Spohr may take his place as a living composer-though great mannerism and repeated imitations of himself, almost unfit him for a station among such a glorious company. The predominant feature of Spohr's music is a voluptuous monotony-a luxury indeed, but a vicious one. Oratorioopera-sinfonia-concerto quartet-to Spohr are all alike-one and the same thing, with regard to style no shadow of distinction in character or in the flow of thought-like a tide which ever flows-never ebbs. We must confess our prejudice against his operas, in spite of their beauty-in spite of their ingenuity; they are tiresome, sleepy, unhealthy productions maculæ or pimples-heated excrescences from the feverish and diseased imagination of their author. We feel heavy and oppressed while listening to them always dreaming of lemonade or soda-water-wishing, repeatedly wishing, for the conclusion, in order that the sublimer, because simpler, music of silence may refresh our spirits, wearied with tormented and elaborated sound.

Many of our readers, and none more than the composer of " The Devil's Opera," should his eye glance over these remarks, will be surprised that we have not in our enumeration of great names, mentioned that of W. Sterndale Bennett, who has so preeminently distinguished himself in the instrumental department of his art-but let us proceed patiently-it is enough to mention one Englishman at a time-the tide of popular prejudice must be gently opposed-anti-national predilections must be weakened by degrees and these things require time. Suffice it to say, we think his concertos for the pianoforte are the first of the day in excellence, without even excepting those of Mendelssohn. His overtures to the "Merry Wives of Windsor,' “Parisina," and "The Naiads," (especially the latter), are chef d'œuvres of beauty and orchestral effect and as a pianiste we imagine that he has not his equal. Of his capabilities as an operatic writer we can hardly form an estimation-though we should be inclined to think very highly of them ;-nous verrons.

We have sufficiently digressed from the subject of our remarks, “The Devil's Opera," of Mr. Macfarren, but our digression has been more relative than episodical, and we trust bears upon the matter in hand. In comparing this work with the masterpieces of the Italian, French, and German composers, it must be remembered, that it is the first opera of a very young composer, and we avow fearlessly that in our estimation, an estimation not formed without due reflection, considered as a coup d'essai, "The Devil's Opera" is one of the most successful in our remembrance. With all the glowing enthusiasm of a youthful writer, it has so very few faults of importance, that it would he invidious and unnecessarily hypercritical to dwell on them for more than an instant; indeed, impartially speaking, they are but errors of an over-excited imagination, which has pictured to itself conceptions more difficult of execution than the powers of a British corps dramatique can be expected to master. There are numerous examples of beautiful idealisms, which reduced to reality, and marshalled into oral existence by means of what Mr. Ella terms "the executive,” fail in producing the pre-existing effect in the mind of the composer, who, with the freshness of a fancy teeming with as yet unexercised thought, has intended his music for a perfectibility of execution, which perhaps is no where to be met with, except in the fancy of the author. But all this in a second essay will be modified and pruned down to the powers of those, to whom our young composer may have to entrust his work-and, provided he will not write impracticable things, on paper unexceptionablebut on the stage hyperbolical-we have no hesitation in prophesying that

* From this censure let us except Azor and Zemira, one of his earliest and by many degrees his best opera-the least sensual the least palling to the ear. And we may add here, that we think his sinfonia in D minor, written for the Philharmonic Society, (and of course rarely performed,) one of the most perfect efforts of musical imagination.

Mr. Macfarren's next production, will be one that shall place England on a level with any country, (Germany not excepted), in the scale of musical dramatic excellence. The Devil's Opera,' "considered as a drama is, notwithstanding the unfavourable opinions of the newspapers, most effective in every respect. It is essentially an extravaganza-an intended absurdity-yet abounds with grotesque situations, and produces the exact result aimed at by its author, viz., convulses the house with laughter, which the very appropriate character of the music by no means serves to check. The author, Mr. George Macfarren, father of the composer, has been exposed to every species of vituperation and abuse about his piece, simply because the critics will not take the trouble to understand it as it was meant to be understood-a broad farcical operatic entertainment. Despite all this abuse, we must say that we recollect no opera for years more ⚫ full of incident, or more irresistibly amusing-its aim was risum movere, and its result is anything but lacrymas excire. Let us conclude with a hope that all true lovers of music for itself, who hold the interests of science to be of greater importance than the caprices of fashion, will have made a point of hearing this delightful opera, and we feel certain that if their love of sweet sounds be not a mere affectation, if their bosoms really thirst

that they will not have complained of misemploying the two brief hours they shall have devoted to seeing and hearing "The Devil's Opera.”

