beloved Hérold. For us it was the commencement of mourning; for him, of immortality. The last inspiration, the last song, the last word of the poet or artist is far from being always a piece of celestial intuition, or divine aspiration. Rabelais, the joyous curé of Meudon; Taconnet, the facetious comedian; and Rameau-even Rameau, the patriarch of French music -are striking examples of this. It is reported that Rabelais, feeling his end approach, said to those around him, "Let down the curtainthe farce is over," and expired immediately afterwards. Taconnet died in the hospital of the Charité. When his last hour had already arrived, he turned round to a bed near him, in which lay a poor dying wretch whom, like many others, he had caused to laugh in happier times, and said: "Make haste, my good friend, go and build up a stage down below, and tell Pluto that I shall play this evening before his court L'Avocat Savetier, and La Mort du Bœuf Gras." Rameau fell a victim to the attacks of a complicated fever, at the age of eighty-three. The king had granted him letters of nobility, without which he could not be received Chevalier of the Order of St. Michel, but we are assured he would not have them registered, in order to avoid an expense for which he cared more than he did for nobility. Several of his friends having in vain endeavoured to prevail on him to register the letters, the cure of St. Eustache called at his house and spoke with him a long time on the subject, so long, indeed, that Rameau at last exclaimed with fury, “Que diable me chantez-vous là, Monsieur le curé? Vous avez la voix fausse !" THE DYING SONG OF THE SWAN. According to tradition, the swan sings once in its life, and its strains are the sign of its approaching death. At all times it has been agreed that the last work of a great poet was the song of the dying swan, he himself being the swan. In this manner, Virgil has been named the Swan of Mantua; Pindar the Swan of Thebes; while, in our own days, it is considered a mark of good taste to denonominate Rossini the swan of Pesaro. What a pity that it was impossible to preserve the song which Anacreon hummed at the moment he was giving up the ghost! It would have been an interesting task to compare this "song of the swan" with Weber's "Last Waltz,' which is nothing more, by the way, than one of the first ideas of Reissiger, chapelmaster of his Majesty, the King of Saxony, a fact, how ever, which has not prevented this beautiful composition from becoming exceedingly popular, from being played by the prettiest of hands, and from being the cause of tears in the prettiest of eyes. Thus, this elegy, in which persons of a subtle, analytical mind thought they heard the last sigh, the last complaint of the illustrious mäestro, and groaned under this death struggle in G minor-this elegy-this last song of the swan, was simply the warbling of a lark, admirably disguised in funeral harmony. A very curious book might be written on the works supposed to have emanated from this or that celebrated author, either in literature or music, but which, very frequently, are merely the lucubrations of authors more or less unknown. If it is not always the spirit of speculation which commits offences of this description, it is often the most Boeotian ignorance. One day I happened to be at Turin. In the windows of a bookseller's shop, I remarked the portrait of Beethoven figuring on the title-page of a piece of music. The peculiarity of this portrait consisted in the divine maëstro being represented at full length, with a long frock coat, pantaloons à sous-pied, his hair floating in the wind, his hands behind his back, and a pair of gloves. Beneath the portrait there was a fac-simile of his signature. The head was really very like Beethoven, or, at least, like all his portraits I had ever seen. I│“Save me," said the new-comer. "Here is my piece, L'Homme perwalked into the shop, and bought the piece of music, in order to become the possessor of the portrait, as I had formerly purchased Reissiger's idea to purchase Weber's portrait. I opened the first page. It was the theme which the illustrious maestro com. posed and arranged with variations in his sonata dedicated to Kreutzer; while, in order that the vulgar might not be mistaken about the beautiful work, bnt might understand everything about it, after the words Pensée de Louis van Beethoven, the bookseller had had the prudence to add, in large letters: Air du tremolo de Bériot. As the reader perceives, I had made a good bargain; I only desired the portrait, and I had become the proprietor of a musical curiosity. I was But let us return to our-swans. It is a consolation for the survivors to raise a deceased friend's productions, though of the smallest possible merit, or, indeed, of the most worthless description, to the height of an epic poem. "Look there," said a person to me, one day, "look at that what admirable music-what touching melody! You would think it was written for angels, and inspired by heaven, whither my poor friend is gone to sing it. It is the dying song of the swan, sir-the dying song of the swan." obliged to respect the grief of my interlocutor, and to praise, approve, admire, grow enthusiastic, and rave about, the work, though (Heaven forgive me for my charitable