yea! all nature abounds in music; and it was wisely ordained that it should be so, for what could be found so fit to tame and soften that rudest and most fierce of all created beings-man?

At all times music is the food of the heart. Are we elated with mirth and conviviality-what can be so becoming to the festive hour as lively and inspiring music? Is the spirit borne down by sorrow and grief, as the heart of Saul was,-call but some minstrel David with his harp, and the dark clouds that have come over will vanish, and the sunshine once more take its place. To the martial strains of music, thousands of warriors arm themselves for the fight, amid the braying of the shrill trumpet, and the roll of the thundering drum. Conflicting nations, inspired with a valour unfelt before, rush headlong to the charge which decides the fate of kingdoms; nay, when the victory is won, music accompanies the victors to their home with joy, and follows to the grave the last relics of the fallen. The peaceful shepherd, as he tends his little flock, soothes his solitude with the warblings of his pipe; and amid the roarings of the tumultuous billows of the deep, the boatswain's whistle cheers the heart of the despairing mariner. To the exile and the wanderer, the songs of his native land are dear in his most dreary hours; they speak to him of his own country, and recall the visions of his home, far away. The worshipper offers up his devotions to his Maker in strains of harmony; and the child, yet incapable of speech, listens with delight to the lullaby that visits his cradle and soothes him to repose.

Over memory, how great is the power of music! it is the masterkey which unlocks the chambers of the past. Hours long forgotten, and scenes on which the heart loves to dwell, are often recalled by some simple melody when we have essayed by every other means to bring them back again. The most beautiful description of this power of music is that of Byron, in his death of Haidee, who in her trance could be recalled to consciousness by no means-or induced to recognise anything that was passing around her :

"And then a slave bethought her of a harp.
The harper came, and tuned his instrument;
At the first notes-irregular and sharp-

On him her flashing eyes a moment bent;
Then to the wall she turned, as if to warp

Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart re-sent;
And he began a long low island song,

Of ancient days-ere tyranny grew strong.

"Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall

In time to his old tune; he changed the theme,
And sung of love: the fierce man struck through all
Her recollection; on her flashed the dream

Of what she was and is, if ye could call

To be so being; in a gushing stream

The tears rushed forth from her o'erclouded brain,
Like mountain mists at length dissolved in rain."

Need I remind the reader of the power of music described in the "Alexander's Feast" of Dryden? In short, all poets have written upon, and all men have felt it.

Farther than this, one great poet has placed it among the signs of the goodness or otherwise of a man's heart.

"The man that hath no music in himself,

Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,

Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils :

The motions of his spirit are dull as night,

And his affections dark as Erebus

Let no such man be trusted."

And this is, I doubt not, for the most part, a good criterion. How good a thing, and how much to be desired, is it that music should be cultivated and encouraged-not only among the higher classes of society, but even among the poor. In the present age, knowledge of all kinds in the lower orders of society is making rapid strides whether for good or ill time only can prove. Of one thing, however, I am sure—that music, go where it will, must tend to elevate a people in the scale of intellectual beings. Efforts of the kind are making now among us by the enterprising exertions of several individuals, and I trust their labours will be crowned with success. Certain I am, that those who cultivate their love of it, open new stores of enjoyment, which can never be taken from them; and solitary hours, which may now be lonely, may one day be intellectually employed, and from the prince to the peasant a new link formed by an universal and all-pervading love of music.

HORACE.-LIB. iii. OD. ix.

HOR. WHEN, Lydia, I was all your own,
And round that lovely neck divine
No other arm more dear was thrown,
A blissful lot indeed was mine.

LYD. When all thy heart was fixed on me,
And Chloë left me not behind,

Oh! then, how blest I used to be,
For you adored-and I was kind.

HOR. Me Chloë now, divinely fair,

Skilled in the harp and song, subdues;
For whom I'd thousand perils dare,
Nor death itself for her refuse.

LYD. And me young Calaïs' charms enslave,
Whose breast is warmed with mutual glow ;
To free him from the gloomy grave,
A double grave I'd undergo.

HOR. What if our former love again,

Though long neglected, should return;
Should I shake off fair Chloë's chain,
And for forsaken Lydia turn?

LYD. Though Calaïs bright as evening star,
Thou fickle as the wind shouldst be,

Or than the billows stormier far,
I'll live and die alone with thee.

F. L. SIMS.

DIRGE.

