of it in another quarter." The manager, enchanted with this generosity, was profuse in his promises. Mozart immediately set about the music, and composed it agreeably to the instructions given him. The opera was performed; the house was always filled; it was talked of all over Germany, and was performed, a short time afterwards, on five or six different theatres, none of which had obtained their copies from the distressed manager.

"On other occasions, he met only with ingratitude from those to whom he had rendered service, but nothing could extinguish his compassion for the unfortunate. Whenever any distressed artists, who were strangers to Vienna, applied to him, in passing through the city, he offered them the use of his house and table, introduced them to the acquaintance of those persons whom he thought most likely to be of use to them, and seldom let them depart without writing for them concertos, of which he did not even keep a copy, in order that being the only persons to play them, they might exhibit themselves to more advantage.

"Mozart often gave concerts at his house on Sundays. A Polish count, who was introduced on one of these occasions, was delighted, as well as the rest of the company, with a piece of music for five instruments, which was performed for the first time. He expressed to Mozart how much he had been gratified by it, and requested that, when he was at leisure, he would compose for him a trio for the flute. Mozart promised to do so, on condition that it should be at his own time. The count, on his return home, sent the composer 100 gold demi-sovereigns,

66

(about 1007.) with a very polite note, in which he thanked him for the pleasure he had enjoyed. Mozart sent him the original score of the piece for five instruments, which had appeared to please him. The count left Vienna. A year afterwards he called again upon Mozart, and enquired about his trio. Sir," replied the composer, "I have never felt myself in a disposition to write any thing that I should esteem worthy of your acceptance.' "Probably,' replied the count, you will not feel more disposed to return me the 100 demi-sovereigns, which I paid you beforehand for the piece." Mozart, indignant, immediately returned him his sovereigns; but the count said nothing about the original score of the piece for five instruments; and it was soon afterwards published by Artaria, as a quatuor for the harpsichord, with an accompaniment for the violin, alto, and violoncello.

"It has been remarked, that Mozart very readily acquired new habits. The health of his wife, whom he always passionately loved, was very delicate. During a long illness which she had, he always met those who came to see her, with his finger on his lips, as an intimation to them not to make a noise. His wife recovered, but, for a long time afterwards, he always went to meet those who came to visit him with his finger on his lips, and speaking in a subdued tone of voice.

"In the course of this illness, he occasionally took a ride on horseback, early in the morning, but, before he went, he was always careful to lay a paper near his wife, in the form of a physician's prescription. The following is a copy of one of these: Good morning, my

my love, I hope you have slept well, and that nothing has disturbed you: be careful not to take cold, or to hurt yourself in stooping: do not vex yourself with the servants: avoid every thing that would be unpleasant to you, till I return : take good care of yourself: I shall return at nine o'clock."

"Constance Weber was an excellent companion for Mozart, and often gave him useful advice. She bore him two children, whom he tenderly loved. His income was considerable, but his immoderate Jove of pleasure, and the disorder of his affairs, prevented him from bequeathing any thing to his family, except the celebrity of his name, and the attention of the public. After the death of this great composer, the inhabitants of Vienna testified to his children, their gratitude for the pleasure which their father had so often afforded them.

"During the last years of Mozart's Jife, his health, which had always been delicate, declined rapidly. Like all persons of imagination, he was timidly apprehensive of future evils, and the idea that he had not long to live, often distressed him. At these times, he worked with such rapidity, and unremitting attention, that he sometimes forgot every thing that did not relate to his art. Frequently, in the height of his enthusiasm, his strength failed him, he fainted, and was obliged to be carried to his bed. Every one saw that he was ruining his health by this immoderate application. His wife, and his friends, did all they could to divert him. Out of complaisance, he accompanied them in the walks and visits to which they took him, but his thoughts were always absent. He was only occasionally roused from this silent

and habitual melancholy, by the presentiment of his approaching end, an idea which always awakened in him fresh terror.