falsehood) in this dying song of the swan I could not see the least sign of a song. For one person it is a poem; for another, a musical composition; while, for a third, it is a picture. The dying song of the swan is applicable to everything and everybody. For Millevoye, it is La Chute des Feuilles; for Leopold Robert, Les Pêcheurs de l'Adriatique; for Bellini, I Puritani, and for Hérold, Le Pré Aux Clercs. I can still recollect, on the occasion of one of the early representations of the latter opera, the painful impression, the shudder that pervaded the house, and the tears that burst forth at the words, "Il est mort! Il est mort!" which the two chevau-légers sing as they carry off the body of Comminge, while the violoncellos emit a sombre, lugubrious, and almost sepulchral melody. From that moment, there was no more applause-no more transports! Every heart was oppressed, every breast on the point of suffocation. You could see the tears be neath the smile, while even the actors on the stage forgot to sing. Everywhere you heard nothing but sobs. Those present recalled the touching Marie-they were still moved by the complaints of the noble Isabella, regretting her native land, like Göthe's Mignon. They remembered, too, that second Alice of a second Robert le Diable-the Alice of Zampa. The rose-coloured prism through which we were accustomed to see these charming creations was obscured. Naught remained by a cold statue reposing on a tomb. This statue was, perhaps, La fiancée de Marbre, while the tomb-the tomb received our well. This irritability and hot-headed impatience of the French musician afford a striking contrast to the tranquility and extraordinary sang-froid of Colardeau, in a situation altogether similar. Colardeau was the Mentor of authors. A day seldom pasaed by, without one or other of them coming to consult him, and to ask his advice as to the alterations necessary in their works. But one fine day, Colardeau was ill-Colardeau was dying. A friend, an author, entered his room, in a state of great excitement. sonnel. It is played to-morrow; read it to-day." "Do you save me," replied Colardeau, "I shall die to-day, and I shall be buried to-morrow." "Do not laugh, my dear Colardeau," replied the author. "Be as kind as you always are. I will read, and you shall listen." "I cannot," said Colardeau, in a broken voice. "I shall die at four o'clock, for the doctors have so decided." "Alas!" said his interlocutor, looking uneasily at the clock, the pendulum of which swung to and fro with its ordinary exactitude, "Alas! alas -but there is time enough." "I have not signed my will." "The lawyer can wait."-"But I must confess."-"You have plenty of time for that; the priest can come again."-"But how can I form a judgment on your piece? you see very well that I am at the point of death!" "If you do not pronounce your judgment on it now, when can I ever see you again? The piece is played to-morrow."-Finding all his efforts of no avail, the dying man heard, with great resignation, L'Homme personnel read to the end, When the author had finished, Colardeau said, in the mildest, calmest tone imaginable, "My good friend, allow me to give you a piece of advice." "Ah!" said the poet, shutting up his manuscript, "I was not wrong, you are still the best of men. Tell me, tell me, what it is!" While speaking thus he kept his eyes fixed, with continually increasing anxiety on the clock, which then marked a quarter to four. "Well, then," said Colardeau, "there is one very valuable trait wanting in the character of your hero." "What is it, my dear Colardeau, tell me quickly, I beg of you."- -"A very valuable one. "What-what! tell me for Heaven's sake!"-" And in your place I should certainly—” “Well, well-the trait."-"Well, then," replied the patient, with a mild and ineffable smile, which no longer belonged to this world, "it is that of forcing a friend, at the point of death, to-listen to the reading of a comedy-in five acts-of verse. Having pronounced these words, Colardeau expired. They were the dying song of the swan in his case. -French Paper. COLOGNE.-Mr. Mitchell has concluded an agreement with the Männergesangverein for Paris. Fourteen concerts will be given in thə Italian Opera-house under the immediate patronage of the Emperor. Mr. Mitchell takes all the risk, but shares the profits with the Associa tion, if the speculation proves successful. He has deposited one thousand pounds for the travelling expenses, etc., of the members, who will start in about a week from the present time. The Sängerbund, composed of seceders from the Gesangverein, is progressing very satisfactorily under the direction of Herr Kipper. It already numbers fifty members resident in the town, besides a great many others from the neighbouring country. PARIS. (From our own Correspondent.) NEVER had correspondent a more hopeless task, than he who at the present time is expected to write apropos of musical or theatrical events in Paris. The Isralites, when compelled by their taskmasters, the Egyptians, to make bricks without straw, were comparatively happy, for they possessed some of the requisite materials, though an important accessary was denied to them. But in Paris the musical news is literally nil. Not a Parisian is to be found in any quarter of the place, and