suggest one set of musical ideas to his situation in his own way and has not mind, while,

All the hedges are white with dust, while
onward the horses toil and strain,

may suggest another, and,
Now they stop at a wayside inn, and the
wagoner laughs with the landlord's
daughter,

at his disposal the means of making his meaning inteliigible to his hearers.

To return to the consideration of

That such a conventional language could be invented, or may grow up by degrees, I would not deny. It is quite conceivable, for instance, that green fields should be, by common consent, described musically by certain classes may suggest a third, and he is clearly of sound, mountains by others, streams entitled to express these musical ideas; by others, and so on; and, considering but certainly in the present state of the the tendencies of modern music, it art he has not the means of bringing seems by no means improbable that before the imagination of the hearers this will be the case at some future the highroad, the distant city, the time. Perhaps even now such a lanhedges white with dust, the wayside guage is in course of formation; but I inn, the wagoner, or the landlord's very much doubt whether, in the indaughter; still less of expressing, in a terests of music itself, it is desirable manner which shall be intelligible to that such a development should take them, the complete sentences. It is place. not merely that different composers would express the same ideas quite "The Golden Legend." Are not the differently, but the difference would be as fundamental as in the case, for instance, of an Englishman and a Frenchman, each ignorant of the language of the other, describing, each in his own language, a particular scene or situation. In each case the description might be absolutely clear and distinct to the man who wrote it and to all who understood his language, but would be quite unintelligible to the other. Just so in music, until there is a common agreement among musicians how particular ideas shall be expressed, any description by one composer will be unintelligible to every one except himself, for there is no one else who un- Compare again the labored effects of derstands the language in which he the first scene with the far purer music expresses his ideas. Let it be under- of the second. Can there be any quesstood that I am not referring to the tion that the latter is in all respects expression of the emotions. This is a higher in character than the former? subject quite apart from that which I Can the attempt to represent by orchesam now discussing. What I maintain tral combinations the prince's illness, is that, although music is undoubtedly restlessness, and craving for repose, capable of describing and even of sug- the forced humor of the accompanigesting certain feelings, emotions, and ment to Lucifer, the attempt to describe states of mind, it is not capable at the sparkling wine and the first sympresent of calling up visions of land- toms of intoxication, be compared to scapes, cathedrals, or other scenes of the simple melody of Ursula, the "Oh, nature or art; and for the reason that, gladsome Light!" and to Elsie's beauuntil some conventional musical lan- tiful song, “I heard him call "? guage has been agreed upon, each And again, where is the finest music composer would express any particular of the third scene? Is it in the at

more descriptive parts decidedly inferior, from a musical point of view, to those in which the composer has not thus confined himself? Compare the first chorus with the last. Is not the latter, where he is simply writing a grand final outburst, unhampered by any idea of representing the messenger, the rain, the brook, the maiden, and so forth, far finer music than the former? Is it not far more original, far better worked up? And is not the reason, to some extent at any rate, that the trammels of the descriptive idea are here laid aside and genuine music for music's sake takes its place?

