entirely dispersed by the improved behaviour you have promised, by happiness based upon sincerity and active virtue." These appeals seem to have been not altogether without effect; but the young man relapsed into his idle and vicious life, and when, in August 1826, he was urged to work up many examinations at the Polytechnic Institution, which were in arrear, he attempted suicide. He afterwards, through the influence of some of Beethoven's friends, got a commission as a cadet in a regiment. Of his subsequent life we know nothing more than that he inherited Beethoven's little property, and that Schindler believes that he now holds some civil appointment under the Austrian government. We rather like Schindler's uncertainty on this point: he could easily have ascertained it; and his not having thought it worth while to do so, is a cutting mark of contempt, which, we hope, is known to and felt by its object, if so base a nature is capable of feeling any thing. The ingratitude of this thankless child was a serpent's-tooth, which eat into the very heart of his unfortunate uncle; and a journey for the purpose of bringing the wretched young man from the country to Vienna, performed by Beethoven in the depth of winter, and in an open carriage (his' brother Johann, the "landowner," having refused him the accommodation of his close one), was the direct cause of his death. Immediately afterwards, in December 1826, he was seized with an inflammation of the lungs, followed by dropsy; and after struggling with his malady for more than three months, while his mortal agonies were heightened by distress and privation, he expired on the 24th of March, 1827. His death made a great sensation in Vienna. The people who had neglected him all his life, were now full of grief for his loss, and enthusiasm for his memory. His funeral was splendid; and the lifeless clay was followed to its last abode by twenty thousand persons, of all ranks and degrees, not twenty of whom, it would seem, had ever troubled themselves to inquire whether he possessed the common necessaries of life. Soon afterwards it was discovered that Beethoven had applied for assistance to the London Philharmonic Society, and had accepted from them a present of a hundred pounds, while he was in possession of property to the amount of a thousand pounds sterling. The Viennese were indignant that he should have applied to a foreign country for assistance of which he did not stand in need; and even had he wanted assistance, it was said, it was to his own countrymen that he ought to have had recourse. But the Austrian public cannot justify themselves. They had neglected Beethoven all his life; and they might have known very well, had they troubled themselves about him at all, that he was living in the midst of them in actual poverty, and denying himself the common comforts of life. Were they to withhold their assistance from an illustrious man, the honour and the ornament of their country, because he was too proud to come among them begging for charity? Was it wonderful that he should have felt far more repugnance to ask assistance from them, than from the people of a country in which his character had been long and justly appreciated, and through the medium of a mu sical body who had, more than any in Europe, contributed to exalt his reputation by their noble performance of his works? But, forsooth, Beethoven had no occasion to apply to any body. He left a thousand pounds at his death. A mighty sum, truly, to have been accumulated by a man who stood at the very summit of his art, through the labours of a whole lifetime! A mighty sum to have been amassed, not as the surplus of a handsome income spent in the enjoyment of comforts and luxuries, but as the hard-earned savings of a life of ceaseless and poorly rewarded toil! This mighty sum, moreover, was a capital which Beethoven had destined for the future provision of his adopted son: and thus considering it as a sacred deposit, he magnanimously bore privation and hardship rather than touch it. The annual dividends on this capital could not exceed thirty or forty pounds; and adding to it seventy pounds, the aggregate amount of his pensions from three Austrian princes, his whole income-at a time, too, when he was sick and helpless amounted to the magnificent sum of about one hundred pounds sterling! It was not very wonderful in such circumstances, that he should have applied for aid: nor was it very wonderful that he should have applied for it anywhere, rather than to the public of Vienna. Respecting Beethoven's personal appearance, manners, and habits, many particulars are given by his German biographers; but the most graphic and spirited description of the man, which we have yet found, is given by Mr. Russell, in his able and interesting "Tour in Germany,' published in 1824: "Though not an old man," says Mr. Russell, "Beethoven is lost to society in consequence of his extreme deafness. The neglect of his person which he exhibits, gives him a somewhat wild appearance. His features are strong and prominent; his face is full of rude energy; his hair, which neither comb nor scissors seem