feels Italian conversational emphasis to be extravagant. Next to Italian airs may be placed the German, and then our own theatrical airs, as attractive of admiration from certain classes. In most of these the expression is much coarser than in the Italian airs. The expressive effect is frequently attempt ed to be produced by the grossest and most unrefined imitative expedients. By disagreeable discords, for instance, as in "the Death of Nelson:" by coarse mimickry of sounds, as the cannons and galloping, for instance, in "the Battle of Prague;" or the marble footsteps, and knocking at the door, in Giovanni; or the pip-popping of the drops of rain in Steibelts' storm.

In the next department of musical temperament may be placed those minds, which, almost regardless of meaning, are delighted only by mere harmony and tricks of execution. Their only idea of musical expression is, the difference of fast and slow. They think an air played quickly must be lively, and melancholy if played slowly. This notion is no doubt founded in nature. A tune, however, is not lively or sad because it is quick or slow. It is played quickly or slowly, because it is lively or sad. This distinction they cannot understand. Nor can it be understood excepting by those, whose notions of the expression of Music are founded on other and more important natural resemblances than those of mere time. Admitting thus much of natural imitation to be the foundation of all that they recognize as expression, it seems singular, that these persons should not push their reasoning farther, and detect other relations between musical sounds and those of nature. Here, however, they stop. Their observation cannot get beyond mere facts ending in themselves, and devoid of much intellectual relation to other facts. They observe whether or not a performer has execution. They criticise his tone and his fingering. Of a song they perceive what compass of voice is required to sing it. They mark when it gets into the minor, and when it gets out again. Of a concerted piece they study the harmony. They take due note whether the chords be old or new, according to rule, or deviating from it. They say there is too little bass or too much, and find fault with the management of the different instruments.

With these things their enthusiasm begins and ends. They prefer Catalani, Dickons, and Braham, to all singers that ever sung: and why? Because the mechanism of their throats has enabled these worthies to play vocal tricks beyond the reach of a common windpipe. It is in vain to talk of Miss Stephens, or of any other natural and expressive singer. They heed you not. You are told that Catalani runs up" the Lord knows where," and down again in quarter tones. It is in vain to talk of meaning. You are told of a shake or of a hold ten minutes long. It is in vain to urge, that the soul of Music is pathos, and that the rest only proves a preternatural conformation of the Trachia. You are overwhelmed with cadences, falsettos, trills, and turns, and take refuge insilence. It is of course useless to expect from minds so constituted, either a true sense of the meaning of an air, or of the agreement of words with that meaning. To them an air might as well be the product of a machine like that in the Laputan Academy for making books. If the notes fall trippingly on the ear, it is pronounced "a pretty tune." As to its agreeing with words, or words with it-they cannot believe that Burns or Moore had anything in view beyond making their lines correspond in length with the divisions of the air. If we look at the airs most popular in theatres and other places of public resort, we shall find accordingly ;-first, That the words sung are a matter unheeded: secondly, That the most extravagant airs are the greatest favourites; and, thirdly, That of the old expressive airs, the coarsest, the commonest, the most doubtful-in short, the worst, are almost invariably preferred.

It has never been denied that one of the essential points of the poetical character is the aptitude for discovering relations between things apparently distant and dissimilar. În ludicrous subjects, this is wit. In imaginative subjects, it is poetry. Metaphor and simile are built upon it, and upon metaphor and simile rest the greatest part of what is valuable in poetical expression. In poets themselves, this faculty of perceiving distant and beautiful relations, is of course strongly manifested. But in all those who really relish poetry, it must in a greater or less degree exist. No man can appreciate to

the full an original and beautiful poetical expression, who has not himself essayed to construct one. This is the case with all the arts which embody any portion of the poetical. It is thus in painting, in acting, in oratory, and in sculpture. To judge of these, a man must be capable of some portion of that feeling which excited the imagination, and impelled the hand or voice of the artist. But, above all, in music, this is requisite; and being so, it is no longer a matter of wonder that musical compositions should be appreciated so differently by different minds, and so seldom truly by any.