though the operas and theatres are filled to suffocation, and the boulevards crowded to excess, you see no old familiar faces, but provincials meet your eye in every box, at every turn, and English is spoken on the Boulevard de Gand much more commonly than French. In short, Paris has gone out of town, and London and the provinces have taken possession thereof. One event, however, connected with a theatrical representation, has produced a profound sensation, and, but for the wonderful news from Sebastopol, would have formed the sole topic of conversation. The Emperor, as most of our readers are already aware, has been shot at by a cowardly assassin, on his way to the Théâtre Italien. The following particulars are from an eye-witness of the scene, and contain some details which have not previously been published. Madame Ristori, being about to depart for St. Petersburgh, where she is engaged for the winter, the Emperor desired to witness her farewell performance, and accordingly, on Saturday night, he commanded Maria Stuarda, in which part he had never seen the great tragedian. The court being at Saint Cloud, the Imperial party arrived in several carriages-and-four. There is a private entrance for the Emperor to the Théâtre Italien, as at the Grand Opéra. The door opens upon the Rue Marsollier. on the left hand going from the Rue des PetitsChamps. Facing this door is a sort of warehouse attached to the theatre, which is always closed at night, and the street itself is little frequented. Shortly before the arrival of the imperial party, an individual stationed himself before this warehouse, under one of the lampposts. One of the imperial carriages arrived, containing the Princess d'Elssling, mistress of the robes, the Vicomtesse LezayMarnezia, lady in waiting, and M. de Varaigne, "préfet du palais." A cry of Vive l'Empereur was raised in the crowd, whereon the individual in question forthwith fired two shots at the carriage, from two small pocket pistols. He was iminediately arrested by the police, and turns out to be a shoemaker, named Bellemarre. His antecedents are bad, and he has been imprisoned for offences against the property of his fellow citizens, and also against the state. There seems little doubt, however, that he is deranged. The news of the attempt spread like wildfire, and on the Emperor arriving in five minutes after it was made, he was received with tremendous cries of Vive L'Empereur. The audience took up the shout, and it was some time before the performance could begin. When the curtain rose, a gentleman appeared on the stage, and, after the accustomed reverences to the audience, reclaimed their indulgence for Madame Ristori, in consequence of the "profound emotion under which she laboured." This indulgence was granted amidst general cheering, but Madame Ristori's performance had little need of apology. The Emperor only remained until the conclusion of the second act, when he proceeded at once to the Tuileries, alarmed no doubt lest the news should have reached the Empress, who did not accompany him to the theatre, but went to the Tuileries direct from St. Cloud. Any alarm just now, in the present condition of the Empress, might be productive of the most serious consequences, and ruin the fair hopes of the Napoleon dynasty. Santa Chiara is in full rehearsal at the Opera, and we are told to expect its production at the end of the month. I anticipate no such speedy début for the new work of its serene author; first, because I know from experience how deceitful are the promises of opera directors with regard to expected novelties; secondly, because I am satisfied no change will take place so long as the ex hibition is open, and so long as thousands are turned back each night from the doors with their money in their hands. Twentyeight representations of Les Vêpres Siciliennes have alternated with those of the Prophète, and the crowd of those who would "assist" continues steadily increasing. The Théâtre Lyrique has opened with Jaguarita l'Indienne and Robin des Bois, and Mesdames Cabel and Lauters are successful as ever. The OpéraComique still affiches Haidée, L'Etoile du Nord and Les Diamants de la Couronne, and M. Perrin has no cause to complain of the state of his coffers. One novelty, and one only, has broken the theatrical paucity of news, in the shape of a new comedy by M. Léon Gozlan at the Théâtre Français. M. Gozlan, who has always been happy in the nomenclature chosen for his pieces, has christened his new comedy Le Gâteau des Reines, and it is a worthy successor to Le Lion Empaillé, Une Tempête dans un verre d'eau, Le Queue du chien d'Alcibiade, Trois rois et trois dames, etc., etc. The historical passage chosen for illustration by M. Gozlan is that in which Louis Fifteenth marries Maria Leczinska, in the midst of the intrigues of the Duke of Bourbon, the Marquise de Prie, and Cardinal Fleury. The following is a sketch of the action of the piece: Stanislaus the First, king of Poland, seeks refuge after the battle of Pultawa, at Weissemburgh, under the protection of the young Louis XV. The first act is laid in a hall of the old castle, tenanted by the unfortunate king and his daughter, where they live deprived of all the luxuries and many of the necessaries of existence. Marie loves the young