very pearls of Poetry and Music may be thrown; only, the ancient proverb is in these days illustrated in a rather remarkable way, it is found now that the two-legged tramplers-under-foot consider themselves highly qualified critics. But happily for the progress of humanity the pearls last on, to be admired and cherished for long ages; the criticism often dies with the critic. The two higher beauties of Poetry which are missed by the uncultivated are-the ideality of the thought, and the Music of the diction. The upward flight of the noble mind, struggling ever onwards to attain something still more beautiful and more nearly perfect, cannot be watched or traced by the halftrained eyes of one of the common folk; such eyes as his must be shaded from the blaze of sunlight; so is the ideality of the great poet unseen and unknown but to the few. The Music of Poetry consists in the presentation to the ear of successive sounds which satisfy our natural craving for rhythmical proportion, whilst tempering the regularity of rhythm by frequent contrasts; the taste must be carefully cultivated before it is keen enough to gauge such delicacies of construction or form. But every word which has just been said about the due appreciation of Poetry may be equally applied to the art of Music; indeed, the elements and characteristics of the two arts are so interwoven that they can with difficulty be unravelled. Has a man no Music in him? he will never become a poet; has he

no Poetry in him? he will never become a musician. The old writer uttered a deep truth when he quaintly defined Poetry as "Reason joined with Musick;" and we may justly add that Music is "Poetry and Painting in sound:" Poetry, because its merit lies in the ideality of its aims and the beauty of proportion in its construction and form; Painting, because it enables us to call up vividly scenes which painters have ever essayed to put on canvas, though they have perhaps never realized them to the fullest. Great poets and musicians are of "the few who ennoble the many," and they probably do more than any other artists to save humanity from a saddening and pessimist view of life of the dread struggle for existence going on around us. Thy have, of course, easier means of exerting widespread influence than other artists. A beautiful piece of music or a beautiful poem may conceivably be listened to or read in every home throughout civilized life at the same moment of time, but the master-picture or the all-but living piece of sculpture remains stationary on one spot. If such are to be enjoyed, their whereabouts must first be discovered, and thither all (who can!) must make a pilgrimage. These lovely twin-sisters, Poetry and Music, have therefore much cause for mutual congratulation, and I call upon all of you who, when listening to a sonata or symphony, have had poetical thoughts of inexpressible beauty suggested to you by sister Music, to turn to the pages

which follow and hear how tunefully Poetry can repay her sister's love. To you who know and love the beauty of Poetry, but to whom the highest meanings of Music are hidden, I would say, read Poetry's praise of her sister Music; if you do so, I doubt not you will earnestly desire to enter into that new realm of thought and emotion from which it is in her power alone to draw aside the veil, and into the joys of which she alone can grant you admittance.

J. S.

MUSIC IN SONG.

WRITTEN 1369.

WAS waked

With smale foules, a grete hepe,

That had afrayed me out of slepe,

Thorgh noyse and sweetnesse of her songe.
And songen everych in hys wyse

The moste solempne servise

By noote, that ever man, Y trowe,

Had herd... for instrument nor melodye

Was no-wher herd yet half so swete,

Nor of acorde ne half so mete.

CHAUCER.

LAME not my Lute! for he must sound
Of this or that as liketh me;

For lack of wit the Lute is bound

To give such tunes as pleaseth me;

B

Though my songs be somewhat strange,

And speak such words as touch my change,
Blame not my Lute!

SIR T. WYAT.

EPITAPH OF T. TALLIS, COMPOSER, D. 1585.

NTERRED here doth ly a worthy wyght,

Who for long tyme in musick bore the
bell;

His name to shew was Thomas Tallis hyght,
In honest vertuous lyff he dyd excell.

He served long tyme in chappel with grete prayse, Fower sovereygnes reignes (a thing not often seene), I mean King Henry and Prince Edward's dayes, Quene Marie, and Elizabeth our quene.

FTSOONS they heard a most melodious sound,

Of all that mote delight a dainty ear, Such as at once might not on living ground, Save in this paradise, be heard elsewhere; Right hard it was for wight which did it hear, To rede what manner Music that mote be;