himself, in particular, will be viewed with peculiar interest, as it shews him to have looked not unworthy of his fame: it shews (as in the case of Raffaelle) that Titian the man looked like Titian the painter. In this room there is one other fine picture, a battle-piece, by Julio Romano, designed with uncommon skill, and painted with corresponding spirit. The next apartment is the King's Drawing-room. We have here an extremely fine whole length of Charles I. by Vandyke, considered as the best likeness of him extant, and engraved by Sir Robert Strange. Also a picture of the Nine Muses by Tintoret, which has some very admirable painting in it. The figure on the right, with the whole of the back turned to the spectator, is exceedingly fine, both as to conception, drawing, and colouring-indeed, it is one of the very finest things of the kind I am acquainted with in Art. The descending figure, in the left corner of the picture, is not much inferior.

The State Bedchamber follows, in which there is nothing calling for particular remark, except a lovely portrait, by Lely, of Anne Hyde, the beauty who figures so conspicuously in the annals of Charles the Second's court, first as the inflexible daughter of the Chancellor, and afterwards as wife to the Heir Presumptive.

In the King's Dressing-room, which is next in succession, we find several valuable cabinet-works. I will name, in particular, four portraits by Holbein, of Henry VIII., Francis I., Erasmus, and Madame Vaux-all combining his intense truth of expression with his curious finishing. Also a pretty little gem, by L. da Vinci, of Christ and St. John, as infants; and three Polembergs, two of which are less tasteless and disagreeable than this much-overrated artist's works usually are. The other pictures in this small room are very indifferent, except an interior of a church by Neefs, with a subject in the foreground by Old Franks, representing The Woman taken in adultery.

In the next room, the King's Writing-closet, there are several pictures, cabinet and others, but none that strike me as deserving particular mention. Not so in the room which follows, called Queen Mary's Work-closet. Here is an extremely interesting picture, representing the two sons of the Earl and Countess of Lennox. The picture is painted by a French artist named de Lucie, and dated 1563; but it is in every respect equal to, and extremely like, some of Holbein's best works of this kind; in the faces, in particular, there is infinite truth, spirit, and nature, united to the most elaborate finishing. This room also contains a lovely half-length of Mrs. Leman by Lely; one of Anne Boleyn, by Holbein; a capital portrait of a Spanish lady, by Seb. del Piombo; two fine heads by Guercino; and a most interesting portrait of John de Bellini, the master of Titian and Giorgione, painted by himself.

Queen Mary's State Bedchamber is the next we are to notice-the intermediate room between this and the last being filled with tapestry. I do not call to mind any thing of particular merit in this apartment, except the Saint-Jerome, by Albert Durer; which must be looked upon as one of the greatest rarities in the collection; though its rarity strikes me as being its chief attraction. It is, however, a most curious specimen of early art, and, though painted four hundred years ago, is as fresh and perfect as a picture of yesterday.

The only other works I shall notice in this collectiou are, a fine

whole-length of the Countess of Lenox, by Holbein, in the Queen's Audience-chamber; and three great pictures on Scripture subjects, by Sebastian Ricci, in the ball-room; which latter possess considerable merit, both in expression and colouring.--The Bacchus and Ariadne is a copy from Guido.

In taking leave of the works of art collected at Hampton Court, I should mention that it is chiefly in virtue of the Cartoons that I have considered this gallery worthy to be ranked among the distinguished British Galleries of Art; for though it possesses several other works of great value and interest as individual objects, yet it is altogether incomplete as a general collection-exhibiting many pictures of no value at all, and being entirely deficient in specimens of three-fourths of the great Italian, as well as Flemish and French masters. But, notwithstanding this, while Hampton Court possesses the Cartoons of Raffaelle, it must ever continue to be one of the first and most important points to which the student as well as the amateur of art will direct his attention.

Shall I be deemed impertinently travelling out of my road, if I close this paper, as I have commenced it, by directing the visitor's attention to the palace itself, and the courtly shades, the grand avenues, the cultured walks, and above all, the apparently eternal evergreens that surround it?-Here, too, was born Edward VI.; and here the youth resided when he became nominal monarch, Here (having seized upon it from the dismissed favourite, to apply it to his own purposes) Henry VIII. used frequently to hold his court, making it the scene of his merry Christmas festivities; and here similar festivities, consisting of masques, mummings, tournaments, and the like, were held successively by Philip and Mary, and Elizabeth. It was here that Charles I. took leave of his children for the last time; and here took place, on the very same spot, the marriage of Cromwell's daughter with Lord Falconberg. The royal courts have been occasionally held here from that period up to the reign of George II.

