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as fresh and sound as the verdure of Egypt from beneath the refluent waters of the Nile.

The miscellaneous chat, which we have said ensued upon LUKE's retirement, soon turned upon a contemplated second edition of "The Collegian." Our more distant subscribers begin already to suggest that it should be forthcoming, after the publication of the last number. AIRY proposed, in a tone in which characteristic enthusiasm contended with the debility of sickness, that to defray the expenses of this second edition, the Club should immediately set about the writing of a tragedy, as a candidate for Mr. Forrest's thousand dollar premium. The idea was electrical. "Charming!" quoth ARTHUR, but in a hesitating under tone: "Well thought, friend!" said CHARLES, with a quiet, civil sort of approbation: "A capital conceit, FRANK, by my fay!" cried GEOFFREY, right heartily: Prodigious! was echoed in demisoliloquy, from LUKE's retreat.-The proposal had reached and transiently impressed even his ear.

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And it is really our opinion, that even if ourself were too much engrossed in editorial business to lend a hand, the Club might get up a tragedy which, as things now go, would be deemed quite respectable. The outlines of the plot should be laid out in full conclave. AIRY should furnish all the particularly wild and imposing situations, the highflown descriptions, and the more sublimated specimens of emotion: TEMPLETON should insert all the adieus, and the love-scenes (to be assisted by AIRY, when either lover goes mad), beside all affecting narratives and delicate sketches: LA-TOUCHE should write those speeches and dialogues where blunt good-feeling, or honest indignation and invective prevail, and have the full management of some character of the Philip Falconbridge stamp, mingling wit and bullyism about equally in every thing uttered: SHERRY should spice the whole with satire on the times, smart hits, seasonable inuendoes, and gentlemanly explanatory speeches--together with the prologue and epilogue: LOCKFAST should elaborate the cabinet conferences between the king and his minister, and all penitent death-scenes-pin to each incident its appropriate moral reflection, and write the last sentence of the play.

A general and animated conversation on this subject, was cut short at the outset by FATHer Luke. The exile now came forward from his nook, with rather an ill grace, but not without something of exultation twisting in the deep furrows about his mouth, at the completion of his distasteful task. A leer was upon every phiz, untempered, unless upon TEMPLETON's and our own, by a trace of compassion, as the sage read from a scrap of paper which quivered in his pallid fingers, and in no very confident tone, the following Epigram

"Why do those ministers we sometimes hear,
Succeed so ill in making men act well,
Wh' exhort their listener only by his fear,
And ever threat him with the flames of hell?

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He's treated like a brute-Why then admire,

If like a brute he acteth in return?

Like the poor horse, who, when his barn 's on fire,
Insists he'll plunge into the flames and burn."

GEOFFREY thought the abstruseness of this distich quite characteristic of the author; indeed several thoughtful minutes elapsed, ere its point was apprehended by the majority of the company. Then, at length, the compliments were profusely lavished from every quarter, on this unwonted effusion of the sage's pen. He listened to them with great complacency; for he has of late been quite piqued at a distrust of the versatility of his talents, which has been not infrequently intimated by some of his brethren.

It was at this juncture that the poet of the evening, as he reclined in quiet triumph on his own antique seat, made the announcement which Mr. LA-TOUCHE has adverted to, in a note to the third number of his Strollings. Our attention was first drawn to him by a sudden, solitary, and gradually deepening laughwhich, when we turned our eyes upon him, seemed to be agitating his whole frame. For some time he uttered not a word, but sat, rolling, and laughing, and variegating his wrinkles. At length he half articulated, in words broken by sighs of exhaustion, "I think I will write some Strollings, after the manner of Mr. LA-TOUCHE!" The idea had arisen suddenly in his mind, and struck him as irresistibly ludicrous. Just as he was about to enlarge, his eye accidentally fell upon the time-piece in the corner. 65 Ω πόποι,” (this is uniformly his exclamation of surprise) "can it be eleven? And I have spent but two hours and a half on the Mathematics for to-morrow morning! Verily, brothers, I must depart; I have no time to spare between now and one hour post meridiem nocturnam." All remonstrances and solicitations were vain. "I will gird up my loins," he exclaimed, as he hurried on his cloak and hat, "and flee; verily I will flee incontinently! Accordingly he vanished from a scene, over which we now drop the curtain.

Let not our contributors imagine that we think lightly of every communication which does not find place in our pages. Much has been committed to the wicker-basket, in which we discern great merit. Many a spirited piece lies there, which we should be glad to publish, but that it is on an exhausted subject, or that it is too evidently careless, hurried, or that it is excessive either in length or brevity--and we have no inclination to play the literary Procrustes. Indeed our basket is a most respectable tomb. And as for the Dirge, the account of which in the last number, shocked, we are told, the sensibilities of some of the more timid muses of College, we assure our sensitive friends that it is sung with the most respectful soberness. Indeed, any one who should listen to to the dolorous bass of FATHER LUKE, and the whimpering treble of TEMPLETON, would hardly suspect our strains to be uttered in the spirit of levity or insult.