A new Melodrama, entitled "Self Accusation; or, a Brother's Love," has been performed at this theatre since our last, from the prolific pen of Mr. Marcus Lemon, a gentleman who has already distinguished himself this season by the production of sundry farcical entertainments, yclept comic, and a vehicle for murdering the music and reputation of Marschner, (with the assistance of Mr. Francis Romer,) called Bob of the Fen. The plot is anything but explicit; but as far as we could make it out stands thus:-A gentleman murders another gentleman because he refuses to lend him a shilling. A third gentleman, who happens to be passing by at the time, hearing the report of a pistol, and being fortunately (or unfortunately, as it turns out,) provided also with a pistol, rushes to the spot, and seeing the gentleman (who has murdered the other gentleman,) in the act of rifling his pockets, "lets fly," and wounds the said gentleman in the arm. The said gentleman takes to his heels, and again unfortunately (or fortunately, as it turns out,) sundry other gentlemen happen to be strolling by-walking about the forest in a storm, a very pleasant recreation-and perceiving gentleman (No. 3.) with a pistol in his hand, and gentleman (No. 1,) lying on the ground "sweltering," take it into their heads that gentleman (No. 3,) has committed the murder, and collar him accordingly, in a most bailiff-like fashion. Just at this critical moment, the long lost "ladye love" of gentleman (No.3,) happening also to be strolling about the forest to enjoy the thunder and lightning, comes just in time to find out that "her life-her soul" has made unlawful use of a pistol;-and as a climax to the sublime complication-a reduced gentleman (No. 4,) also of forest propensities-rushes in, and seeing the dead body and the pistol, the murdered and the murderer, bursts into a hysterical fit of laughter, and the curtain drops !!—So much for Act I.-Act II. consists of a trial, in which one of the witnesses exclaims, "if he peaches, may he be damned;" which the judge and jury hear with an admirable placidity. It is worthy of remark, that the writs issued to summon all the witnesses are burned by stratagem in the first scene of Act II., in order to prevent the said witnesses from "witnessing;" nevertheless, they all make their appearance at the trial, as if nothing had happened. Of course it all "ends well," and there is nothing to complain of except the absurdity of the piece. Mr. Marcus Lemon!Mr. Marcus Lemon!-we must make bold to tell you, that your melodrama is neither more nor less than nonsense-rank nonsense!

There is some music by Mr. W. L. Phillips, rather of a different order from the drama. The overture we know by heart, being one of our old favorites at the concerts of The Society of British Musicians. It is spirited and bold, and admirably written for the orchestra-a feature, by-the-by, which generally distinguishes the writings of this very clever composer. A song in A flat, by Miss Poole, is a charming bagatelle, and was deservedly encored. Another in E major, we do not like quite so well, though it is more popular, but it reminds us strongly, in character, of Horn's Deep, deep sea." The descriptive music is (with a single exception) appropriate and good, but we cannot endure solos for the cornet à piston, especially during the committal of a murder on the stage.

Messrs. Wieland and Baker took a benefit on Thursday the 20th, and were deservedly rewarded by a bumper-a just tribute to their talent and meritorious exertions in the theatre. The entertainment consisted of The Devil's Opera, Self Accusation, and a new comic ballet by Wieland, called The Mounting Sylph, or Taglioni in Russia ;—the overture and eccentric music decomposed and disarranged by a signor somebody, with a very long name which we have forgotten. The orchestra, we must allow, disarranged and decomposed this very eccentric overture and music, so much so that we could make neither head nor tail of it. Wieland was a delicious sylph, humourous, active, and every thing but appetissant; and the ballet went off as well as could be expected, when we consider that nobody except the beneficiaire knew anything about the matter. The "swinish," however, roared and roared again, and why should we complain?

REVIEW OF NEW MUSIC.

