tell why. The theme is seldom, if ever, entirely lost; and the variations, without exception, are well-fancied and elegant. Another capital recommendation is, that it is of so just a length that the hearer will feel an appetite for more after the player has ceased.

The Sale of Loves, a Ballad, by Thomas Moore, Esq. London. Power.

This song demands our recognition for more reasons than the generality of single pieces. The celebrity of the author, and the exquisite taste displayed in the title and vignette arc both likely to allure towards it that share of attention which not only the song itself does not deserve, but which ought, if possible, to be averted from it.

The general decorous and becoming sense of propriety that distinguishes our age had banished from the stage, from the usages of polished life, and from the whole range of our intellectual amusements, every expression and every allusion that might wound the ear or the feelings of modesty, not to call it delicacy, when MR. MOORE, under an assumed name, ushered into the world a volume of amatory poems, that had not been equalled in licentiousness since the days of the infamous ROCHESTER, whose work, if they did not equal in coarseness of expression, they far exceeded in lascivious insinuation. The least offensive of these songs were first set to music, and sung at loose times by those loose characters of society, who, destitute themselves of female connections, pursue the detestable object of "discharging the female mind from the tyranny of custom," as MR. GODWIN has it, without regard to moral affections, without regard to the misery, which thoughts, as wild and as destructive as fire itself, bring upon their devoted victim, without remorse for the horrible circumstances of wretchedness to individuals and to families, which, in examples out of number, may be traced up to the fatal relaxation thus first produced. The early attempts were insinuated so artfully, yet, to appearance, so artlessly, that bolder trials were admitted without difficulty, without opposition, and al◄ most without raising a blush in the cheek of the child, or exciting the natural apprehensions of the parent. We shall forbear to

awaken the curiosity of those who may yet happily remain ignorant of the title of these pernicious monuments of talent ill applied -but it in those moments when MR. MOORE feels the heavenward disposition to admit that

The warmest sigh, that pleasure heaves

Is cold, and faint to those that swell

The heart, when pure repentance grieves

O'er hours of pleasure, loved too well!-Sacred Songs.

(we quote himself) he looks into the poems he had sufficient hesitation to publish under a feigned name, he may there discover these against which not our objections alone, but the cannon of the whole world of husbands, parents, and brothers, have been long since pointed.

The paltry song before us, borders very nearly upon the just description we have endeavoured to render of the worst of MR. MOORE'S performances. It comes upon us too somewhat unexpectedly, for years and their infirmities and the reflections they bring upon all of us, and more especially which they early bring upon men of pleasure, who sometimes are blessed with reason as well as imagination, had, as we had hoped, wrought a beneficial change in the author of the sacred songs, and the words to the national airs. Having proved that he can feel rightly, MR. MOORE is the less entitled to the mercy of criticism, over whose ordinances, according to the laws of the Stagyrite, we hold the moral sense and the moral duty to be predominant. Our reading instructs to this conclusion, but our feelings, and moreover our "generous loyalty to the sex," impels us by convictions as strong and as sure as the commands of the Deity, and the impulses of nature revealed to us inwardly and irresistibly. We are no narrow-minded bigots, who would stint and limit the gaiety, much less the fondness of the heart, or diminish the fullest measure of the blessing attachment bestows. On the contrary, we hold affection to be the supremest counterbalance to the evils of existence. But the universal corruption against which we plant our artillery, is the bane of such affection, and would substitute a hot promiscuous changeful intemperance, as short and restless in enjoyment, and as soon past fruition, as it is base and baseless. We direct our attack against that nameless passion, in short, which neither is nor ever can be "gentle love," because it has never been passed

through one of those "certain strainers" that refine it down till it becomes the charm of womankind.

"The Sale of Loves" presents us with a succession of the coarsest allusions, scarcely or not at all veiling the grossness and the obscenity by any of the artifices of wit or versification; yet there are traces even in this paltry composition, of better thoughts. MR. MOORE seems to appretiate at last the value of a heart. Had he known it earlier, perhaps he would not have indulged so fatally for the generation that is as well those which are to be, the propensity he has so long cherished to make it valueless, by teaching that there can be any gratification beyond the feverish inquietude of change, allotted her who says, while bartering for

"A light little love that will last a day

To-morrow I'll sport a new one."