Comte d'Estrées, and the poor king, fallen from his high estate, encourages the courtship. The whole of this act is charmingly written, the sentimental and the comic being blended with a master hand. The second act carries us to Versailles, where the young d'Estrées has come to claim the title of duke, promised to his ancestor, and which is now more than ever needed, in order that his rank may approach that of the royal damsel whose affection he has won. We now fall into the inextricable web of intrigues wherein the Duke of Bourbon and his astute mistress have entangled the matrimonial desires of his Majesty. D'Estrées demands the aid of Madame de Prie. The duke becomes jealous of the officer, and promises him the ermined robe. The Infanta of Spain, whom the Cardinal had destined for the king is set aside, and her place as aspirant for the royal hand is filled by Mdlle. de Vermandois, sister of the prime minister, the Duke of Bourbon. In the third act, Madame de Prie arrives incognita at the convent of Fonteyrault, in order that she may judge for herself of the merits of M. de Vermandois, who is there being educated. In this act no one appears on the stage, save women of the world, nuns and novices, the sterner sex being altogether excluded. Marie Leczinska, left apparently deserted by d'Estrées, whom in his jealousy the Duke de Bourbon has safely lodged in the Bastille, arrives at the same moment, seeking an asylum in the secluded convent. The marchioness, approving of Madlle. de Vermandois, informs her of the high destinies to which she is called, and Mademoiselle, intoxicated with her good fortune, at once shews herself in her true colours-proud, ambitious, and selfsufficient. Madame de Prie at once discovers her error, and hastens back to Versailles with the news. But the Duke of Bourbon, certain of remaining in power if Mdlle. de Vermandois becomes queen, presses the king to conclude the match forthwith. Then, in the fourth act, Stanislaus being called to Versailles from motives political, the king sees his daughter, and falls in love forthwith. But Stanislaus, though dethroned as king, remains honest as man. He has plighted his word, and promised Marie to the young d'Estrées; he will remain faithful to that promise; and in the admirable scene which concludes the fourth act, he prepares to reveal all to the king. The denoúment approaches, and Madame de Prie, who prefers the timid and modest Marie to the haughty and imperious Duchesse de Vermandois, does her best to hasten it. Mälle. de Vermandois receives a letter from the hand of the King appointing her Abbess of Fonteyrault-and D'Estrées, released from the Bastille through the mediation of Mad. de Prie, and seeing that he cannot contend against his royal rival, allows Marie to suppose that he is faithless to her, and has yielded to the capti- | the expenses were 95,707 francs, leaving a balance in favour of vations of Mad. de Prie. Marie, indignant, at once accepts the hand of the King, and the curtain falls on the departure of the hapless D'Estrées for the Indies, and on the triumph of Mad. de Prie, who exclaims, "J'ai fait une reine, maintenant je vais regner." This comedy-a comedy of intrigue in the literal acceptation of the term-hasafforded a fresh opportunity to M. Léon Gozlan, who has availed himself of it most amply, and given further proofs of his talent: original, ingenious, somewhat paradoxical, but always amusing. The dialogue woven on this tale, half romance, half history, is the most brilliant we have yet had from the pen of this distinguished writer. The character of Stanislaus, that of the young D'Estrées, Mdlle. de Vermandois, and an old soldier who attends the King in his exile, are admirable studies, and well worked out. Mad. de Prie forms an excellent contrast to the mild and interesting Marie. Geffroy, Leroux, Delaunay, Monrose, and Saint-Germain, did full justice to the male characters. Mdlle. Favart was graceful and charming as Mdlle. de Vermandois, but Mdlle. Dubois was a weak representative of Marie Leczinska, and degraded the descendant of a long line of kings into a simpering school-girl. All the theatres were brilliantly illuminated, while one hundred and one guns thundered from the Invalides on Monday evening in honour of the greatest military event in modern times-the fall of Sebastopol. The proverb has again proved its truth-" Tout finit bien à qui sait attendre." ITALY.-Since our last, music would seem to be looking up a little in some of the principal towns. At Milan two new operas have been produced, or rather one new one and another produced for a short time some two years since, when the success was such as to warrant its reproduction. These are Leonora de Medici, by Giulio Briccialdi, at the Carcano, and Claudia, by Signor Muzio, at the Rè. Both operas were well received by the public; but Signor Briccialdi's is reproached by the critics with want of originality; while, on the other hand, Signor Muzio's success was somewhat diminished by an over-abundance of it. Signor Briccialdi sticks to the old Italian form; his melodies are monotonous, emasculated, luscious to a fault; a little energy would make him more popular, inasmuch as he is a musician, and his instrumentation is irreproachable. Signor Muzio goes into the opposite extreme; he has discarded the old Italian to follow the French and modern German schools. In this, as an Italian, he is wrong, although as a foreigner he perhaps might be right. Signor Muzio is not wanting in genuine, pure melody, which constitutes the principal charm of Italian music, and need not have recourse to artifices which only overload and do not embellish his ideas. Thus it happens that, instead of following out his original inspiration, he allows himself to be led away by a morbid craving for originality, and, by trying to do too much, spoils his best conceptions. Yet Signor Muzio's success was undoubted, although the execution was far from being unexceptionable.