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In judging of the Poetry of Language, the relations of the things brought together in the mind by the art of the poet, however distant and unexpected they may be, are yet felt to be single and direct relations. The images compared are generally distinct images. When Shakespeare says yeasty waves," the expression, however bold, is pleasing to every one. We all have a full and complete idea of the things compared. The comparison is unexpected, but it is strong, striking, and perfect. When Moore compares our view of past glories through the dimness of time, to glimpses of ancient towers buried beneath the waves of Loch Neagh, the similitude, though distant and imaginative, is yet so exalted and so true, that there are few minds, probably, however narrow, to which it would not afford pleasure. In these cases, there is only one relation to be considered. So also, when Garrick by his looks alone expressed the "gamut of the passions," the relation between the position of the features and the natural feeling, however fine and difficult to be given and understood, was still only one relation. But in musical expression there are two relations, or rather there is a double relation to be apprehended. There is first the relation which combinations of tones, divested of words, have to certain mental feelings-there is first this to be understood, and without the guide and help of language appended to them; and secondly, there is the relation to be understood which these tones have to the poetical and measured imitation of them which constitutes an expressive tune. That a matter of such difficult appreciation should be attained by those only whose minds being poetically constituted, are, con

VOL. XV.

sequently, in the habit of seeking and identifying the finer and more remote relations in nature, is not surprising. The contrary would be so.

Men of poetical minds are few in number; and in the proportion in which a man's mind is poetically constituted, he will be found to understand and relish expressive music. This is an appeal to experience; and if it holds good as a fact, as experience will prove, it is a strong corroboration of the real nature and foundation of musical expression, that is to say, in poetical imitation. In examining, however, by experiment, into the truth of this nice and difficult matter, there are some distinctions to be made, and some probable misapprehensions to be guarded against. We must be careful, in the first place, to keep distinct that love of harmony, which passes under the general title of "love of music," and which writers on music universally confound with the appreciation of expressive melody. There is another far nicer consideration, however, which is absolutely necessary to the due conduct and understanding of such an inquiry. This is the peculiar mode in which, and extent to which, musical expression is comprehended by different persons. Few men even of that terperament which is the most capable of relishing expressive airs, can say at once, and infallibly, how and why they do so. They cannot detail, "at first sight" as one may say, all the niceties and minutiae of that peculiar expression which pleases them. It is not, however, to be supposed, that they do not feel it, because they cannot at once analyse it. In many operations of the mind, and especially in those which relate to subjects of a refined and intangible nature, it requires the habit of mental analysis to enable us to trace out and detail the process by which we have arrived at a conclusion, to describe graphically, as it were, the precise feelings which have excited us. For the mind to travel over a certain field of excitement, is one thing; and to map and lay down the country over which we have travelled, is another. Mental investigation is an art to be learned. Nature teaches us to feel, and science to separate and class those feelings. There are many impressions which all experience, but which few indeed can describe. Most minds are affected with mixed sensations of awe 4 G

and wonder at the first sight of the sea; but who can describe accurately the precise train of ideas which such a sight creates? This description is the province of metaphysics, and luckily few men are metaphysicians. Shakespeare himself would probably have required "metaphysical aid" had he been under the necessity of describing that wonderful mental process, which must have led him to some of his truest conclusions, as to the display of character and mixture of the passions. Yet it is impossible to deny, that through such processes his mind must have passed, howsoever instinctive his conclusions might appear to an inquirer, from their not being reviewed after they were used, but perhaps forgotten until called for by some similar occasion. In musical expression this is peculiarly the case. Men of a certain conformation of mind will almost of necessity feel the expression; but without the art of mental analysis, it is impossible that they should distinctly describe, even to themselves, the precise modifications of their own feelings. The faculty of knowing, and accurately describing the meaning of an air, and of judging of the fitness of the sentiments to be appended in words to that musical language, is only to be attained by cultivation. In the sproportion in which it is cultivated it will be apparent, and this is the best proof that the method is founded on principles true in nature. It is possible to carry it so far as to be able to say, without hesitation, what turn of sentiment will be embodied in words to be adapted to a given expressive air, if they are to be written by one conversant in musical expression. What is more extraordinary is, that the converse of this process has sometimes taken place, and that a prior conception, wonderfully accurate, of the turn of an air, has been gathered from the words to which it was appended. I state this, because I know it to have happened to one whose knowledge of old airs, principally those of Scotland, and whose celebrity as a writer in that

department of poetry which is connected with them, render him the most likely perhaps of all men to have experienced it. It is another proof of the expression of airs being of a nature eminently intellectual, that it affects most that class of minds which, from their organization, we should most expect to be affected by it. That it is totally different from the excitement of harmony, is also evident in the fact of children being unmoved by it, while their nerves are violently shaken by harmonic combinations.