MR. MOORE may perhaps live to feel that every addition of this sort which he makes to the catalogue of his compositions, ought to be expiated by an antidote, and he may live to know, also, that such hope is vain. At present he stands like the greatest of our actors as drawn by the greatest of our painters between tragedy and comedy, in the attitude of one not insensible to the claims which virtue has upon genius, though his half-averted countenance betrays a lingering regret towards the troop of glittering vices which have so long successfully solicited and detained him from a nobler service, and a richer perdurable reward. The author of the worst book that ever saw the light, existed long enough to desire to atone his error by a publication of one of a contrary tendency and title-but alas the one still remains to plunge millions into perdition, while the other is only known to have been at all, amongst the curious preservers of literary anecdote.

Essais sur differentes caracteres pour le piano forte par F. Kalkbrenner. Books 1 and 2. London. Chappell and Co.

It has often occurred to us, that Capriccio is the best name ever invented for pianoforte music of such a description as that which stands at the head of our page, for we can imagine no other principle upon which such things are constructed, than the wandering disposition

and unlimited power, a player of MR. KALKBRENNER's extraordi nary execution indulges in doing whatever comes uppermost, when he sits down to the instrument or to compose. It is quite impossible to imagine, that passages, which find their way into the pages of pianoforte lessons of this kind, have any other origin than chance. Here we have "essais sur differentes caracteres" but we are utterly at a loss to conjecture, to what the essais refer. To the understanding these essays convey nothing-to our ears, an insupportably tedious series of unmeaning notes, passing through interminable mo❤ dulations, and strung together for no earthly purpose, but to perplex the player and the auditor. There is nevertheless in many of the parts, a sameness that is tiresome beyond belief, particularly in the opening of the first, and in the latter pages of the second book.MR. KALKBRENNER's time is too constantly engaged to allow us to suppose, that he has not some higher purpose in view when he writes for publication, than generally supplies the motives of ordinary composers. But what beneficial end to the student there can be, in sending into the world such crude redundancies as the lesson's before us, we cannot pretend even to guess. If we might compare them as exertions of the intellectual faculties with effects purely physical, we should say, they exhibit præternatural power to much about the same usefulness, as a man in convulsions who exerts his strength upon the substances which happen to be within his reach.It begins to be time for eminent masters to put an end to these extravaganzas, and to return to something less removed from truth of expression, to surprise less, to please and satisfy more. If the present rage for execution continues a few years longer, we may venture to prophecy, that the good sense of the generality will make a resolution fatal to the prevalence of musical attainments. The time and expence bestowed upon acquirements so inadequate, will deter parents from submitting their children to an employment so profiiless and barren of real pleasure. In the progress of the art, mediocrity is now come to be despicable-but there will be found a few only who will be mad enough to aspire to "that bad eminence" which can procure for them the short-lived admiration which waits upon mere astonishment, while the heart is cold. What do you think of it, asked an enquirer of a Gentleman who had listened with the deepest attention to a celebrated player? I think, said he, it might be done quicker by steam.

We may strengthen our opinion by the authority of a sensible old writer.-AVISON, in his treatise on musical expression, says—

"But, if we may judge from the general turn of our modern music (I speak not of the English only), this due regard, as well to a natural succession of melodies, as to their harmonious accompaniments, seems generally neglected or forgotten. Hence that deluge of unbounded extravaganzi, which the unskillful call invention, and which are merely calculated to shew an execution, without either propriety or grace.

In these vague and unmeaning pieces, we often find the unmeaning composer, either struggling with the difficulties of an extraneous modulation, or tiring the most consummate patience with a tedious repetition of some jejune thought, imagining he can never do enough, till he run through every key that can be crowded into one into one movement; till, at length, all his force being exhausted, he drops into a dull close; where his languid piece seems rather to expire and yield its last, than conclude with a spirited and well-timed cadence."

An Introduction and Polonoise for the Piano Forte, by H. J. Bertini. London. Chappell and Co.

This is one of those numerous ephemera, for the publication of which we can assign no just reason. With the exception of about a dozen bars, near the beginning of the introduction, there is nothing either to captivate the ear or solicit the judgment. The modulation even in the adagio, which begins the piece, is far from pleasing, while the polacca wearies with sameness, and want of invention. The best attribute of the lesson is, that it is short.

La Belle Ecossoise, divertimento for the Piano Forte, composed by James Calkin. London. Chappell and Co.

The theme, as its title imports, has reference to or is rather an imitation of the peculiarity which characterizes Scotch music. And it is a light and pretty lesson. We should be liable to embroil