-At Naples, Mercadante's Leonora has been produced at the Fondo with success, in spite of the poverty of the execution. Madame Cressi is described as a pretty woman, but a very bad singer; the two tenors, Laudani and Cecchi, as utterly worthless, while much praise is attributed to the buffo singer, Signor Luzio. The management of San Carlo has tried all sorts of devices without avail. The last movement was the introduction of the prose company of the Fiorentini on the lyric stage of San Carito. The case must indeed be a most desperate one; we have heard of the great singers of this splendid theatre appearing on the boards of their minor brethren to afford the benefit of their talents to some poor but worthy fellow-artist; but to condescend to accept such alms is indeed degrading to the last degree. We, however, opine that the management of the Scala, at Milan, have not so badly managed their own affairs after all. If the public have withheld their patronage, they have so far curtailed their expenses, and have been no losers by the speculation, as the following balance sheet of the late season will show-The government subsidy was 70,000 francs; subscriptions 11,520; taken at the doors 39,915; from other sources 1,130; making a total of receipts 122,565 francs. The whole of the directors of 26,868 francs. What we have said of the wretched state of La Scala will be borne out by a few details of the expenses, which ought to put our Grisis, Bosios, Marios, and others to the blush, when they reflect on the terms which they get out of our English managers, and those which they would be likely to get in Italy-at the first theatre of Italy, too, La Scala. We find the whole of the vocal department, including singers and chorus, set down at 14,354 francs, about a month's salary of one of our principal singers. Fancy the rubbish here collected together. We find the ballet set down at 12,576, and the orchestra at 21,777 francs. The most curious item is, perhaps, the decorations, which comprise the enormous sum of 2,500 francs, just one hundred pounds. The fact is, that such a state of things proves to demonstration that there are serious elements at work beneath the surface of Milanese society, and the paternal Radetsky had best beware of these symptoms, which have a much graver significance than the mere success or failure, or rise and fall of musical taste. One thing appears to us evident, that music is dead, and will never resuscitate as long as the silly system which now prevails at Milan is allowed to be a plague spot and nightmare to the suffering Italians. If we turn our eyes towards Rome we see things in no better state. At Venice they are worse, if possible; and at Naples worse than all. Nothing doing, and, what is more ominous, no promises for the future. Poor Italy! What with the foreigner, the home despots, and the differences of religion, thy fate is indeed a melancholy one ! NEW YORK.-(Extract of a letter from an occasional Correspondent.)-Cinderella-not La Cenerentola, by the way, but Rophino Lacy's version-has been produced at Niblo's by the "Pyne and Harrison troop," as it is called, and proved very successful. It will, I have no doubt, turn out a trump card for the manager, and enjoy a very long run. It was produced for the first time in New York, in 1830, when it was played sixty nights right off, a long period, if we consider what New York then was; and so great a favourite has it since become with the public, that, according to excellent authority, it has altogether achieved the triumph of nearly, if not quite, five hundred representations. The Americans have been accused of being a moneymaking nation, rather too much devoted to the almighty dollar," as their clever countryman, Washington Irving, terms it. This, however, does not prevent their patronising art, when presented to them in a form they can understand-a fact fully proved by what I have stated with regard to Cinderella; while that they pay liberally for it-that they do not wait for "a ticket from a friend," or bore Mr. So-and-So, on the Weekly Tomahawk and Slasher, for a private box, as is very generally the custom with persons who are well able to pay in Englandthat a portion, and a very goodly portion, of what they gain in their favourite counting-house, is expended in the concert-room and theatre, has been pretty convincingly proved by the various European stars who have, at different epochs, visited the States. But to return more immediately to Cinderella. Among the ladies who have successively impersonated the principal part, the forlorn, ill-used, suffering heroine, I may mention