In the immediate environs of this palace, and the road leading to and passing through it, there is an air and appearance that I know not how to describe, otherwise than by calling it courtly. You feel, without knowing why, that you are in the neighbourhood of greatness; and all things that you see correspond with (or perhaps it is they that excite) this feeling. The great, wide, yet unfrequented road, worn only in the middle, and grown with grass on the sides-the great walls that line the wide pathways on either hand-and the great stately elms that stand out here and there, almost into the middle of the road, as you see them no where else-all this gives an imposing appearance that I do not remember to have observed elsewhere. Upon the whole, there are few spots in the neighbourhood of London more worthy of a day's visit, than Hampton Court.

ON MUSIC.

No. 1.-With reference to the Principles of the Beautiful in that Art.

MUSIC, unlike Sculpture and Painting, is a fine art, entirely the offspring of the human intellect and feeling; the latter are essentially imitative arts, while Music, a wonderful structure in its present state of perfection, stands proudly the absolute creation of man. This perfection, however, the gradual accumulation of ages of progressive improvement, is more felt than understood; and there are writers of unquestionable judgment and taste who have expressed strong doubts, whether the art rests upon laws common to other fine arts, and whether there are any fixed principles of the Beautiful, by which Music can be judged or governed.

These doubts seem to acquire strength by a comparison of European music, in its present cultivated state, with the music which is, admired in other countries, not altogether uncivilized; or with the few relics we possess of the music of the Ancient Greeks. The latter, no one will deny, carried architecture, sculpture, poetry, eloquence, and other arts, requiring the union of refined intellect with taste and a genial elevation of the mind, to a height so little approached by the moderns, that their labours in them are still revered as models. In painting, too, they were probably our superiors. Without attaching implicit faith to the glowing accounts, left us by the Greeks themselves, of the excellence of their paintings, it is reasonable to infer from the Grecian statues, basso-relievos and cameos, that in the arts of design and grouping they excelled the moderns; and some of the paintings rescued from Herculaneum and Pompeii, which are, evidently, only copies of worthier originals, sufficiently bespeak a high degree of excellence in the art of colouring.

What, then, are we to judge of the music of the Greeks? Had they in that art alone made less advances towards perfection? They have not only handed down to us many accounts of the wonderful effects of their music, and of the great excellence of their singers and performers, but have left us theoretical works on music, which shew the deep researches they had made into the art. They had not only firmly established its matériel by the most profound and correct enquiries into the proportions of musical sounds, but, reasoning with their national acuteness upon the logical and philosophical branches of the art, had deduced numerous rules regarding the conduct of melody, rhythm, and other component parts of a general theory of music. They went so far as to establish scales suited to different purposes of expression, some of which the best modern singer is incapable of intonating or even comprehending.

These people, then, must have carried music to great perfection: and what sort of music can it have been? how should we like it now? These are questions which naturally obtrude themselves, but upon which a great diversity of opinion has at all times prevailed, and which probably will never be satisfactorily decided. Two or three Greek songs have been preserved, and pretty correctly decyphered. Perhaps they were not first-rate compositions, although one comes to us with tolerably authentic recommendations as to its merit in the esti

mation of contemporaries. On trying to vocalize them-even the attempt is disheartening-what a disappointment seizes the most enthusiastic admirer of Grecian art! What a strange combination of sounds! What an unaccountable commixture of treble and common time, how lame and unsatisfactory the cadences!—to a modern ear!

To judge from these relics of an art carried very far indeed, it would seem that Grecian beauty in music must have been widely different from the ideas entertained on this subject by the moderns; and, on the other hand, it is equally probable that no love would be found to be lost between the parties, if it were possible to treat a contempo. rary of Pericles with a favourite and "much-admired" stave of the moderns. If Aristoxenus could be prevailed upon to leave his present quarters on the other side of the Styx, and to accept an order from Mr. Ebers for the pit of the King's Theatre, what would he say of the grand finale in Don Giovanni? We fancy we hear the Tarentine harmonist exclaim with disdain, "What means this chaos of confusion, this stunning noise? The orgies of the Bacchæ are soothing har. monies compared with this howling uproar of the very Eumenida themselves. Oh! Orpheus, and thou Delian Apollo! how deplorably do these barbarians prostitute the divine art ye have taught mortals on sacred Hellenic soil." We can see the Grecian harmonist hurry from the pit in disgust, without waiting for the divertissement, call a hackney chariot, and direct Jarvis to drive him the nearest way back to Charon's stairs (one of the fares omitted in Mr. Quaiff's book).

