"He has finished the work," and "Has he finished the work?" is expressed by the same words, " Ha finito l'opera," with this difference, that in the question the voice ascends strongly.

Since in a question the phrase terminates, as it were, in an unfinished, suspensive manner, it is, moreover, desirable, generally speaking, that the melody, independently of its ascending, should not conclude the question with a tonic cadence, which breathes too much repose.

The great use of piano and forte, crescendo, diminuendo, &c. in assisting verbal expression must be self-evident; the employment of these resources being, like those above-mentioned, absolutely borrowed from the ordinary rules of declamation, although, without any reference to those rules, certain alternations of loud and subdued sounds tend of themselves to produce variety, and, like the due dispensation of light and shade in a painting, to throw, as it were, a chiaroscuro over the harmonic picture, so pleasing at all times, that in instrumental pieces, the composer not unfrequently puts down his f's and p's quite arbitrarily, merely to effect variety. You might often exchange the p's for the f's, and vice versa, without much detriment. Not so in vocal compositions. Here the forte is appropriately employed for spirited determined sentences and words of vigour; the piano or the sottovoce for soft and mild expressions, the crescendo for cases of rhetorical climax, the calando, deminuendo, morendo, &c. for decreasing strength, expiring accents of love, grief, &c. All this is so natural, that we deem it quite unnecessary to add quotations from classic works to illustrate what must be obvious to every one. If the reader will open, at random, any opera of Mozart, he is sure to meet with ample instances of the judicious use of the piano and forte. In Cimarosa and Rossini, he will likewise find abundant elucidation.

Even of subdued murmurs and mutterings, numerous examples may be found. An apt instance occurs in Cimarosa's duet (Matrimonio Segreto) between the old man and the lover, when the latter offers a great sum to be permitted to marry the younger instead of the elder sister. The father pauses, reflects, and then mutters to himself, "Qui risparmio del bell' oro, e si salva anche il decoro*."—All piano upon one single note. A similar instance presents itself in the beautiful

* Here I save my gold and credit.

terzett, "Ah soccorso, son' ferito" (Don Giovanni) where Leporello in an under-tone, mutters out his comment and horror at the murder of the old Commendatore, just perpetrated by the nefarious libertine, his

master.

Some of our readers will be surprised, when we state that the employment of the piano and forte, and of the different gradations of loudness within or beyond these, is, comparatively speaking, of modern invention. In the compositions of about a hundred years ago, we seek in vain for the marks p or f or for any other directions regarding the strength of the sounds. In fact, at that time every thing was played with equal force, or, at most, the little musical colouring, which then appeared desirable or practicable, was entirely left to the discretion of the performer. It would be difficult to conceive how such a simple and yet powerful means of producing effect, and aiding expression, should not have suggested itself at an earlier period, if the performance of mediocre players, or of amateurs of fifty years practice, did not occasionally afford practical proof of the possibility of such neglect. The celebrated Jomelli was the first who began to imagine and prescribe various tints of musical colouring, and to bring them into some sort of method. Since his time, however, this branch of executive Music has been so much enlarged and improved, that it is at this time scarcely possible to conceive any shade of expression, which does not form part of our musical terminology. There is still a certain vagueness in the usual directions as to the positive degree of force intended, many of the terms being absolutely relative; but we should not be surprised to see this uncertainty brought, in time, under mathematical controul, by the invention of a musical Phonometer, to indicate the precise strength of sound, in the same manner as the Metronome fixes the precise duration of musical time.

Upon the foregoing subject of musical emphasis we might fill many pages with a variety of curious and interesting remarks, were it not that our limits and immediate object compel us to content ourselves with touching slightly and briefly upon matters, which: a professional treatise alone could be expected to expand and develope.