The

tempted delineation of the journey to bers of the sixth form at the college. Salerno with its supposed suggestions The matter of these lectures has been of clattering hoofs, green lanes, and given long ago to the world. the distant sea; or does it not come schoolboy fortunate enough to have after all these in Elsie's most delicate such a teacher could not fail to be air, "The night is calm and cloudless," struck by the intense love of his subject with its simple and appropriate, but in which pervaded every word that he had no way descriptive, accompaniment, to say. One hour in each week was leading up gradually, after the chorus the scanty time allotted to his course. joins in, to the grand climax of the Yet in those brief hours the influence final "Christe Eleison," when the of his taste and poetic discrimination beautiful soprano voice soars up clear came as the most perfect complement and full above the chorus and the of our school work. The strictly accuorchestra ? rate scholarship learning which we had Which is productive of the highest to acquire he supplemented by revealpleasure when heard? Which dwells ing to us all the delicate grace of in the memory as the purest enjoy- thought, the elegant simplicity of lanment? Which would be more readily guage, the hidden beauties of imagery listened to over and over again with to be found in those masters of style, ever-enhanced delight—one of the who were then, as now, the principal truest tests of real value the labored elements in a liberal education. How and artificial descriptive parts, or those kindly, too, how patiently and sympain which the music itself, free from all thetically did he help us to understand sensational pictorial effects, is a full the masterpieces of the ancients. Lecand perfect joy? turing, as he did, purely from the love of imparting to the young an intelligent appreciation of that which is most worthy to be known, he succeeded in riveting the attention and attracting the interest of all who heard him. It was my good fortune, shared with others my contemporaries, to gain in a short ̓Αλλὰ σὺ χαῖρε θανὼν καὶ ἔχων γέρας ἴσθι πρὸς time through this introduction his perἀνδρῶν πρός τε θεῶν, ἐνέροις εἴ τις ἔπεστι θεός. sonal friendship, and to see him freTHOSE Who, like myself, have sadly quently in his home. There we had to lament in the death of John Adding-inexhaustible talks with him. Art in ton Symonds the loss of a very dear every form—music, painting, sculpand well-tried friend, will, I hope, regard these few pages as a simple tribute to his personal qualities and his admirable character. The task of criticising his works, and of estimating their position in the literature of our country, must be left to other hands. If, however, those who only knew him as a writer may chance to gather from what is here said some worthy conception of what he was as a man, I shall have no reason to regret this compliance with the request made by the editor of this review.

W. H. T.

From The Fortnightly Review. IN MEMORY OF JOHN ADDINGTON

SYMONDS.

constant

ture, poetry, prose - was a topic. We were learners. He knew so much, and imparted his stores of knowledge to us with the most lavish generosity. And, above all, he impressed on all of us the real lessons of Greek art: the purity and simplicity, the self-restraint, and modesty of its noble ideals. Looking back, one wonders how even his kindly patience was never exhausted by the rough, crude, and clumsily expressed criticisms which were submitted to his inspection. His secret, no doubt, was that he so thorMy first introduction to Symonds oughly understood the slow process of took place in the autumn of 1869. He development through which the young was then living in Clifton, and used to mind must necessarily pass. I rememlecture on the Greek poets to the member his saying once in answer to some

apologetic remarks about one's own | all products of his poetical fancy. And shortcomings that Athene, springing especially was this his view with purely fully armed from the brain of Zeus, subjective lyrics. Get subjects outside must have been a disappointment to self, he used to say, if you wish to show her Olympian father; it would have that you are strong; and if you intend been so delightful to have watched over to be a poet, you must begin and end the growing intelligence of her who with strength. Beware of playing too was afterwards to live forever as the much upon the chords of personal feelGoddess of Wisdom. And such careful ing. True, the poet is one who has watching and training was his delight. suffered; but he has learnt thereby not The slightest glimmer of intelligent to bewail what he has gone through, but interest in any of us, the barest glimpse to feel and to express genuine and true -to borrow Plato's phrase of the sympathy with the sorrows of others. soul looking through the windows of Not, of course, that he was unsymthe eyes, was caught at once by him, and his efforts to draw out and develop the possibilities of those with whom he came into contact were unceasing. To no one did he ever use a harsh word. over-indulgence in the like is apt to All that he required was that his listen- take hold of the young; and therefore ers should try their best. Failure and he strove to guide and control without awkwardness, and lack of grasp, were in any way suppressing or choking the of course only natural in learners; but expression of personal emotions. his willingness to help one over all the too, when a question of taste and apdifficulties that strew the path of knowl- preciation came up, with admirable edge was never marred by any unkindly skill, citing the remark of the late Prosarcasm, not even by an unfriendly fessor Green about the tedious monotsmile at any of our lame efforts or ill- ony of that criticism which is summed expressed reproductions of the views up in the phrase, “I like," or, "I don't that he impressed upon us. In teach-like," he would insist on having one's ing, as in friendship, he was gentleness best and most genuine reasons for acpersonified.

pathetic towards the outpouring of individual joys and griefs with which lyrical poetry deals in such large measure. But he saw rightly enough that