Of Aristoxenus and his Greeks, we evidently can make nothing that will assist our purpose of musical comparison; let us turn to other nations on the globe, and see what their music will do for us in our search after some fixed principle of beauty in the art. The choice, unfortunately, is but very scanty. The Christian nations in Europe, and their colonies in other quarters of the globe, have, with some national shades of distinction, the same sort of music, the same notation of staves, and crotchets, and quavers, the same theory, where theory is to be found at all. And here we cannot help expressing, by the way, our wonder and admiration at this universality of written language in music-an advantage of which no other science can boast A cavatina of Rossini's, inclosed in a letter to Quebec, Calcutta, Lima, Cape-Town, Kamschatka, or Batavia, is read at sight, and sung with equal facility at all those places.

But the countries where music, if it be found established upon any sort of system at all, rests upon principles different from our own, are very few in number; and unfortunately whatever they may offer in the way of the art, is but little known to us. Few travellers have known enough of music to give us any satisfactory account of the state of the science, however rude, in such countries. Indeed had the case been otherwise, the harvest, however curious in some few particulars, would probably have been very scanty.

Modern Greece and Turkey, Abyssinia, Persia, Hindoostan, and China, we apprehend, are the only countries where an inquisitive and competent traveller might gather a few gleanings indicative of any system in music; but we doubt much whether on this head any thing is to be met with in books beyond loose and unsatisfactory notices. Our own reading, at least, has not procured us any very material or

available information. Some few national airs which we have seen, supposing them to be authentic, and correctly noted down (which latter circumstance is liable to doubt), are by no means calculated to impress the European amateur with a high idea of their music. These specimens, besides, are too few in number; but such as they are, they appear, generally, very plain, meagre, unrhythmical, and formed upon an imperfect scale. The Chinese scale, within the limits of the octave, seems to consist of but five notes instead of seven, the Fourth and Seventh being wanting; and, what must be deemed singularly curious, it precisely corresponds with the scale perceptible in the old Scotch tunes, of which a correct idea may be formed by striking, backwards or forwards, the short keys of an octave on the pianoforte, and devising melodies with the same.

Of Modern Greek and Turkish music, we have ourselves heard specimens on the spot. Both nations possess the means of notation. The Turkish music is scarcely worth mentioning; it consists of some scanty traditionary scraps of the former Arabic science, with some intermixture from the Modern Greek. The Ottoman regiments have their military music, if it can be dignified with that name. It consists of various wind-instruments, seldom of the same pitch, all which play unisono, in a rough, shrieking, and wild style, apparently little calculated to inspire military ardour: nevertheless it set the men marching with gaiety and apparent delight. They evidently enjoyed the sweet sounds. And why should we wonder? Does not that woful droner, the bagpipe, produce the same effect with our Highland regiments? Even the officers, although they may be familiar with Mozart and Haydn, cannot help an emotion of inward satisfaction. Music, after all, is a puzzle.

The first Modern Greek air we heard sung in the Levant appeared to us, a tune totally unintelligible and ridiculous. On a repetition, and on hearing other Greek melodies, we found reason to qualify our first opinion. We began to perceive that their merit, or demerit, could not be fully judged by the standard of instruction in our possession. These melodies were not "bassed," like ours, upon the barmony of the common chord, or indeed upon any harmony. The great third (we mean our great third, the mediant) was obviously not in any of these tunes. Their third was the diton of their Hellenic ancestors, who had very justly classed it among the discords. Considering that our mediant, or harmonic third, presents itself three times within the limits of an octave, and, of course, not once in a whole Greek melody, this canonical discrepancy, not to advert to others, would be quite sufficient to startle and displease an ear exclusively trained to the harmonic solfeggi,

In the matter of rhythm and cadence we also observed wide deviations from our own rules. These opportunities, however, of local observation were not frequent, and they occurred more than twenty years ago, at a time of very active service, when our calling in those regions was any thing but musical; and, we will candidly add, when our store of musical knowledge did not extend beyond a tolerable expertness on the violin, a little touch of the piano, and of thorough-bass. With the knowledge since acquired, we should have been able to penetrate more deeply into this interesting subject; for we are persuaded, from