'to account for them is difficult, but every musi'cian is sensible of their existence.'-Lives of Haydn and Mozart.

CHAPTER XLIII.

ON RHYTHM.

RHYTHм is to the ear what order and regularity are to the eye. When we survey the symmetry of the human form, we find the arms, the hands, the eyes, the fingers, equidistant from a line drawn down the nose, through the centre of the body. We discover a similar regularity in the vegetable tribes, and the very principles of architecture depend upon these due proportions. Though the ear receives but one impression at a time, and has to wait for the coming sounds to form a musical idea, yet in this succession it demands the same order, which, to the eye, is presented at once. If we refer to savage life we find an innate fondness for rhythm.* The recurthe character of the keys G, D, A, and E, must be more brilliant than any other, from the circumstance of the open strings forming the key

note.

* The Indian jugglers who exhibit such extraordinary feats with swords, cups and balls, depend upon the rhythm of the movement for the success of their performance. The balls are of different gravities, and are thrown with a certain velocity, so that they shall fall into the hand in the time of quavers and semiquavers, and from their being hollow and made like a coral bell, they give a jingling sound, by which they are more easily caught.

rence of similar sounds, at stated intervals, agrees with the motion of our animal spirits, and we naturally, in a state of joy, jump, laugh, and sing. Plutarch informs us that, in early times, such was the fondness for rhythm and numbers, that all instruction was given in musical verse; there was neither history, nor philosophy, nor an action described but what was dressed by the Muses. Before Herodotus, says Voltaire, the Greeks wrote all history in verse, which custom they borrowed from the Egyptians. The end of history was to preserve to posterity the memory of great men, whose example might be of service to mankind; and they laid hold of verse to assist the memory.

A boy who beats a drum may be incapable of discerning the beauties of harmony and melody, and yet have an ear for rhythm. If a nailer's hammer is held loosely in the hand and let fall upon that dead sort of anvil which they use, it will be found to rebound and dance upon the anvil in the following rhythmical triplets:

Without this motion intervening between the stroke, the nailer could neither perform his work so expeditiously nor so well. Rhythm may be said to be the map or ground plan upon which a musical composition proceeds. In language it regulates the flow

of words, and in dance it governs the movement of the feet and the inflections of the body. Without this symmetry no music can be deemed beautifulwithout it, ideas in themselves good and pleasing lose their charm. They may be compared to a confused heap of gaudy gems, which, viewed in a kaleidoscope, delight us by the beauty of their arrangement, and their interminable combinations. Pope, on hearing Handel play some of his finest pieces, declared that they gave him no sort of pleasure, that his ears were of that reprobate cast that he greatly preferred the simplicity of a ballad. It is hard to conceive how an ear so perfectly attuned to all the delicacies of rhythm, and poetical numbers, could be totally insensible to the beauty of musical sounds. Poets often possess no other faculty in common with the musician than that of rhythm, while the painter, with a more extended sympathy, evinces every other feeling for the art: so much so, that he describes his picture in a language made up of musical terms. Doctor Johnson was a poet of Pope's description, and Sir Walter Scott, the greatest writer of the age, has said, he had not an ear for anything in music beyond a ballad tune, or a march; and it is stated by Mr. Moore that the immortal Byron felt no gratification from music except from a simple air-while it is equally evident that the lyric bards, Shakspeare, Milton, and Moore, have written with all the feelings of the most sensitive musician.

CHAPTER XLIV.

ON DANCE.

THAT innate feeling of man which desires to manifest sentiments of joy, throws the voice into song, the speech into verse, and our gestures into dance. It is found to exist among all nations, even the most rude and barbarous; and it is evident that this universal disposition to joyous action may be referred to the peculiar structure of the human body.

But dancing is not confined to those outward expressions which spring from a feeling of gladness; taste and genius have by degrees formed it into an art, in which the 'sentiments of the mind and pas'sions are expressed by measured steps or bounds, 'that are made in cadence, by regulated motions of 'the body and graceful gestures; all of which can only be successfully produced by that law of na'ture called rhythm.'

To mark out the rhythm as a governing principle in these motions, music has been found to be the most efficient method. In the dances of savages, this is simply done by the clapping of hands, or the beating of a drum; but since melody and the phrases of music are capable of making the finest gradations in rhythm perceptible to the ear, not only grace, but passion and sentiment have followed as natural expressions in the motion and carriage of the human form.

In the time of Charles II., the dancing music in this country was so uncouth and vulgar, that it is doubtful whether the graces of the ball room exceeded those of the village barn of the present day. So inappropriate were the strains, that we find Purcel's song of 'Mad Tom' converted into a dance tune by Playford. In France and Italy, dancing was evidently brought much nearer to a state of perfection, as we may infer from the music which has come down to us. The refined compositions of Corelli exhibit many instances, not only of correct rhythm, but graceful melody; and in his lighter compositions, we find specimens of the dance tunes of the day, which he designates allemands, jigs, correnti, sarabands, gavotts, and minuetts.

As an elegant art, dancing has ever followed in the train of music, and its advances have entirely depended upon the great improvement which melody has acquired.

Boccherini, probably, was the first composer who ornamented his sonatas with those fluent strains, which imparted to the motion of dance that ease and grace which surrounded the Spanish court. It is questionable if Haydn is not indebted to this great master for the first hints of an embellished style, which laid the foundation of the new school of music. In his first quartett occurs the following specimen of a dancing minuet, which gave the taste to all subsequent pieces of this kind.