Experience must ultimately decide how far the foregoing observations have their foundation in truth. In the mean time, there is one argument for the probability of their being true. They explain, if admitted, those apparent anomalies and discrepancies in the opinions and feelings of mankind upon this delicate subject, which certainly have not been explained upon any other hypothesis. Granting once, that men are divided into classes, and that the mind of one is absolutely incapable of perceiving what another as intensely feels, and that the number of those comprehending the expression of melody is small, whilst those delighting in harmony are many, we have at once a key to the whole.

We see why the invention of counterpoint, which has made music a thriving trade, has been the bane of melody; and we see why some of the greatest names, both of the present and past time, have been known as lovers of simple melody, whilst the greatest harmonists have been absolutely dull men. We see the gradations of mind, from the unpoetical, through the meretricious and the coarse, to that refined sensitivenes which, with a more than Indian instinct, can track the foot-prints of Passion, wherever it has been, whilst common observers vainly attempt to follow, or give up as hopeless, a chase which to them appears so inexplicable.

T. D.

the most illiberal priesthood in the world, is styled liberality; and any endeavour to mitigate their oppression, comes under the designation of tyranny. For this the demagogue spouts -the newspaper froths-the liberal in Parliament proses-the sensitive poet mourns-or the libellous poet calumniates. In Ireland, then, people have got up a jacquerie, which has made parts of the country absolutely uninhabitable, and are actively employed in endeavouring to extend the blessings of insurrection over those districts where it has not yet appeared. Every epithet of abuse or insult is heaped upon those who write to defend the constitution of the country; everything is done which can tend to exasperate the feelings of the demisavage lower orders against the established church ;-witness, for instance, the scandalous crusade against the Archbishop of Dublin ;-every topic of irritation, no matter from what time deduced, or with what fearlessness of falsehood invented, is sedulously set forth by a self-constituted body of regularly bred agitators, bearding the cowardly government in the very city of Dublin. This noise so got up-this insurrection so got up-these barbarous millions so set in motionform the staple arguments for conceding political power to their leaders. At home, the priesthood keep their flocks subject to their nod by the disgraceful agency of mock miracles, and stimulate them to the field by bloody prophecy; in this country such weapons would not do; and their battle is accordingly fought here by painting the Irishman as a creature of fine feelings, warm heart, intense good nature, -all repressed by cruel and impolitic laws. They who make these speeches well know that their laws, the policy or impolicy of which I shall not immediately discuss, have as much to do with the brutal atrocities of the priestridden mob, or with the degradation of the Irish character-which, I am sorry to say, appears to be rapidly barbarizing as they have with the inhabitants of the Dog-Star.

The most active person in turning away the eyes of the English public from the real state of affairs in Ireland, has been, unquestionably, Mr Thomas Mocre. Young ladies and old women sucked in from his pretty songs, not merely matter for prurient imaginings,

but a delicate sensitiveness about the wrongs of Erin. In his poetry, which we know was the most fashionable of our time, you saw nothing of the Bible-hating priest; the shouting crowd exulting with demoniac fury over a houseful of women and children roasting alive; the prophecy devoting their Protestant countrymen to destruction; the impostor playing his fantastic tricks before high heaven in the walls of nunneries-you saw nothing of the grovelling, servile, sickening prostration of intellect, which, to a stranger, is the most marked and most revolting characteristic of the people, with hearts exclusively Irish. No! all was golden and green everywhere in Ireland, except among the Protestants—that is, precisely among those who, with the exception of about three in five hundred, form the educated, the enlightened, the brilliant, the eloquent, and the learned of his native country.

This prestige is fast passing away. I said long ago that this session of Parliament would not witness any effort to bring the Roman Catholics into power, and you see I was right. People are ashamed of having been so egregiously humbugged, as to have fancied that all the fine things they had been hearing about Erin ma vourneen could have been true. Time was, however, when it was otherwise. The finest poem of Mr Moore's Lalla Rookhthe Fire-worshippers, was exclusively devoted to shewing up the Orangemen as oppressors, and the Roman Catholics as chivalrous and valiant, and oppressed. Tom Campbell, in his preface to the specimens he gives of Brookes's poetry, in his British Poets, truly remarks, that a political tragedy is a contemptible thing, for he who writes with a double meaning, cannot be inspired with the true spirit of poetry. Such has been the case with the Fire-worshippers. Moore has sacrificed one of the finest things he ever worked upon, to the paltry and perishable purposes of party.

If such has been the case with Moore, what are we to think of Alasco, which is brought forward with the self-same design? Why, that the talentless author must have made a stupid thing of it, as he has done, when considered as a poetic composition, and a most reprehensible thing, when viewed in any other light. That such was Shee's design, there can be no doubt.