Mrs. Austen, the first American representative of it, at the Park Theatre, Mrs. Wood, Mad. Caradori, and Miss Sheriff. With some of the audience, consequently, Miss Louisa Pyne, who, I need scarcely say, was the Cinderella on this occasion, had to stand the ordeal of comparison, to which, in spite of the great authority that declared it to be "oderous," some people are so fond of subjecting such of their fellow-creatures as may happen to fall within the scope of their criticism. But Miss Louisa Pyne came unscathed out of this ordeal, and won golden opinions from everybody. She was frequently and heartily applauded, more especially in the duet, "Whence this soft and pleasing flame," and Sir Henry Bishop's, "Lo! here the gentle lark," which-whether legitimately or not, I leave others to decideshe introduced with great effect. The same cannot be said of Mr. W. Harrison's introduction of "I love her, how I love her," from, I believe, the English version of Gustavus, or the Masked Ball. The public did not seem at all anxious to learn anything about how Mr. W. Harrison "loved her," nor to be particularly gratified when he had enlightened them upon the point, so that he took the hint and subsequently omitted this little piece of information with regard to his personal feelings. The other characters were very satisfactorily sustained, Miss Pyne playing Clorinda; Mrs. Holman, Thisbe; Mr. Horncastle, the Baron; Mr. Borrani, Dandini; and Mr. Holland, Pedro. The piece was well put upon the stage, some very pretty and effective scenery having been purposely painted for it. The next novelty here will be the opera of Rip Van Winkle, by Mr. Bristow. -According to report, a musical convention will shortly be held in Boston, when some of the compositions of Mr. L. H. Southard, a Bostonian, will be introduced for the first time to the public. They include two concert-overtures and portions of an unfinished opera, founded upon Hawthorne's well-known novel of The Scarlet Letter. Herr Robert Stöpel, who composed the music of an operetta written by Dion Boucicault, and called The Sentinel, produced some year or two back at the Strand Theatre, and who was subsequently conductor at the Princess's Theatre, Oxford-street, has been appointed musical director at Dion Boucicault's new theatre in New Orleans. Mr. Boucicault, it appears, intends to conduct his theatre on the most liberal terms with regard to every one concerned, for he knows that to procure first-rate talent he must pay first-rate terms, and firstrate talent he declares he will have. Mr. Boucicault's wellknown literary merit and intimate knowledge of everything connected with the stage, from the writing of a five-act comedy to the mise-en-scène of a farce, render it highly probable that, under his management, a new era for theatricals will shortly commence in New Orleans. genuity, to be able to demonstrate, emphatically and clearly, that the advocacy of variously opposite opinions in one and the same paper must lead to inevitable confusion in the minds of its consultors. Either the Musical World, for example, represents a certain view of art, by which its praise and its blame are equally regulated, or it represents nothing at all. Supposing the three or four leading articles of the Times held each a different tone, in a particular day's impressionwhere would its readers find a resting-point? In one leader let the war against Russia be defended, as good-in a second pooh-pooh'd, as doubtful-in a third sneered at, as unnecessary-and in a fourth arraigned, as a curse ;-What definite result could possibly be deduced from such conflicting arguments? Any one inclined to place confidence in the Times as a sure and impartial guide in the shifting domain of politics, would be simply perplexed, and most probably apply in his distress to an oracle less bewildering. Now-to descend from great things to small-Does not a parallel case exist in regard to ourselves? Most undoubtedly; and if we would aspire to exercise a just influence, as pioneers in art, we must not, either directly or indirectly, be the medium of promoting any other principles than those which our own experience has taught us to look upon as the healthiest and the best. But were we to accord to every one who may be willing to supply us with local news the right of inculcating special doctrines, we should really possess no influence at all, and, instead of acting the part of the wind which controls, impersonate the weather-cock which indiscriminately obeys. On the other hand, we cannot expect, and should be very sorry to exact, from those whose convictions may differ from our own, such a violation of conscience as would be involved in upholding what, if left to themselves, they would be sure to condemn. We wish to see every one as independent as we ourselves endeavour to be, and ask from none a sacrifice which not any consideration in the world would induce us to make. At the same time we have a paramount duty which can only be fulfilled in one manner -a faith to promulgate, which can only be promulgated in one direction; and with a multitude of preachers, each at liberty to enforce his own text, our task would be impossible. If this explanation does not satisfy our discontented correspondents, we can only add we have no other to