony, of a curious complication of chords, he will be persuaded into the belief that this is the only course he ought to adopt. 5thly, That if circumstances should throw him in the way of church-music, either in Germany or Italy, where he will hear little else than fugues, learned counterpoint and figured song, it is much to be feared that the happiest disposition for painting the passions, for creating felicitous melodies, would remain smothered beneath these scientific masses. 6thly, That if he should labour for the theatre, and it should fall to his lot to try his talents on some meagre and ill-digested subject, which affords no exercise for the imagination, he will believe himself destitute of talent. 7thly, That, if, after having composed good music to an unsuccessful poem, his music should be treated with neglect, he will think that he has deceived himself, and wish to change a manner that is good, for one which is inferior.

When the pupil has been sufficiently instructed in the prin

ciples of the art, a good master will choose the favourable moment for reasoning with him upon the grounds and nature of the art itself, in order to determine him in the choice of what is excellent; he will demonstrate to him what is the excellent of all times and places, in opposition to that which depends upon fashion, or is upheld by the mania of particular times and particular men. Nothing will tend more effectually to determine the pupil's mind, and convince him of the certainty of a real standard, in opposition to that which is uncertain and the product of circumstances, than an examination of the method pursued by those masters who have obtained celebrity, and a consideration of the reasons why such a style and character of music has constantly maintained its ground, while others have suddenly sunk into oblivion, or insensibly fallen into neglect, after enjoying their hour of celebrity.

Convinced of the truth of such observations, the pupil would be prompted thus to reason with himself: "Yes, I now begin to see which is the true road to excellence; by following it, I shall, according to the means with which nature has endowed me, approach nearer to perfection, and shall no longer run the risk of being led astray by that which has only the semblance of truth. If I have talent, I may hope to obtain that reputation which will not perish with the fleeting breath of popular applause; and without aspiring to perfection, I may reasonably hope to have made some advances in the path of excellence, and leave behind me some memorials of industrious and not ill-directed study, by which those who succeed me may possibly profit."

There are two roads which conduct to celebrity in the arts and sciences-that of theory and that of practice. Theory in science is speculation pursued as nearly as possible to mathematical exactitude, from which results a code of laws. Practice consists in the employment of these rules, modified so as to produce the most pleasing effect, and brought into action by being applied to some determinate object which the artist wishes to describe. In all cases, it is doubtless necessary to possess more or less of the theory of an art, before proceeding to the practice of it; but we may also devote ourselves exclusively to theory, and become learned, without ever reducing the elementary rules to practice, without ever employing them to the end for which they were made.

But let us consider, whether by dedicating too much time to the theory of the arts, particularly those which administer to our pleasures, we may not estrange ourselves from the very object which those arts have in view. If in our days too great an ambition has been shown to appear learned; if a curious complication of harmony has been too studiously sought, to the detriment of genuine melody, it is surely time to return to that noble simplicity which is the very soul of art; it is surely time to change our system, by consulting our feelings, which reproach us with having run into excess. Yes, let the youthful votary of the art be persuaded of this important truth-that the more we affect learning, the more we shall depart from the true, the touching, and the beautiful. I do not fear to assert, that the smallest original air is preferable to the most ingenious and scientific complication of harmony. The author of a beautiful air has done something for our enjoyment; the author of a series of calculated harmonies has surprised us, has led us into a labyrinth, from which we are generally anxious to extricate ourselves as quickly as possible. The real amateur, the true musician, will ever hold it as a principle, that it is only those who are strangers to the soul of melody, that will show an exclusive preference for the laborious system of harmony. No; harmony is but a beautiful problem, of which song is the solution.

One of the first objects, therefore, of a good master will be to teach his pupil to construct melodial phrases, and to unite them with grace. He does this from a conviction, that the art of constructing captivating melodies is the art par excellence. The very reverse of this is the method usually pursued by masters of composition, who begin by giving a base, upon which they make the pupils construct a melody. But it will be found, that the result of such a method is not a melody properly so called; it is the product of a base, and, according to the best masters, the song is good if it proceeds in a contrary movement to the base; if consecutive fifths, double octaves, and the intervals termed irregular be avoided, &c. Why then give the pupil a base, which can only produce a formal melody, an artificial production, a mechanical song, in which sentiment is out of the question? No, a good master will pursue the very opposite method to this: he

will teach the pupil to compose a melody, in which taste and feeling have a share, and which will assuredly be susceptible of a base; he will be cautious not to impede the free march of feeling; he will habituate the pupil to the creation of easy and pleasing melodies; he will teach him to regard the base, the harmony of accompaniments-in a word, the scholastic part-in the light in which they ought to be considered, namely, as the support of the melody, as the pedestal of the statue. What, indeed, can be more ridiculous than to occupy the pupil's time in the erection of pedestals, without ever speaking of the statues?