So,

cepting or objecting to what he or others In other ways, too, his was a most had written. It would be impossible delightful companionship. With all to set down in words all the effects of the work that he had then on hand, his individual influence without going including the beginning of his "His- far beyond the scope of this article. It tory of the Renaissance," he always was a pervading influence, stimulating found time for those who cared to be those who came under it to the develwith him. He would sit whole after-opment of all their best and highest noons in his library reading to us faculties consistently with the manliest snatches of his favorite authors, or performance of their duty; carefully pointing out what we should read for showing them how to avoid extremes; ourselves. Often, too, he would let me making them see that the evolution of see his own verses, then still in manu- every good capacity and every finer script, save for the few pieces here and feeling was essential to the harmonious there which we secured for our school growth of the human soul divine ; inmagazine. To these productions he spiring by example, by encouragement, was a severe critic; too severe, as I by precept, and by illustration the nethink even now, when I recall more cessity of moderation, of large-heartedthan one poem then committed to mem-ness, of sobriety of judgment, and ory and never forgotten, which, how- gentleness of manner. And in spite of ever, has not been published to the the fact that he was miles above us in world at large. Paullo majora canamus was a favorite phrase with him, a motto with which he seemed to have prefaced

ability, he would insist on taking our schoolboy opinion on knotty points of scholarship which he professed to have

forgotten, or never to have thoroughly | boldly the battle of life in a different mastered. I have known him alter a sphere from that to which he had translation because I suggested that the looked forward all the days of his grammatical construction was not as he youthful ambitions. No doubt this fact, had put it. No doubt I was reproducing this knowledge that his life hung almost the learned lucubration of some dryas- by a thread, is responsible for the fredust commentator, which has probably quent recurrence of an undertone of long ago been shelved in favor of a melancholy in many of his poetical more subtle interpretation, propounded by some worthy successor among notewriters to the classics. But we had to wade through Buttmann's blunders in the derivation of words, to commit to memory all the troublesome root-pruning of Curtius, and to swallow with open mouths the million uses of the letter yod and the digamma, for the benefit of our future examiners at either university. It is a comfort to think that, after all, such works are not without their usefulness; they supply one pleasure in after life, the pleasurable sensation of knowing that one has completely forgotten them.

writings. And all the time that he took such a delight in watching the physical exercises, the joyous sports of the young athletes of our school, he could not but feel that with one half of our health and robustness he might have won some of the highest prizes in the arena of life. Who that has read him does not feel the impress of the spirit of renunciation, the "Entbehren sollst du, sollst entbehren," coming in like a mournful refrain on a broken harp? Who, too, has not seen how the courage of the man triumphs over this natural regret? Goethe's phrase, "Im Ganzen Guten Schönen resolut zu leben," was the motto of his life, his conduct, and his conversation. We cannot, it is true, solve the mystery of mysteries, the mystery of pain, the cruel paradox of a powerful soul forced to be ever conscious of its companionship with a weak body. We cannot solve it; but the great courage of the valiant man makes him rise superior to it, and even turns his own weakness into a source of triumph and success. He would admit of no railing at life, at fate, or fortune. May I be permitted here to cite the words of that great master of pathos, Heinrich Heine, almost as he read them to me when he spoke of this harsh and undeserved sentence that nature had passed upon him? We had been listening to magnificent music in our college chapel together -an organ recital by one of our most talented masters—and, from talking over the St. Ann's fugue of Bach, which we had just heard, somehow the story of his disappointment came up. "Listen," he said; "is this melancholy enough for you?" and he read :

Nor could any one have been a more valuable friend in any moment of trouble or sorrow, real or fanciful, which happened to come upon us either then or in later years. The joys and griefs, the successes and failures of the young lives about him seemed to have a fascinating interest for him; he was ever ready to hear, ever ready to help. It was over some petulant outburst about the future, when the prospect seemed gloomy and doubtful, that I remember his telling me of his own ambitions, his hopes of fame at the bar and in Parliament, and how sadly they had been dashed to the ground by that cruel lung disease which, later on in life, drove him into exile, and finally killed him. One could not but admire the courage with which he had quietly and cheerfully given up a prospect which must have been very dear to him, and set himself to work hard at new subjects in his altered career. That he had moments of regret was, of course, inevitable. The "smart of the impossible" could not fail to leave its sting behind. Yet all that he said and all that he did was proof visible of his manly acceptance of nature's decree, and his brave determination to fight Death is our physician. Ah, I will say

Oh, it is no exaggeration when the poet cries out in his anguish, Life is a sickness. the whole world is one hospital.

And