offer. THE late Musical Meeting at Birmingham has disclosed On Friday, the 7th inst., at 36, Baker-street, Mrs. Charles Salaman, one fact, which it were worth the while of the committees of of a son. THE MUSICAL WORLD. LONDON, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 15TH, 1855. ONE or two provincial correspondents are, it would appear, somewhat hurt at our request that they will refrain from criticism in their communications to this journal. Our reasons are easily stated. It is not merely that our space is limited. However substantial an argument from one point of view, this would still leave the main difficulty untouched. The chief objection to provincial criticisms is, not that they occupy space which might be devoted to matters of more absolute importance, but that being (of course) independent, they are likely, now and then-often indeed to clash with the policy adopted by those immediately responsible in office, those, to speak plainly, in whose hands the general conduct of the journal is vested. It does not require much eloquence or much logical in future Festivals to take into their most serious consideration. This is, the almost utter impossibility of obtaining first-rate performances both at the morning and evening concerts with the same band and chorus. While everybody admitted that the execution of the oratorios and sacred pieces at the recent Birmingham Festival, in the morning, was beyond all reproach, it was universally allowed that the performances in the evening were, not only not up to the mark, but altogether unworthy the high reputation of the artists engaged. In every case, when an important work was played, it suffered more or less at the hands of the executants. Mr. Macfarren's Lenora, Mr. Howard Glover's Tam O'Shanter, Mendelssohn's Lorely, Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony, even the overtures, which the band are supposed to have, and have at their fingers' ends, were all unsatisfactory in the extreme. Are the band and chorus to be censured? Not entirely. Their abilities were taxed beyond their powers, and they were placed in an awkward dilemma. Either they must have economised their strength and have apportioned it between the morning and night-and so have fallen short of achieving a grand performance, such as that of Elijah and Eli at the late Birmingham Festival; or, they must have directed all their energies and force to the oratorios in the morning, and thereby disabled themselves from doing justice to the selections in the evening, if anything great was required of them. "Of the two evils choose the least" is a good maxim which was not lost on the band and chorus of the Birmingham Festival. They chose the least evil. They turned their best attention, and devoted their best capabilities to the morning performances, and permitted those of the evening to take care of themselves. The result was, that the former were lauded to the skies and latter animadverted upon severely-both with justice. The indifference, then, and the carelessness of the executants at the evening concerts was an absolute necessity. Had they exerted themselves at night as they did in the morning, in all probability they would have been put hors-de-combat for the next day, which would have entailed a far more serious loss upon the festival than any deficiency exhibited in the evening. How is this state of things to be remedied? Either by providing a new band and chorus for the evening concerts a provision, we strongly fancy, few committees, however devoted to the public interests, will think of having recourse to or giving band and chorus such light work in the after dinner hours as will prove a relaxation and a recreation rather than a task and a labour. We see no other way by which a compromise can be effected, and the results made satisfactory. One thing is certain; after the performance of Elijah you cannot reasonably expect, a few hours subsequently, a perfect execution of the Walpurgis Night or of an elaborate Cantata. And yet this is what the subscribers and visitors to the Festivals require. They must have the finest music performed in the most admirable manner, and, as they pay their money, they have a right to expect it. But players and singers have a right to some consideration, and they are not exactly the slaves of the public. Let the committees of the different Festivals chew upon what we have called their attention to in this place. It is, we repeat, worth their while. By and bye, they may be compelled to do so, and they will then remember our words. MISS ARABELLA GODDARD.