But it may be said, if the pupil has genius, he will afterwards naturally proceed to the production of sentimental melody. I would answer, no; he will not do so, unless urged by the force of nature herself. And why should not the system of education have been sedulous from the very beginning, to follow the course which nature herself spontaneously suggests? Our system of education chains down the pupil to the mechanical branch of the art, at the very time he ought to be exercising his talents upon that which is essential; I call it the essential part, because it is thence that all our pleasures result. Having first of all fixed the ideas respecting melody, I am aware, that in order to form a finished composer, a painter of the passions, recourse must necessarily be had to the study of counterpoint; but then there will be nothing to fear; song, the essential branch of the art, will have taken deep root, and harmony and counterpoint will come at a favourable moment to foster its growth, and impart to it its necessary strength. Heretofore masters appear to have been more solicitous with regard to science than to song; on the contrary, it were to be wished, that harmony should ever be considered as the assistant, as the support of song; and that the most effectual method of becoming a good harmonist is, in the first instance, to have the mind deeply imbued with the essence of melody. Let this art, which is justly entitled to the name of sentimental music, be once developed; let the pupil be taught to analyze his feelings, to give a satisfactory reason why such a particular note in such a particular situation produces so powerful an effect, making our bosom either thrill with delight, or shudder with horror, and it will be seen what a progress will be made in the real art of music!

Never let us doubt of the important truth, that it is melody alone which can guide us secure through the labyrinth of modulated chords; that it is she alone who can keep us within the bounds marked out by good taste; that when melody ceases to be pleasing, we are arrived at the point at which science ought to stop. A good master, therefore, will make his pupil compose the most pure and simple airs, and proceed to the art of modulation, before he attempts to initiate him in the mysteries of thorough base. He will make him compose airs of a passionate and terrible kind, progressing into a variety of modes. He will be under no apprehension of his producing a medley not susceptible of an accompaniment; for he has already taught him that song must be his guide throughout. He will not, therefore, make incoherent errors; it is only the ambition of passing for learned, that betrays us into the commission of sublime blunders like these. According to this principle, let us suppose that the pupil begins a subject in c major; he will afterwards pass into G, into D, and into A; he will be made to pause and remark the note which has made him quit the key in which he began, and conducted him into these different modes. It will be observed to him; You were in c; you touch the F sharp, the leading note of G, you are therefore in G; you touch the c sharp, you are therefore in D, &c.' Always obliged to be cantabile, observe what his course will be. If he commence his air in c major, and the train of his impressions at the moment be of the tender and pathetic kind, he will change his key, descending by fifths into the minor mode. If, on the contrary, after commencing in c major, his feelings should be of a joyous cast, or mounting to the region of sublime ideas-should he be prompted to sing of the glory of heroes, he will ascend by fifths into the major mode. If in modulating, he should fall into an error-and he will fall into a thousand before he becomes an adept in the art-he should be told; You have committed a grand error against rules; for in this place you are no longer cantabile.' It should then be pointed out to him in what respect he has erred against rule; and the key should be pointed out to him into which he ought to have progressed; but he should never be told with that coarseness which is but too common among masters; You are ignorant, sir;'but You have been betrayed into an error here.' And if you

destine your pupil to be a painter of the passions, permit him to make some blunders; it will make him more conscious of his strength afterwards.

In this manner it is, that instinct or sensibility will lead your pupil to science; while it may be set down as a principle, that science would never have led him to that melody which is the result of sensibility. When these happy dispositions have been superinduced; when the mind of the pupil is thoroughly imbued with song, and skilled in the art of modulation, then is the happy moment to render him a composer; for composition, in the strict sense of the word, signifies the art of making several parts move together. Then it is that he may be taught to form a scholastic theme of two, three, or more parts upon a given bass; for then, as before observed, there will be nothing to be apprehended; song, the essential part, will be predominant in all his compositions, and harmony and counterpoint will now come at the happy moment, to impart to them additional force, and strengthen their expressions.

In order to render more clear the reasoning here pursued, I would class the talents of composers as follows:

1st. The harmonist, without the faculty of melody; 2nd. The melodist, without the science of harmony; 3rd. The melodist, who is also master of harmony.

The harmonist who possesses not the faculty of melody, but who occupies himself in researches upon the theory of the art, doubtless merits our esteem; he calculates, he prepares the materials which await the vivifying touch of genius; but such a one runs the risk of being forgotten when the man of genius has exhausted these materials, when he has enlivened them with song, and imparted to them those accents of passion which render them indestructible.

The melodist without the science of harmony is a child of nature. There is no one of his accents but produces an agreeable sensation; he has the gift of pleasing the multitude, who are solicitous only to be pleased, without troubling themselves about science. Even the man of science is constrained to love him, and experiences in listening to his accents a charm which pierces through the scientific coating in which he is enveloped. Yes, those melodial phrases which imprint themselves on the memory, which haunt us night and day, are the genuine treasures of music, in the same manner as those fortunate yerses which are short in words, but comprehensive in sense, constitute the reputation of the poet.

The master-melodist, who at the same time possesses a thorough knowledge of harmony, is the musician par excellence; but how rare to find a man in whom these great requisites are equally balanced! It is sensibility that produces melody; it is the patient study of harmonial combinations that constitutes the learned man to conciliate the two faculties is a task more than difficult. Let the youthful artist consult his own feelings, and be studious to follow nature; let him build his music upon melodies that are pure and expressive, and they will possess a character of truth which must survive all the vicissitudes of fashion. Let him emulate the truth and melody that reign in the declamations of Pergolesi, the tender, and angelic song that breathes throughout the compositions of Sacchini, the expressive harmony that prevails throughout the scores of Gluck. Study to preserve your melodies so pure, and to render the phrases so correspondent one to the other, that their impression may be instantaneous, and the effect of the whole be seen at a glance. It is thus that they will charm the fancy, and produce so indelible an impression on the imagination, as never again to be effaced. Such is the case with respect to all the great master-pieces that remain to us. In some of their lesser details they may have partly grown out of date, but their broader features possess a character of nature and truth, which bid defiance to the influence of times and fashions.