OH! mourn for the Muses, on Pindus so lately
Who danced in a ring to Apollo's sweet lyre,
And moved toward the altar with gesture so stately,
A heaven-born, chanting, harmonious quire.

Oh! mourn for the fountain deserted and dry;

Not a drop ever flows the parched herbage to water; Still Harmony sadly is lingering by

To seek or to weep for her youngest fair daughter.

On the banks of Ilissus the goddess gave birth

To three times three muses-by poets 'tis said;
And where they were born we should hallow the earth,
For the trees of Academy sheltered the maid.

And 'tis told that the maids, ere for ever they fled,
Returned for awhile to their earliest abode,

And the last tears on earth that Divinity shed,
Were dropped on their fav'rite Athenian sod.

S. T. S.

HISTORY AND HISTORIANS.

No. V.

In the last paper we discovered that in the view of history, which looks to a series of causes and effects, and seeks to establish general laws of moral action, there was a latent danger of losing the sense of the reality and life of the men who come before us, and concluded that this error, if allowed to gain ground, would steal from us all the benefit which we might otherwise have expected. We must now inquire into the remedies which will most effectually meet the case before us. Our object is to preserve a vivid impression of the reality of the scenes which history presents to us, to feel that the actors in them were men, and had human passions and motives like ourselves. It will, I think, appear, that the faculty of imagination is intimately connected with this sentiment, nay, is its very origin and foundation. It enables us to remove ourselves for the moment from the realities around us, and stand among those of by-gone days, as among living men,-to see and feel their presence, to be for the time part of them; but for its enlivening influence all would be cold and dead,-the brightness of its rays gives animation and reality to the annals of the past. It is no uncommon thing to hear imagination treated as opposed to sober reason, as dealing merely in fiction, and perverting the mind from the contemplation of truth; it would be more sound to say that it is necessary to the perception of all the highest and noblest truths-that simple reasoning, however clear, can never, without it, attain to the knowledge of the highest objects of which our nature is capable. We must not, because the faculty is abused, too easily condemn it, and rob ourselves of its legitimate uses. It is, then, to a certain vividness of imagination that we must endeavour to attain as we peruse the narratives of history, and it is the nature of such a faculty, as it is perhaps of every other power of the mind, to derive increased strength from exercise, not merely in the particular direction in which it has been employed, but in every action of which it is from its nature capable. On this ground we may recommend the study of poetry as very necessary, or at least highly useful, to the student of history. It does not, indeed, bear directly on his own line of investigation, but it is a most useful discipline to his mind, an admirable corrective for the mental faults which his

study, pursued as I have recommended, might produce. It will impart a vigour and freshness to his conceptions, which will not be lost, as it transfuses itself into his other occupations; the imagination cultivated by the one, will act with new energy in its application to the other. Poetry too is, in its proper character, the setter forth of truth; but it places her before us not merely in outline, but fills up every part, and exhibits her in the most attractive attitudes. The habit of mind formed by the frequent perusal of poetry will not be lost in the severer pursuits of history; it will give to the scenes of the past that life and truth which bring them before us in all the freshness of the present. Thus it is that every study which is generally beneficial to the mind, has a bearing on every other study, and unites with all to form the mental character, and raise it to its proper standard. When the student can combine with the historical investigation of any period the reading of the poetical works which it has produced, he will bring his two pursuits into close connexion and mutual support.

The same remarks will apply in a greater degree to dramatic poetry, inasmuch as it leads us to exercise imagination on the actions of men; the faculty which poetry generally cultivates, it confines more especially to one department, and that of such a nature as to have an immediate connexion with historical pursuits. We have the conceptions of the poet placed before us in a definite form, and may hence learn to embody our own notions of the men of whom we read, and attain a clearer idea of who they are, and how they are moved under the various circumstances of their life. The advantage is tenfold increased when we possess historical dramas, of which the subjects are selected from the times under our own consideration; such as the historical plays of Shakspere, or the Wallenstein of the great German dramatist. We see what the poet has conceived of the character of each man, we catch his idea of him; we are not bound to adopt it,-nay, we must, if necessary, correct it by our knowledge elsewhere obtained; but this at least we may attain a lasting impression of the reality of the man, of his common share in human feeling and passion.

Closely allied to dramatic poetry, in its bearing on our present subject, is historical fiction. The study of it is calculated to produce the same effects on the mind. Some perhaps may be startled by the very name of fiction, and consider it as synonymous with falsehood; yet truth may be taught as well in fiction as in any other method; certainly there is no necessary opposition between