to have visited for years, overshadows his broad brow in a quantity and confusion to which only the snakes round a Gorgon's head offer a parallel. His general behaviour does not ill accord with the unpromising exterior. Except when he is among his chosen friends, kindness or affability are not his characteristics. The total loss of hearing has deprived him of all the pleasure which society can give, and perhaps soured his temper. He used to frequent a particular cellar, where he spent the evening in a corner, beyond the reach of all the chattering and disputation of a public room, drinking wine and beer, eating cheese, and red herrings, and studying the newspapers. "One evening a person took a seat near him whose countenance did not please him. He looked hard at the stranger, and spat on the floor, as if he had seen a toad; then glanced at the newspaper, then again at the intruder, and spat again; his hair bristling gradually into more shaggy ferocity, till he closed the alternation of spitting and staring, by fairly exclaiming, What a scoundrelly face!' and rushing out of the room. "Even among his oldest friends he must be humoured like a wayward child. He has always a small paper-book with him, and what conversation takes place is carried on in writing. In this, too, though it is not lined, he instantly jots down any musical idea that strikes him. These notes would be utterly unintelligible even to another musician, for they have thus no comparative value; he alone has in his own mind the thread by which he brings out of this labyrinth of dots and circles, the richest and most astounding harmonies. The moment he is seated at the piano, he is evidently unconscious that there is any thing in existence but himself and his instrument; and, considering how very deaf he is, it seems impossible that he should hear all he plays. Accordingly, when playing very piano, he often does not bring out a single note. He hears it himself in the mind's ear.' While his eye, and the almost imperceptible motion of his fingers, show that he is following out the strain through all its dying gradations, the instrument is actually as dumb as the musician is deaf. "I have heard him play; but to bring him so far required some management, so great is his horror at being any thing like exhibited. Had he been plainly asked to do the company that favour he would have flatly refused; he had to be cheated into it. Every person left the room except Beethoven and the master of the house, one of his most intimate acquaintance. These two carried on a conversation in the paper-book about bank stock. The gentleman, as if by chance, struck the keys of the piano by which they were sitting, gradually began to run over one of Beethoven's own compositions, made a thousand errors, and speedily blundered a passage so thoroughly that the composer condescended to stretch out his hand and put him right. It was enough; the hand was on the piano: his companion immediately left him on some pretext and joined the rest of the company, who, in the next room, were patiently waiting the issue of this tiresome conjuration. Beethoven, left alone, seated himself at the piano. At first, he only struck now and then a few hurried and interrupted notes, as if afraid of being detected in a crime; but gradually he forgot every thing else, and ran on during half an hour in a fantasy, in a style extremely varied, and marked by the most abrupt transitions. teurs were enraptured; to the uninitiated it was more interesting to observe how the music of the man's soul passed over his countenance. He seems to feel the bold, the commanding, and the impetuous, more than what is soothing or gentle. The muscles of the face swell, and its veins start out; the wild eye looks doubly wild; the mouth quivers; and Beethoven looks like a wizard overpowered by the demons whom he himself has called up." The ama This lively sketch represents Beethoven in his latter days, when his eccentric habits, which had been growing upon him for years, had reached their height. In earlier life he was fond of society, especially that of elegant and accomplished women, and possessed, in no inconsiderable degree, the art of making himself agreeable to the fair sex. In those days he was always in love-not deeply and devotedly, as might have been expected from other parts of his character-but seized with transient fancies for some 66 Cynthia of the minute," generally above his own degree, which gave birth to platonic flirtations and sentimental epistolary effusions, in which kind of composition, it must be owned, our illustrious musician did not make a very distinguished figure. But, to the last day of his life, under his increasing ruggedness of exterior, he possessed warm and affectionate feelings, the most delicate sensibility, and an almost feminine softness of heart. Alas! that such feelings should have been wounded by mortification and neglect -that such affections should have been blighted by cruel ingratitude! In Beethoven, as we have already said, the character of the man is intimately blended with that of the artist; and a view of his greater works, with