triumphantly advanced as indisputable proofs of the degeneracy of modern taste and feeling, by the laudator temporis acti, the eulogist of former ages, who finds a strange consolation in endeavouring to persuade himself and others that the world gradually becomes weaker as it advances towards maturity. But if these fables mean any thing more than the civilizing power exercised on man by the arts and sciences,-for our readers should recollect the universal bearing which the ancients attached to the term music,--and are to be considered as unadorned instances of the power of musical sounds upon the human feelings, they clearly prove that music, as an art, was in its infancy. Nor could they have occurred except in a very simple form of society. The savage, whose wants are few, whose desires are the more intense in proportion as his sphere of action is more limited, expresses them more vividly than the civilized European. Unrestrained by any cultivated powers of mind, he proclaims his internal feelings by outward actions; he testifies his joy and delight by shouts and dances. The peasant or the shepherd who (like his ancestors from time immemorial) has passed his life in one sequestered spot, finds there his only associations, and his soul is wrapt in the wild or simple melodies of his native land. Our readers will easily recal to mind instances of children, whose ecstacy of joy at the sound of music realizes the most highly coloured fables of the times of old. Thus music, considered as the instinctive expression of the feelings, produces effects equally powerful as those so vauntingly advanced by the depreciators of modern art: we allude now, of course, to simple melody. But it is an essential principle of the human mind as it is at present constituted, that it remains not contented with the given reality, but seeks always to extend the sphere of its activity. Music soon felt the influence of this principle, and when man investigated the principles on which harmony depends, and sought to apply them in a particular manner to the science of sound, he left the field of nature, and entered that of art. It is therefore manifest that music should now be judged by the rules of art, which are not varying or capricious, but fixed and immutable as the laws of nature, or rather proceeding from the same source. Those who would judge of music at the present day according to the visible effect produced on the hearer, mistake its nature and object. Mere outward emotion is not the object of the arts, nor is it so difficult to be excited as is usually imagined. It is more frequently the result of constitution or habit, and therefore weakness of nerves would, on this principle, be an infallible proof of purity of taste. But it has for its object the Beautiful*, strictly so called, and should consequently be considered according to the degree in which it attains the aim which it proposes.

* We have before entered our protest against the use of the term fine arts; such indefinite expressions should be abolished, and some word adopted which could convey their true object,—the Beautiful.

Every work of art should be formed upon the principles of the universe, nay should even become an image of it. Now emotion is so far from satisfying this conviction, that it necessarily presupposes a violent and undue preponderance. Complete harmony cannot subsist unless the parts are so blended with the whole as to form an undivided unity. The passions and feelings in their deepest intensity are not discernible to the sense of vulgar emotion, but partake of the calmness of repose: in pourtraying the beautiful, this should always be the repose of completion, and not of exhaustion. A higher delight should be conveyed than the pain of pleasure," or the warm weeping rain of rapture.' That this aiming after repose is really the highest object of the art, and not the opinion of one school or one nation, may be proved from philosophy and history. The course of the celestial world which rolls on in one majestic, uninterrupted sphere, so beautiful and so equable, is produced by an infinity of forces each mighty in itself, yet so admirably subdued and tempered to the rest, that in the wonderful ease and apparent simplicity of the whole, we are apt to overlook the vast and infinite variety of combining causes.

The longing of the human heart after rest, the calm repose which all nations suppose to exist in the regions of the blest, the undisturbed serenity of Divinity, prove that this feeling is the highest and purest of our nature. Art, therefore, which acts not upon a servile imitation of outward objects, but attempts to give some idea of the spirit which pervades nature, should endeavour always to attain the highest.

From all this it follows that the artist, in the real meaning of the word, must not only be conversant with the technicalities of his art, he must likewise have studied carefully the principles of nature and of human nature; he should trace the feelings to their source, and whilst his mode of describing or exciting them may partake of the almost infinite variety into which individual character diverges, he should never lose sight of those primary features which alone can command the sympathy of all.

Music may excite the feelings more powerfully than the sister arts, but it cannot express them so definitely; the highest aim of the artist should be to give to these indefinite expressions a local habitation and a name. He must not remain enveloped in his art, for he would thus be embarrassed by the vicinity of personal contact, but should place every thing in the clear objective point of sight he should stand above it, and judge not only of single parts, but combine the scope of the whole. The good artist must consequently be a good man, not misled by human passions, or in the moment of creative power seeing clearly through them, exalted by enthusiasm for what is great and beautiful, yet taking that calm and collected view which the consciousness of superior power alone bestows. It is this rare union of self-collectedness and enthusiasm, that constitutes genius in its highest, purest sense. And

this union Weber possessed in no common degree. Mild and cheerful in private life, although always disposed to seriousness, enthusiastically attached to his art, he neglected not the more comprehensive view of nature and of character that can alone exalt the composer to excellence. Without yielding up his own opinion, which was formed upon mature reflection, he endured patiently the mistakes and even misrepresentations of others, and opposed to the violence of personal attacks only the moderation of his own mind and the truth of his cause.

Who is there that has not felt the power and poetry of his music, his chaste and manly, although diversified, expressions of human feeling in all its varying gradations; the boisterous merriment of rustic mirth, the exhilarating excitement of the dance and wine, the airy gracefulness of fairy song, the pleasing melancholy and longing of devotion, the agitating palpitations of fear, and the overwhelming combination of united feeling? These form his most honourable monument, and entitle him to rank among the great masters of German music.

Among the somewhat unconnected contents of the volumes before us, is a short and not uninteresting account of Weber's life by himself, which was found among his papers after his death. As we are not aware that it has previously appeared in an English dress, we shall give our readers a condensed translation of it. Carl Maria Von Weber was born on the 18th December, 1786, at Eutin in Holstein, and his education was carefully superintended by his father, who was a celebrated violinist.