The

"Overture to the Naïads." Composed and arranged as a Duet for the Pianofore; by W. STERNDALE BENNETT. Coventry & Hollier. We consider the appearance of such a work as Mr. Bennett's Overture to Naiads," almost an era in the progress of the art.-As a Poetical Picture it is perfection, as a work of science, it has very few equals, still fewer superiors, and as an effort of a youthful mind, we candidly confess we think it the greatest on record. From the distinguished success of the young composer's overture to Parisina, we had strong forebodings that his next descriptive work would be something, if not entirely, of the same character;-but we were most completely and agreeably disappointed in our surmises :-nothing could be more opposite in character than the two overtures in question.-Parisina is imagined throughout in a strain of the most tender and affecting melancholy-the key in which it is written (F sharp minor)the gloomy instrumentation of the few opening bars, assigned to the violoncellos and bassoons-the ebbing and flowing, as it were, of passion-so beautifully expressed by the cres-cendos, forzandos, and diminuendos on the stringed instruments-all prepare the mind, on setting out, for a luxurious feeling of sorrow, a gloominess which while it remains is almost more than happiness.-The violins and violoncellos seem literally to mourn, as though they were creatures of life, and could feel as human beings. We know not how it is, but we never hear this overture without thinking of Shelley's beautiful Dirge for the Dying Year :

"The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing,

The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,
And the year,

On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,

Is lying.

Come months, come away,

From November to May,
In your saddest array;
Follow the bier,

Of the dead cold year,

And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.

The chill rain is falling, the nipt worm is crawling,
The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling,

For the year;

The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone
To his dwelling;

Come months, come away;

Put on white, black, and grey,

Let your light sisters play

Ye follow to the bier

Of the dead cold year,

And make the grave green with tear on tear."

It would be utterly impossible for us to hear the last part of the overture to Parisina-and the exquisitely beautiful transition into the major key-with which it finishes," vibrating in the memory," without inwardly repeating the concluding lines of the above poem-and especially the last, which vividly expresses the transition into the major.-Those among our readers who can with equal facility understand the poetry of Shelley, and appreciate the music of Bennett, will easily com

prehend us-but to the multitude, this feeling will be caviare-perhaps ridiculous;be it so we wish to have nothing in common with what we so thoroughly despise— and we yield to none in the extent of our dislike to that personification of ignorance, conceit, and heartlessness-the mob.

The overture to The Naiads is of a distinctly different character from that to Parisina-joyful instead of sad-yet, as is invariably the case in Mr. Bennett's music, tinged with a shade of melancholy, which renders it the more captivating. It is the very epitome of what its composer aims at describing: nothing could be more characteristic than the opening subject-elegant, yet gracefully playful-flowing and lymphy (not lymphatick)-the sounds appear to float in the atmosphere, as though it were a lake, and the notes, or rather phrases, were real naiads to inhabit it. The episode in A, with the stringed instruments, pizzicato-immediately following the second subject, is exceedingly dramatic (or rather poetical,) and happy. As a gentleman observed to us during a performance of the overture, (a Frenchman, and therefore almost necessarily an enthusiast,)"Nous voyons actuellement les Naïdes qui se baignent qui jouet-quui jettent de l'eau les unes sur les autres!"

As to the second subject itself, we cannot express in words the exquisite enjoyment in which our senses are steeped while listening to it. The instrumentation of this heavenly phrase is, if we may so express ourselves-luscious-voluptuous to an excess. Mr. Bennett well knew what a delicious melody his fancy had supplied him with, and was evidently determined to make the best of it. Here again are we tempted to exclaim with Shelley-for Shelley has described every feeling-every shadow of feeling

"Let me drink of the spirit of that sweet sound
More-oh! more-I am thirsting yet,

It loosens the serpent which care has bound
Upon my heart to stifle it;

The dissolving strain, through every vein
Passes into my heart and brain !""

But we must leave Shelley, and return to sober reality. The overture to the Naïads is here arranged as a duet for the piano-forte, so that all who love fine music may have an intellectual repast for a trifling consideration. If Messrs. Coventry and Hollier persevere in producing such beautiful and classical works, their catalogue will soon excel in sterling value that of any other music publisher in England. May they persevere in such meritorious undertakings! we need not say how heartily we wish them ample remuneration for their spirit.

"Les Orientales;' a set of Quadrilles, composed and dedicated to his friend, W. D. DAVISON, Esq., by W. F. LockwOOD. Olivier, New

Bond-street.