reference to the periods of his life, and the circumstances in which he was placed when they were produced, executed by some one thoroughly competent to the task, would be full of interest, as well as highly instructive to the musical student. Such a view so executed, might solve many difficulties, and settle many discordant opinions with respect to the compositions-the later ones especially-of this illustrious master. In regard to his music in general, and the influence it ought to have on the modern school of composition, the admirable remarks of Mr. Moscheles are entitled to the utmost weight. "My feelings," he says, "with respect to Beethoven's music have undergone no variation, save to become warmer. In the first halfscore of years of my acquaintance with his works, he was repulsive as well as attractive. In each of them, while I felt my mind fascinated by the prominent idea, and my enthusiasm kindled by the flashes of his genius, his unlooked-for episodes, shrill dissonances, and bold modulations, gave me an unpleasant sensation. But how soon did I become reconciled to them! All that had appeared hard, I soon found indispensable. The gnome-like pleasantries, which at first appeared too distorted the stormy masses of sound which I found too chaotic-I have in after-times learned to love. But, while retracting my early critical exceptions, I must still maintain as my creed, that eccentricities like those of Beethoven are reconcilable with his works alone, and are dangerous models for other composers, many of whom have been wrecked in their attempts at imitation. Whether the musical world can ever recognise the most modern examples of effort to outdo Beethoven in boldness and originality of conception, I leave to future generations to decide." MOLA DI GAETA. BY THE HONOURABLE JULIA AUGUSTA MAYNARD. SWEET, Mola! thou so lovely, so divine! Seem softly blended in one azure dye! Where air perfumed with sweetly-scented flowers, Which stirs the foliage of thy laden trees. Each moment changing, and each hue more bright! A WORD TO THE SCHOOLMASTER. "L'art de rien comprendre, et de tout expliquer."-CHENIER. "Il estudioit très bien, et y mettoit tout son temps; toutes fois que en rien ne prouffitoit."-RABELAIS. It has been well observed-ay, and in good Greek, too-that mankind are mostly set by the ears, not on account of things, but by their silly opinions incurring things ου τα πράγματα, αλλά τα περι των πραγμάτων δόγματα, Although, in the main, true enough, this aphorism does not go quite to the bottom. It is not so much the opinions concerning things which do the mischief, as those which are entertained concerning names. Things, real, substantial, tangible, and visible things (always excepting eatables, which, when the meat grows scarce, are apt to become bones of contention),—are soon disposed of. They have a way of their own in addressing themselves to the intelligence, and they will take no excuse. He who, mistaking a stone-wall for a featherbed, persists in committing his brains to its tender mercies, will soon have no brains to knock out; and there is no taking a fancy that ipecacuanha is an esculent, without immediately becoming heartily sick of the doctrine. But with names it is quite otherwise. No sooner are these brought into discussion, than down comes a quarrel; and such a quarrel! a chancery suit is a fool to it. It is not, however, the mere Babelish mistake of calling bricks mortar, and mortar bricks,—a mal entendu in using that sound to express a shovel, which others employ to designate a wheelbarrow: for there stands the wheelbarrow, and there lies the shovel, ready at hand; and an appeal to the principals soon settles the dispute. The words which do the mischief, are not representatives of things a parte rei, as the schoolmen called them, but of nothings-words supposed indeed to mean something, but in fact mere senseless sounds; for such must any word be, which every one takes for as much, or as little as he pleases, and never condescends to employ for two minutes together in the same way. They therefore were not so wrong, who allegorized the Tower of Babel into a metaphysical wrangle: since the learned in such mysteries must at once perceive, that the mischief-makers are certain freebooters in language called abstractions-(probably from their abstracting men's brains through their ears),-words of such Indian-rubber-like elasticity, that they may be made to take any dimension for the nonce, and then quietly slip back again to their primitive exiguity, without so much as a snap. All this, though, we only throw out by the way; begging our readers to let the same fructify at their leisure. Our business to-day is with a single one only of these wriggling eels; but that, as Mungo says, " is a tumper"-a master impertinence which, at this present writing, is setting all England by the ears: the knowing reader will at once perceive that we are about to touch upon education. There is not, in fact, a looser fish in the vocabulary than this same abstraction called "education." What is it? What does it mean? When does it begin? Where end? What is its purpose? and above |