"His insanity was similar to that of Tasso, and to that which rendered Rousseau so happy in the valley of Charmettes, by leading him, through the fear of approaching death, to the only true philosophy, the enjoyment of the present moment and the forgetting of sorrow. Perhaps, without that high state of nervous sensibility which borders on insanity, there is no superior genius in the arts which require tenderness of feeling.

"His wife, uneasy at these singular habits, invited to the house those persons whom he was most fond of seeing, and who pretended to surprise him, at times when, after many hours' application, he ought naturally to have thought of resting. Their visits pleased him, but he did not lay aside his pen ; they talked, and endeavoured to engage him in the conversation, but he took no interest in it; they addressed themselves particularly to him, he uttered a few inconsequential words, and went on with his writing.

"This extreme application, it may be observed, sometimes accompanies genius, but is by no means a proof of it. Who can read Thomas's emphatic collection of superlatives? Yet this writer was so absorbed in his meditations on the means of being eloquent, that once, at Montmorency, when his footman brought him the horse on which he usually rode out, he offered the animal a pinch of snuff. Raphael Mengs also, in the present age, was remarkable for absence, yet he is only a painter of the third order; while Guido, who was always at

the

the gaming table, and who, towards the conclusion of his life, painted as many as three pictures in a day, to pay the debts of the night, has left behind him works, the least valuable of which is more pleasing than the best of Mengs, or of Carlo Maratti, both of them men of great application.

"A lady once said to me," Mr. tells me that I shall reign for ever in his heart, that I shall be sole mistress of it. Assuredly I believe bim, but what signifies it, if his heart itself does not please me?" Of what use is the application of a man without genius? Mozart has been, in the eighteenth century, perhaps the most striking example of the union of the two. Benda, the author of Ariadne in the isle of Naxos, has also long fits of absence. "It was in this state of mind that he composed the Zauber Flote, the Clemenza di Tito, the Requiem, and some other pieces of less celebrity. It was while he was writing the music of the first of these operas, that he was seized with the fainting fits we have mentioned. He was very partial to the Zauber Flote, though he was not quite satisfied with some parts of it, to which the public had taken a fancy, and which were incessantly applauded. This opera was performed many times, but the weak state in which Mozart then was, did not permit him to direct the orchestra, except during nine or ten of the first representations. When he was no longer able to attend the theatre, he used to place his watch by his side, and seemed to follow the orchestra in his thoughts. "Now the first act is over," he would say-" now they are singing such an air," &c.; then, the idea would strike him afresh, that he must soon bid adieu to all this for ever.

"The effect of this fatal tendency of mind was accelerated by a very singular circumstance. I beg leave to be permitted to relate it in detail, because we are indebted to it for the famous Requiem, which is justly considered one of Mozart's best productions.

I

"One day, when he was plunged in a profound reverie, he heard a carriage stop at his door. A stranger was announced, who requested to speak to him. A person was introduced, handsomely dressed, of dignified and impressive manners. have been commissioned, Sir, by a man of considerable importance, to call upon you."-" Who is he?" interrupted Mozart.-" He does not wish to be known.' "Well, what does he want?"-" He has just lost a person whom he tenderly loved, and whose memory will be eternally dear to him. He is desirous of annually commemorating this mournful event by a solemn service, for which he requests you to compose a Requiem.' Mozart was forcibly struck by this discourse, by the grave manner in which it was uttered, and by the air of mystery in which the whole was involved. He engaged to write the Requiem. The stranger continued,

Employ all your genius on this work; it is destined for a connoisseur."-" So much the better.". "What time do you require?"

A month."-" Very well: in a mouth's time I shall return.-What price do you set on your work?"— "A hundred ducats." The stranger counted them on the table, and disappeared.

"Mozart remained lost in thought for some time; he then suddenly called for pen, ink, and paper, and, in spite of his wife's entreaties, began to write. This rage for composition continued several days; he

wrote

wrote day and night, with an ardour which seemed continually to increase; but his constitution, already in a state of great debility, was unable to support this enthusiasm: one morning, he fell senseless, and was obliged to suspend his work. Two or three days after, when his wife sought to divert his mind from the gloomy presages which occupied it, he said to her abruptly: "It is certain that I am writing this Requiem for myself; it will serve for my funeral service." Nothing could remove this impression from his mind.