Though the practice of endowing the music de la danse, with quaint and original cognomens is rather prevalent in these times, yet we must confess that we never met any so strangely denominated as "Les Orientales" of Mr. Lockwood. AntarShiboob-Kushm-are rather odd names for quadrilles. If we surmise aright, they are extracted from the old Arabian Romance of Antar, or more probably, as we do not give Mr. Lockwood the credit of being skilled in the Arabic tongue, from Mr. Terrick Hamilton's translation-in which are to be found, Antar, "The destroyer of Horsemen "-Shiboob, "Swifter than the Ostrich"-and Kushm, “The Brandisher of Spears ”—in all their glory. The names of the two last quadrilles, Rustan and Hafiz, we presume to have been taken from those of the greatest hero of Arabia, and the greatest poet of Persia. From such a christening we must own that we expected something more important than these quadrilles, which, though we allow them to be pleasing and brilliant, are by no means of an order to justify an application of names so sacred to the Romance and Poetry of the East. However we will not discourage Mr. Lockwood, but merely suggest to him, that his next Oriental lucubrations should be a trifle less occidental in their character-assuring him that French harmonies and airs in the style of the modern Italian ballet, give us little or no idea of the music of the Desert. The best of the set are Nos. 4 and 5in A major and D minor-Rustan and Hafiz.

"Ope those eyes of living light;" Serenade, written by J. W. LESLIE, Esq. Composed and dedicated to Mrs. T. COOKE, by W. LovELL PHILLIPS. Coventry and Hollier, Dean-street.

If Mr. Phillips were to serenade the "dame de son cœur" with so elegant a melody,as this, we do not think she could have the heart to be unkind to him. In the choice of words for his song, Mr. Phillips has been very happy-they are simple

and unaffected-and what is more, worthy of being allied to his music. If we must be captious, we should say that we do not entirely understand the three bars of sequence immediately preceding the return to the subject-or to be more explicit, we should have liked it better if the modulation into G flat had been prolonged, and the sequence had come out of it, without a regular close in the dominant B flat, and so had led into the subject. We think this would have been an improvement-but perhaps we may be wrong-and most likely Mr. Phillips is a much better judge of the effect of his own music than we can possibly be-Mais nous ne faisons que parler selon notre avis.

"Six Songs," the poetry by LORD BYRON. Percy, B. Shell-(e)-y, Herrick, Chauncey Hare Townsend (!!!)_R. F. (!) and T. E. R. (!) Composed and inscribed to the MISSES WINDSOR, by CHARLES SALAMAN. (Op. 8.) D'Almaine & Co.

These songs form the first work of importance that we have seen from the pen of Mr. Salaman; and if they be a favourable specimen of his ability as a composer, we devoutly hope it may be the last. We are at a loss to imagine what ill advised friend could have induced Mr. Salaman to regale the public with forty-two pages of such incoherent nonsense. Whoever it may have been, he may console himself with the certainty that he has done as much as could well be done to injure what little reputation Mr. Salaman may already possess as a composer. Had Mr. Salaman been a member of the Academy, he would never have received permission, from Mr. Cipriani Potter, the principal of that institution, to have published his six songs in their present state, if indeed at all. As it is, they are full of errors of every description, wrong notation, bad grammar, false expression, &c. &c. fatten and thrive as to plan or connection-as to the observance of the relations of keys, one to another as to the use of simple and natural modulation, which would make sense instead of nonsense of some of Mr. Salaman's ideas-as to all or any of these peculiarities, they are no where to be met with! Mr. Salaman has evidently intended to be very sublime, and has succeeded in being exceedingly dull and stupid. He has mystified most gloriously some particularly simple verses of Chauncey Hare Townsend, (a gentleman unknown to us,) but whom, we presume, to be somebody, from his name being so familiary associated with those of Byron, Shell-(e)-y, and Herrick. Let our readers judge whether the merit and originality of his verses entitle this gentleman to be placed among such goodly company.

Our hearts shall not be parted so!"

Burden.) Our hearts our hearts shall not be parted so-not

so-not so.-&c. &c

Here Mr. Charles Salaman introduces consecutive octaves between an inner part and the base,* descriptive, we presume, of a couple of hearts which will go together.

There is a tie that binds the soul

No time-no distance can controul.
Yes! we must part!

Canst thou not when the pensive evening

Steals through the silent shadowy dell,

And light the world reluctant leaving

Just turns to smile his last farewell ("come again to-morrow.")

Canst thou not shape the vapours blue

Into the form thou 'dst wish to view?

Into the form-into the form, &c. &c.

And when upon the gliding river

So mildly sweet the moon beams play,

While the pale leaves of the Aspen quiver

Pierc'd by the silv'ry softened rays. [which "rays" Mr. Salaman

has described by consecutive perfect fifths.+]

Cannot the breezes whisper near

The voice thy bosom pants to hear?

Cannot the breezes-the voice-whisper-yes! yes!-&c. &c.

Here a seventh rises with charming effect like "the voice" in the breezes-or

*See page 12, line 3, bars 2-3. + See page 15, line 5, bars 4-5.