-We, who were the first to admire in Italy the talent of Miss Goddard, the distinguished pianist, are much pleased to inform all those of our readers who have had the good fortune to hear her, of the great success she has met with wherever she has played, and that she has every where added to the laurels which she first gained in Italy amongst ourselves. In her excursion into Styria, Miss Arabella Goddard gave several concerts, and all with eminent success. At Gastein, she was induced to give a third, which was honoured by the presence of many illustrious personages, among whom were Prince Albert of Prussia, H. I. H. the Archduke John, the Prince of Lippe-Detmold, the Prince of Rohan, the Prince of Meran, Prince Windischgrätz, the Princess of Carrington, the Countess of Schönbrun, and a host of distinguished noblemen and high functionaries. Our correspondent writes us in the most enthusiastic terms of the talent of this distinguished pianiste, to whom the highest honours were paid and the richest presents were made. At Ischia, which is the rendezvous of the elite of the Viennese society during the summer months, Miss Goddard was engaged for a series of private soirées, among which we may mention those of Baron di Sina, who distinguished himself by his high estimation of the talent of the young artist, and by his generosity in rewarding it. Miss Goddard is now en route for Vienna, where we have no doubt of the brilliant success which awaits her. Will she not again pay us a visit, we who so well appreciated her début on the soil of Italy? She may depend on a hearty reception.-X. (From a Trieste Newspaper.) THE ORGAN. We inserted, last week, a long communication from W. Frederic Crane, on the subject of the St. James's organ, partly because its historical portion contains a great deal of amusing information, but chiefly because the whole tenour of the paper discloses an amount of interest in the subject of organs generally, and of almost affectionate regard for the particular instrument of which the writer has official charge, which we heartily wish were entertained by churchwardens generally, and which we therefore hold out for their emulation. Although quite sympathizing with Mr. Crane in his feeling of admiration for the present organ in St. James's church, with which he has been so intimately concerned, we regret our inability to recognise in it the extraordinary qualities he undoubtedly perceived. The adage, De mortuis nil nisi bonum, somewhat stays our hand on this occasion. Mr. Bishop's death is too recent to permit his yet being ranked among the people of history. We cannot at present criticize his work with the freedom we should use either towards an artist of the last century, or one still living among us. Neither is he alive to defend himself, nor does his memory look down on us through that long vista of time which invariably obscures defects, and magnifies beauties. Yet, lest by leaving Mr. Crane's paper wholly without remark, we should seem to consent to all his statements, it is necessary to say something, however brief, on the subject. While warmly admiring the many fragmentary beauties to be found in all Mr. Bishop's best work, we can call to mind no large organ of his He had, indeed, that, as a whole, is striking or satisfactory. certain prejudices, certain adhesions to, not old, but middle-aged doctrines as to tone, which always interfered with his success in constructing a large organ. Not one of the least of these was that which Mr. Crane evidently considers a beauty-"That inestimable quality (Bishop's characteristic) of mixing well;"a process which he carried so far as frequently to deprive the necessarily opposed qualities of organ tone of all distinct character. Just this we find the chief defect in the new St. James's organ. The flue-stops of the great-organ, for example, are individually of admirable sweetness, while collectively they form a mass of no dignity or grandeur. The reeds, too, are so tamed down to secure this desired "mixing," that they cease to be of any importance; their entrance does not materially alter either the quality or quantity of tone existing without them. The great-organ "Posaune," especially, though a smoothly voiced reed, has scarcely more force than the "Cremona" of the choir. With Mr. Crane's judgment on the Swell-namely, "that for extent of stops, depth, and power, it probably has no equal"— we are wholly at issue. Our complaint against it is a complete traverse of his statement-namely, that for the number of stops it contains it is singularly ineffective. It is a large swell, undoubtedly, but is greatly deficient in power and brilliance. Claviers of this kind are constantly to be met with, far more strikingly effective, though containing a smaller number of stops. In all that is said of the choir-organ we heartily concur. It was precisely in this class of work that Mr. Bishop's great excellence was displayed, and, than the specimen in point, we know of nothing more beautiful. It is, however, as to the aggregate effect of the St. James's organ, that we and Mr. Crane are so perfectly at variance. "Altogether," he says, "the St. James's organ may be regarded as amongst the finest organs in London,-indeed, it may be confidently affirmed, that it has no superior." On the other hand, we as confidently submit that, in just balance of qualities, and in general breadth and grandeur of tone, it is far inferior to a vast number of instruments both in and out of London. Thus much we have been obliged to say; still, notwithstanding opiniative differences, we trust Mr. Crane will receive, in perfect good faith, our testimony to the zeal and care he has bestowed on the matter, and our wish that the churchwardens in general were half as well improved and a quarter as well inclined as himself. THE LIVERPOOL ORGAN. We have received a long communication from Mr. George Lake, in which he bears some, though not a very extraordinary, testimony to the merits of the organ in St. George's-hall. We |