"As he went on, he felt his strength diminish from day to day, and the score advanced slowly. The month which he had fixed, being expired, the stranger again made his appearance. "I have found it impossible," said Mozart, "to keep my word."—" Do not give yourself any uneasiness," replied the stranger; "what further time do you require?"" Another month. The work has interested me more than [ expected, and I have extended it much beyond what I at first designed."" In that case, it is but just to increase the premium; here are fifty ducats more.' Sir,"

said Mozart, with increasing astonishment, "who, then, are you?”* "That is nothing to the purpose; in a month's time I shall return." "Mozart immediately called one of his servants, and ordered him to follow this extraordinary personage, and find out who he was; but the man failed for want of skill, and returned without being able to trace him.

"Poor Mozart was then persuaded that he was no ordinary being that he had a connexion with the other world, and was sent to announce to him his approaching end. He applied himself with the more ardour to his Requiem, which he regarded as the most durable monument of his genius. While thus employed, he was seized with the most alarming fainting fits, but the work was at length completed before the expiration of the month. At the time appointed, the stranger returned, but Mozart was no more. "His career was as brilliant as it was short. He died before he had completed his thirty-sixth year; but in this short space of time he has acquired a name which will never perish, so long as feeling hearts are to be found.'

THIS work is drawn up from

THIS

the papers of the late Mr. Beloe, who is chiefly known by his Translation of Herodotus, and his Anecdotes of Books. The former is a very respectable production, which, however, will give to those who are not acquainted with the

original, a very inadequate idea of the charming simplicity, the easy and frank familiarity, and the chaste and flowing style, of the Father of Historians. The Anecdotes of Books were drawn up from scarce and curious works in the British Museum, and are compiled with judgment,

judgment, and may be read with interest and instruction by those who wish to gain an insight into the state of literature, and of the opinions, manners, &c. of the 16th and 17th centuries.

The Sexagenarian is a gossiping book, containing, amidst some curious characteristic anecdotes of the

times and of individuals, much that is trifling, or unimportant or unfounded, and still more that is illiberal. Mr. Beloe's attachment to his own religious and political sentiments seems to have been too powerful for his Christian charity and candour.

"Mr. Pitt's tutor was so intimately connected with every thing relating to his illustrious friend, that we cannot any where more properly introduce what appears in our manuscript about him. This eminent person's mind is of far too high a stamp to experience any thing like mortification or chagrin at the mention of his origin, and the rank of his forefathers. It has, indeed, been said, that some remoter branch of the family had been of the rank of baronet. Be this as it may, when our friend first went to the university, he spent a part of the day where he remembered seeing the name connected with some lucrative mercantile concern. This he afterwards found was the father, who, on his son's elevation, retired from business to a very respectable and comfortable residence in the place where he had lived so long and so reputably: and died not long since, full of years and peace. On our friend's arrival at Cambridge, Dr. P. was soon pointed out to him, and he was at first very unfavourably impressed with his forbidding appearance. His countenance was, to his apprehension, strongly marked with harshness and austerity. This idea weighed so deeply upon his mind that afterwards, when in

the Senate House under examination for his degree, Professor — thought he was not likely to have justice done him, and desired Dr.

to see what he could do, he was so much under the influence of prejudice against him that he declined it, to his most obvious disadvantage.

He was

'He felt himself, however, bound in duty and gratitude to acknowledge that never were first impressions more fallacious. afterwards admitted to the Bishop on terms of familiarity, indeed we may say friendship, and a more amiable, courteous, excellent man never lived. But to expatiate on these qualities here, would be wandering from the course. Fortunately for Dr., Pembroke was the college selected for Mr. Pitt's place of education. The society could then boast of no other person equally qualified to superintend the studies of a youth, so circumstanced, and so endowed. It was perfectly natural, that a great intimacy should be progressively formed and cemented between the instructor and the pupil, and it is alike honourable to both, that this attachment continued without interruption to the very last moment of Mr. litt's too abbreviated life.