But before we conclude our remarks upon verbal expression, we would wish to add a few words concerning its abuse in Music. This abuse is often encountered in compositions adapted to " depictive" poetry, describing physical phenomena, peculiar sounds, motions, &c. such as thunder, lightning, the rolling of waves, the howlings of the wind, the babbling of brooks, rustling of leaves, the roaring of wild beasts, warbling of birds, the crawling of serpents, the galloping of steeds, &c. Of all these, and innumerable other natural appearances, composers have attempted direct imitations, the vouchers for which we could quote without difficulty.

The question, whether such imitations are the legitimate province of the composer, whether they are accordant with the principles of the beautiful, is a delicate and difficult one. If we consult our own feelings, we should candidly say, that some of these attempts at the musical picturesque have afforded us considerable pleasure, while others, and by far the greater part, appeared to us trifling conceits full of quaintness and littleness.

Among the favourable specimens we would place foremost, the

accompaniments expressive of the placid undulation of the sea, in the beautiful terzett, "Soave sia il vento" (Così fan' tutte)—the beating of the oars preceding the first appearance of Selim, in Il Turco in Italia—a similar approach of the skiff, in La Donna del Lago-the approach of the Jew pedlar, in La Gazza Ladra—and some few other cases of the like description.

On the other hand, we derived no gratification from several imitations of the chirping of birds in some English songs, from the numerous and varied attempts at the picturesque of all sorts in Haydn's Creation, in which all manner of sounds and things are musically pencilled out, not excepting chaos and primitive darkness itself.

We are far from the presumption of forming from our individual likings and dislikes a standard of the Beautiful in this matter: our opinion, however, must necessarily be founded on these. This opinion we give candidly and unpretendingly, leaving it to others to judge whether it coincides with their own observations and feelings.

It seems to us, in the first place, that imitations of this kind ought to be used with a very sparing hand. If they present themselves once or twice in a whole opera, or in any evening's performance, it is quite enough. We consider them altogether as mechanical expedients, forming licences in the art. Hence, if they are imitations ever so apt, and in themselves unobjectionable, their frequent recurrence is likely to have a detrimental effect. They are, after all, but fanciful attempts at approximation, of doubtful comprehension, and calculated to divert the mind from the more direct and legitimate aims of the art. We conceive, in the next place, that the more insignificant the object of the imitation is, the more trifling the result will be, and the less ought it to be attempted. Little minds will generally be found to resort to the picturesque in Music more freely, and it is little minds that more particularly find entertainment in listening to it, because it is more tangible to a narrow intellect, than the nobler sublimities of the art. They are the same people that will value a picture, not for its composition, grouping, or the expression in the countenance, but on account of the charming fidelity in the imitation of the Brussels lace, the truth in the representation of a china basin, or a copper fish-kettle. A purely imitative piece of Music, therefore, would seem to stand in the same relation to a noble and classic composition, as a Dutch painting of grapes, carrots, and onions, to a Madonna and Child of Raphael.

It is on these grounds, probably, that musical imitations are less objectionable in humorous compositions. When we have a mind to be ludicrous, we do not stick at trifles. In this manner we have seen the musical picturesque successfully applied to imitate sneezing and other strange sounds; and the genius of the sublime Beethoven (quandoque dormitans) has with consummate art typified, not only the parabolic leaps of a frisky flea, but even the ultimate doom usually inflicted on that offending race.

LONDON LYRICS.

Time and Love.

An artist painted Time and Love:
Time with two pinions spread above,
And Love without a feather:
Sir Harry patronized the plan,
And soon Sir Hal and Lady Anne
In wedlock came together.

Copies of each the dame bespoke :
The artist, ere he drew a stroke,
Reversed his old opinions,

And straightway to the fair one brings
Time in his turn devoid of wings,
And Cupid with two pinions.

"What blunder 's this?" the lady cries.
"No blunder, Madam," he replies,
"I hope I 'm not so stupid.
Each has his pinions, in his day,
Time, before marriage, flies away,
And, after marriage, Cupid."

Surnames.

MEN once were surnamed from their shape or estate, (You all may from History worm it)

There was Lewis the Bulky, and Henry the Great,
John Lackland, and Peter the Hermit.