THE

COLLEGIAN.

No. IV.

MAY, 1830.

MUSIC.

1. Unwritten Music. American Monthly Magazine, No. I 2. The Characteristics of Rossini's Compositions. New Monthly and London Magazine, No. CVIII.

WE presume that most of our readers have seen the papers, the titles of which are at the head of our article. Those who have not, may consider themselves as possessed of a fund of entertainment and instruction for an evening at least. Both are admirable in their separate departments, and have not been consigned to the temporary repose of our shelves without a frequent perusal. The first is remarkable for the exquisite taste, nice perception of beauty, and elegant diction, which characterize the other productions of its author; the second, for the extensive and accurate knowledge of a subject, which is so distinguishing a feature in all the writings of the London New Monthly.

The reading of these articles, united to our own observation, has confirmed us in an opinion, which we have long entertained in secret, that the present artificial state of society has exerted a strange and unwonted influence over the popular musical taste. It is difficult for us to conceive how the science, that may exert such a mastery over the human soul and wield its passions at will, can have sunk so from its high office as to be but the means of gratifying a sort of intellectual refinement, a sickish, acquired, unnatural appetite. And yet

it is so. The compositions of the great masters of the present day are addressed far more to the taste than to the feelings, far more to the head than to the heart.

We do not number ourselves among those who are constantly in search of some peculiarity with which to stamp the age; but we think that no one, who has any acquaintance with our subject will refuse his assent to what we have just asserted. Let him compare the effect produced upon him by the works of the Old Masters, and those of Rossini, Weber, and Boieldieu, and he will see the propriety of our dis tinction, if propriety there be in it. The former take an instantaneous and strong hold upon our imagination and feelings, our whole souls are absorbed and spell-bound,—our passions are at the perfect disposal of the mighty magician who has roused them, and when silence succeeds, there is a strange sinking of the spirit within us, similar to that which we experience on being relieved from a great and almost painful degree of excitement. On the other hand, as we listen to the playful, sweet, and fascinating strains of the latter, a most luxurious sensation comes over us. Our fancy is pleased and our taste gratified. A complete Epicurism pervades the whole frame, unbroken by any of the more tumultuous emotions. Nor will it be disturbed by our turning to admire the intricacy and high finish of the piece, and the skill and ingenuity of its author. The mind may range about on the contemplation of these and other collateral subjects, and yet we may enjoy all the immediate pleasure of the performance. There is none of that entire concentration of the interest, none of that arresting of the attention and keeping it undivided, which we have described as belonging, in so great a degree, to the productions of such men as Handel, Haydn, Mozart, and others. The same distinction exists between these two schools of composition that draws such strong lines of separation between almost all the styles of writing in ancient and modern days, and we should institute pretty much the same comparison between them.

We have mentioned Rossini, Weber, and Boieldieu as the popular idols of the day. Among these, Rossini holds decidedly the first place. "Wherever his operas have appeared, they have soon rooted firmly and almost exclusively in the public favor, and exerted an inconceivable influence on

musical taste. * * * * In Italy, where the works of Rossini began to make an impression about eighteen years ago, they have succeeded in nearly supplanting the operas of Paesiello, Guglielmi, Mayer, Paer, and even Cimarosa. In Germany, national predilections have rendered their sway perhaps somewhat less universal and exclusive; but, at all events, even there Rossini is the lord of the ascendant. Winter-nay, the incomparable Mozart, are rather tolerated than adored, as heretofore; and even Haydn and Beethoven, although the field which their genius had occupied was not quite the same, have been much less cherished since the intrusion of the Gran Maestro." Nor has France, though she may have been "less fickle towards her native favorites than other countries, been exempt from the Rossinimania." It cannot be denied that a man who has exerted so wide an influence, and been so universally pleasing, must have considerable talent; but the great secret of his success appears to have been his "mercurial and light-hearted organization, which was so well adapted to administer light and palpable musical food." "A buoyant vivacity may be traced in nearly the whole of his compositions, even in those intended for essentially serious situations, where they at times occur out of their proper place. However pathetic, or even tragic, the poetry of an aria, &c. may be, the musical expression imparted to it by Rossini seems, with scarcely any, exception, to fall short of the intensity of emotion contemplated by the text." "Hence it is that he has been less successful in the serious and tragic drama than in the comic and romantic." He appears to use a great variety of expedients to give rythmical seasoning to his airs," and depends very much for the effect on involution and studied antithesis. Now to imagine such a man as Rossini, sitting down with a sort of malice prepense to select what figures he shall use, and in what order he shall arrange them, seems to us to be taking much from the poetry of music.

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It is not our wish to decry the popular style of music. In itself it is very well. But we regret the sad deficiency of those bold and marked features which ought to characterize it, and lament that there is so little of the nerve and heartstirring energy which should give it life and effect. We long for some of those masters of song to rise up and work such

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