road to righteous victory—"Against the tyrant fought with holy glee." The pp strain ensuing does not strike as incongruous, but of peculiar feeling and beauty. How beautifully melody, harmony, and bass, are all one—work together for good, and progress to the climax. As a bit of writing, it is a model for study; a very charming instance of the success of true scholarship and feeling—scholarship based on feeling; scholarship unconscious, so that the effect is nature. The codetta carries us back again to the pastoral mood—whence we are congruously re-taken to the warlike by the pompous vague chords—long used before Stephen Heller, for instance!—at the end.

Part No. 2 suggests at the outset one broad general remark, which we hasten to make. It is this. Beethoven, herein not original, but imitative, generally confines himself—in the sonatas as well—to making the second part mostly a mere elaboration of the first. Now, we beg—at all events, at this time of day—to dissent from, and traverse this. We are for making your first part long enough, and repeating it if you will; but for giving us mostly new ideas, yet in character, in the second. We are not afraid of the "as a whole" theory; da capo we traverse the dogma that what you have got to do is, to give one good idea thoroughly worked out. Wagner has carried this to a wearisome excess. We want no opera or symphony constructed out of "four notes" or forty. elaboration does not disguise—or rather conceal—the essential sameness—which becomes tameness. And we don't want as sets-off mere "episodes." Beethoven's episodes, as here, are of course, interesting; but, because episodes (?) fragmentary, intercalated, rather than essential; postponements of the old "Hauptsache," rather than independent new ideas. Because this second part is essentially but an elaboration (often a mere repetition, in another key, of ideas already repeated—surely, for the most part, an exploded error?), we have little new to say. The harmonious progressions to the episodes will be studied and felt by every musician. The minor passage, la—do—mi—sol nat.—la, is fine, but not novel in Beethoven. The crash, ff, is characteristically grand; the whole elaboration full again of power—power that is, and prophetic power to do; power latent and patent. At the beautiful contrapuntal passage in E flat we are again reminded of the F Sonata. The melodious breathings—which must be studied—a little farther on, teach us the very beautiful and interesting lesson (another subject for essay) of the unconscious effect of imitation; and of the unconscious imitation which often lies in effect. The progressions and culminations are Beethovenially grand; in fact, the whole second part superior, if possible, to the first, once admitted the right or propriety of the modus operandi. As a whole, the movement stands four-square, noble, filling us with the benefit and pleasure of energetic beauty. This is life—mens sana in corpore sano; no hint or shadow of madness; youthful power, generosity, enthusiasm, valour, and hope. At that utterance when first heard, once more men must have felt "a man-child is born into the world;" and the government shall be upon his shoulders—note especially, the do, do, la, do sharp, passage, and other culminations. Here, though Beethoven has not surpassed, if rivalled, the "Allegro" of Op. 13, he has given it a worthy counterpart. We are invigorated, and cheered—nay, roused to enthusiasm; poured full of virtuous resolve and noble daring. Lebe hoch der junge Beethoven! Au reste—we should have to use much colder language for the other movements (except the splendid minuet, so superior to the trio, which also suggests incongruity—unless we like to call it contrast?). The andante seems in no way superior to Haydn, and becomes veritably langweilig. How inferior to the "Andante, Op. 26!" The rondo is, comparatively, mere trifling—we are inclined to say, unworthy of Beethoven. We have no real pleasure in playing it, but constantly think, "Oh, for the first movement!" Summing up this symphony, we may perhaps decide: On the whole, guilty of incongruity—of want of proper consciousness. Why this halting between the pastoral and warlike? If your "as a whole" theory is good for a movement, why not for a symphony? due allowance for contrast excepted. Certainly, it may be said, the symphony is of unequal value; and that had Beethoven given us all equal to the "Allegro," it would have been a truly great symphony, quite worthy of his great name. As it is, the allegro and minuet alone partake of the immortal.

Symphony II. Opus 36.

THE ADAGIO.

The worn-out despot offered a premium for a new pleasure; the critic would often do so for a new epithet. How shall I characterize this exquisite prelude? It is as the portico to the Walhalla of the gods. Here we have the real Beethoven in his divine profundity—profound, because beautiful; its very beauty constituting the depth, as it were, thickening into it, like the ocean and heaven. This beauty, the true Proteus, is evasive; its import was not clear to the utterer himself, no message of the Divine is, to the human vehicle—

"A coral conduit ivory cisterns filling."

We cannot exactly translate or interpret it, only we feel that were it translated, we should have a divine poem in a divine language. One could spend hours going into the details of it—for every note demands a word; those two opening ones namely. How characteristic! There is the Emperor Tone-Poet, Napoleon of music, commanding "Attention!" and not—God forbid!—for himself, but for his message. It is the "Thus saith the Lord" of the prophet (some Elijah) of old. Utterance so simple—so all-compelling! Those two notes, merely, are, as it were, like the slightest scratch of an apostle. Then the next three bars! They at once usher us into that ineffability of Beethoven's which we spoke of. We have no reluctance to admitting that originality is not particularly studied here. Nay, we are inclined to say something higher—the modesty and moral courage to reject originality is displayed. Beethoven had to deliver that "Thus saith the Lord!" and he did it. First feel, and then study, the unstudied eloquence of it. It is one of the beautiful instances whose name is legion in Beethoven, of simplicity—

"In its simplicity sublime."

To me it says—"There! the storms are all fought out. Peace, after all, is at the bottom, and in the heart." Or it is like a high man—say Beethoven himself—after the despicable petty disgusts, as well as chaotic horrors of life, falling back upon nature, the eternal star-glimmering universe—"they will not repel and deceive me, they are everlasting and sublime!" The phrase—like every great message—is really indescribable except by itself; the profound peace, or rather peaceful profundity of it, are unutterable—

"O that my tongue could utter"—

It is a great instance of height towering out of depth, high because deep, a peak in music, yet not clad with eternal glacier, except for its purity of heart, but eternal sunbeams.

After an interesting passage of "harmonious breathing" interposed, and the still more interesting one of chromatic part-repetition, the shakes—which are ultimately to play a great part—first make their appearance. The taste for the shake can soon degenerate; and Beethoven himself sometimes used it incontinently. But, when properly introduced, as here, and especially at the last, it is an ornament that has a more or less magical charm.

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