But now when the door-plates of Misters and Dames
Are read, each so constantly varies

From the owner's trade, figure, and calling, Surnames
Seem given by the rule of contraries.

Mr. Box, though provoked, never doubles his fist,
Mr. Burns in his grate has no fuel,

Mr. Playfair won't catch me at hazard or whist,
Mr. Coward was wing'd in a duel.

Mr. Wise is a dunce, Mr. King is a Whig,
Mr. Coffin 's uncommonly sprightly,
And huge Mr. Little broke down in a gig
While driving fat Mrs. Golightly.

Mrs. Drinkwater 's apt to indulge in a dram,
Mrs. Angel 's an absolute fury,

And meek Mr. Lyon let fierce Mr. Lamb
Tweak his nose in the lobby of Drury.

At Bath, where the feeble go more than the stout,
(A conduct well worthy of Nero)

Over poor Mr. Lightfoot, confined with the gout,
Mr. Heaviside danced a Bolero.

Miss Joy, wretched maid, when she chose Mr. Love,
Found nothing but sorrow await her:

She now holds in wedlock, as true as a dove,
That fondest of mates, Mr. Hayter.
Mr. Oldcastle dwells in a modern-built hut,
Miss Sage is of madcaps the archest;
Of all the queer bachelors Cupid e'er cut
Old Mr. Younghusband 's the starchest

Mr. Child, in a passion, knock'd down Mr. Rock,
Mr. Stone like an aspen-leaf shivers,

Miss Poole used to dance, but she stands like a stock,
Ever since she became Mrs. Rivers.

Mr. Swift hobbles onward, no mortal knows how,
He moves as though cords had entwined him,
Mr. Metcalfe ran off, upon meeting a cow,
With pale Mr. Turnbull behind him.

Mr. Barker's as mute as a fish in the sea,
Mr. Miles never moves on a journey,
Mr. Gotobed sits up till half-after-three,
Mr. Makepiece was bred an attorney.
Mr. Gardener can't tell a flower from a root,
Mr. Wilde with timidity draws back.
Mr. Ryder performs all his journeys on foot,
Mr. Foote all his journeys on horseback.

Mr. Penny, whose father was rolling in wealth,
Kick'd down all the fortune his dad won,
Large Mr. Le Fever 's the picture of health,
Mr. Goodenough is but a bad one.

Mr. Cruickshank stept into three thousand a year,
By shewing his leg to an heiress :—

Now I hope you'll acknowledge I 've made it quite clear
Surnames ever go by contraries.

ROUGE ET NOIR.

"Could I forget

What I have been, I might the better bear
What I am destined to. I'm not the first

That have been wretched-but to think how much
I have been happier!"-

SOUTHERN.

NEVER shall I forget that accursed 27th of September: it is burnt in upon the tablet of my memory; graven in letters of blood upon my heart. I look back to it with a strangely compounded feeling of horror and delight; of horror at the black series of wretched days and sleepless nights of which it was the fatal precursor; of delight at that previous career of tranquillity and self-respect which it was destined to terminate-alas, for ever!

On that day I had been about a fortnight in Paris, and in passing through the garden of the Palais Royal had stopped to admire the beautiful jet-d'eau in its centre, on which the sun-beams were falling so as to produce a small rainbow, when I was accosted by my old friend Major E―, of the Fusileers. After the first surprises and salutations, as he found that the business of procuring apartments and settling my family had prevented my seeing many of the Parisian lions, he offered himself as my Cicerone, proposing that we should begin by making the circuit of the building that surrounded us. With its history and the remarkable events of which it had been the scene I was already conversant; but of its detail and appropriation which, as he assured me, constituted its sole interest in the eyes of the Parisians, I was completely ignorant.

After taking a cursory view of most of the sights above ground in this multifarious pile, I was conducted to some of its subterraneous wonders, -to the Café du Sauvage, where a man is hired for six francs a night