The retirement in which my family lived, the constant intercourse with grown-up persons of talents and culture, and the great care taken to preserve me from noisy youthful companions, early taught me to live within myself and in an ideal world, in which I sought my employment and my happiness. Painting and music principally divided my time, and I successfully cultivated several branches of the former art, yet after a time, I knew not how, music expelled her sister. My father frequently changed his place of abode; but the injury which a succession of masters produced was afterwards amply compensated by the awakening of my own power, and the necessity of drawing on my own reflection and industry.

As my father observed the gradual developement of my talents, he spared no sacrifices to extend them, and took me to Salzburg to Haydn, but the serious man was at too great distance from the child, I learned little from him, and that with great labour.'-p. 7.

His first opera, das Waldmädchen, was performed in November, 1800, before he had completed his fourteenth year. It afterwards attained greater celebrity than Weber wished, (it was performed fourteen times at Vienna, translated into Bohemian at Prague, and acted with applause at Petersburg), for it was immature production, in some parts not altogether destitute of invention.' The second act was composed in ten days,

very

'one of the unfortunate consequences of those marvellous anecdotes of celebrated men, which excite a young mind to imitation.'-p. 8.

In 1802, my father made a musical journey with me to Leipzig, Hamburgh, and Holstein, where I diligently collected and studied theoretical works. Unfortunately, a Doctor Medicinae destroyed all my beautiful systems with the oft-recurring question, Why is this so? and threw me in a sea of doubts, from which only the formation of a system of my own, supported upon natural and philosophical grounds, gradually delivered me, as I sought to trace the excellencies of the old masters to their fundamental causes, and to form them to one selected and complete whole.'—p. 9.

In his residence at Vienna, he became acquainted with many celebrated men, among whom was the Abbé Vogler, of whom he was always the ardent admirer, friend, and defender. By Vogler's advice, though not without considerable reluctance, instead of continuing to produce compositions of his own, he dedicated two years to the diligent study of the different works of the great masters, and, with his adviser, traced the structure, train of ideas, and means which they adopted to produce effect.

An invitation to become Director of Music at Breslau, opened to him a new field for acquiring a knowledge of effect; and although his various employments precluded him from producing much of his own, yet it gave time for the confusion arising from the attempts to master such various adaptations of principles of art to subside. He afterwards resided for some time in the house of Duke Louis of Wurtemberg, until, in 1810, he again devoted himself completely to his art.

From 1813 to 1816, I conducted the opera in Prague, after I had completely remodelled it. Living only in my art, in the conviction that I was born only to cultivate and extend it, I relinquished the management at Prague, when I had attained my object, and every thing had been performed that could be done with the limited means of a private manage

ment.

'I then lived in the world unoccupied, quietly awaiting the sphere which fate would present to me. I received many honourable offers, but I determined to accept the invitation to establish a German opera in Dresden. And thus I entered with vigour and diligence upon the task I had undertaken; and if a stone be laid upon my grave, these words may with justice be inscribed upon it-" Here lies one who wished to act sincerely and purely towards his art and towards mankind." -pp. 13, 14.

In this there is abundant evidence of the pure and earnest striving of his mind after improvement, although we could have wished that the tone in which he speaks of himself had been occasionally somewhat more modified. The volumes before us present us with many other instances of his earnestness to discharge his duty, and exhibit that union of inflexible uprightness, integrity, and forbearing kindness, which so eminently distinguished him.

We shall give some extracts from a letter to one of his pupils. After warning him to beware of the seductive power of the imagi

nation, and to correct the tinge which real life receives from that intentional pursuit of the varied dreams of fancy which becomes necessary to the artist, he continues

But the real power of a man is displayed in proving whether he rules the spirits and lets them play freely in the circle which he has drawn round them, or whether, possessed by them, he wanders like an insane man or a faquir, the victim of idolatry.

But unwearied industry is the magic charm that will transmute these demoniac influences to pure inspiration. How foolish is it to imagine that a diligent study of means impairs the mind. The free creative power proceeds solely from a conquest over them; only by traversing all the beaten paths, and moving freely over them, can the mind discover new ones.'p. 29.

We find the same earnestness of feeling, the same conviction of the dignity of his art, the same self-consciousness and independence of sentiment and opinion, pourtrayed in the numerous criticisms which have been copied into these volumes from other works. These are written in the true spirit of a master more anxious to discover beauties than to detect faults, expressing himself in clear and unaffected language, not losing himself in fruitless pedantry, but viewing and examining collectedly the whole. With a mind disposed to do justice to all times and all ages, his love of the serious and earnest, and the peculiar colour of his own thoughts, would probably, under any circumstances, have induced him to prefer the depth and fulness of the German school; yet he frequently assisted the Italian opera, and, with the tolerance of true genius, was ever the first to defend it when attacked. The warm friendship that subsisted between him and many of the most celebrated men in Germany, proves the estimation in which he was held by his countrymen, not only as an artist, but as a man; and the zealous affection with which the former have cherished his memory, is honourable alike to the survived and the survivors. It may, perhaps, be admitted, that in the volumes before us, much is to be found which the partiality of friendship would alone have admitted, yet many of the pieces of poetry are not without merit, and the Tonkunstler's Leben, (Life of a Composer,) displays considerable humour and talent in delineation: many of the scenes are evidently worked up from incidents that occurred to himself, and we would willingly have given some extracts if the work, in its present state, had admitted it. As it is, the light which the present publication throws upon the character and the merits of a man who ended his days amongst us, and bequeathed to us the dying sounds of his lyre, will impart to it additional interest; and in communicating the contents to our readers, we have only discharged a debt of gratitude for the refined enjoyment the works of Weber have often afforded us.