proud of his influence and talent, as it helped to raise her above those persons in whose rank she stood. At that point-and this was the right point-had his Lordship's disposition been amiable, she probably had stopped. If he had died, really impressed with her merits, and as a tribute to it bequeathed her, all his wealth, gratitude would have led her really to regret him; and of course, her regret being genuine, would have been silent and unostentatious. But this was not exactly the Lady's case. The deceased judge had been violent in his temper, and suspicious-the vice of his profession. Dying almost suddenly, while engaged in a tour with the Countess, under a will made shortly after their marriage, she had inherited his fortune; but it was only the want of some necessary formalities which prevented a later disposition from taking effect, by which, in the event of her marrying again, five-fifths of her property would have become forfeit. Under such circumstances, it will not be unfair to infer, that the suffrage of the world-its applause of her bearing in her new rank and state' was all that the Countess aimed at in her demonstrations to the memory of her husband; and this feeling fed her-as it does most persons who allow any one feeling to supersede every other-into great extravagance. Her grief, she soon found, (as the Marchioness said), did attract as much notice as her wealth and beauty. It was rather new, and very interesting; pious in the eyes of those who credited it, and those who did not, still gave their attention. Very soon, of course, the more hyperbolical the expression became, the better it succeeded. Her Ladyship wept constantly; refused society, except such as was very select; wrote verses to her husband's empty chair; built a splendid mausoleum to his memory at his birthplace; and not content with that, which was a customary and legitimate proceeding, she actually set up a sort of supplementary shrine, for present purposes-a kind of weeping-place of ease, with an urn, and a bust, and an inscription, and so forth-at the bottom of a fine cypress walk in the Marquis's garden. The spectators of all this "pomp of wretchedness," formed very opposite opinions from it; and the truth lay, as it is apt to do, pretty nearly in the middle. Some believed that the Lady was a mirror of conjugal piety, which was not true, for she had cared but little, personally, for her husband. Others contended, that she was merely labouring vehemently for a second offer, which again was not true, for she valued her high reputation too much to have hastily even listened to one;-and certainly there was at least so much of candour in her declarations of horror at the thought of a second marriage, that she had never taken the remotest step to search or inquire out, her former lover. With the Marchioness, notwithstanding some occasional bickerings, she was upon good terms; for the Lady Clarissa found any society a relief. And the Countess herself, who never forgave the part that her own family had taken in her marriage, chose the chateau of her retation, the Marquis, as a pleasant and honourable retirement. In the mean time, the sympathy which her Ladyship's grief excited, of course, made it increase rather than diminish every day. She joined the family only at intervals; and most religiously passed a portion of every morning in the cypress walk, where she might be sought by any visitors (for she received none), whose particular rank, or length of acquaintance, authorized them to intrude. And it was in such performances of her duties and devotions, that she was engaged at that peculiar moment of our tale, when the Marquis and his whole party, with an invitation to share in their fishing excur sion, menaced her with their approach, as our next Number shall “frutify.' SEBASTIAN BACH'S MOTETTS, AND MOZART'S MASS. AN interesting work, by Frederick Rochlitz, entitled Für Freunde der Tonkunst, (for the I-overs of Music,)--which has been published in Germany, contains some remarks on the compositions of Sebastian Bach. The author relates, that when at the age of nineteen, he began to study Bach's Motetts, they afforded him but little pleasure, and they were for the most part utterly incomprehensible to him. He accordingly adopted the opinion of St. Jerome, who says,-Si non vis intelligi, non debes legi,—and he laid aside the Motetts, the study of which he did not resume for several years after. The following anecdote will shew how different was the impression produced on Mozart, when, for the first time, he heard one of these celebrated compositions. He happened to be present at a kind of musical festival given in the Thomas School at Leipsick, on the installation of Doles to the situation of Cantor*. A motett for eight voices by Sebastian Bach was one of the pieces executed on this occasion, by the Pupils of the Thomas School. At that period, Mozart knew very little of Bach's compositions, and with the celebrated motetts, which were not printed, he was entirely unacquainted. No sooner had the chorus executed a few bars of the motett, than he started, and exclaimed, What is this!"—The performance proceeded, and Mozart listened to it with such intense interest, that his whole soul seemed to be in his ears. When the piece was concluded, he exclaimed in a transport of joy: "This indeed is a composition from which something is to be learned!" He was informed that the school, of which Sebastian Bach had himself been Cantor, possessed a complete collection of the motetts of that great master, which were treasured and preserved with as much care as sacred reliques. “That is right, said Mozart. That is as it should be ;—but let me see them," continued he. There was no score of the motetts, and he requested to look at the parts which were written out separately, for the different voices. These were accordingly brought to him He kneeled down on the ground, and having distributed the music on the surrounding seats, he remained in this posture, until he had carefully examined every note. Mozart was an ardent admirer of Handell's music, a circumstance which, doubtless, exercised an important influence on the style of his own ecclesiastical compositions. But to his profound admiration of the works of Sebastian Bach, the world is probably indebted for one of the most sublime creations of his genius, namely-his Mass for five voices, a work with which perhaps no other musical composition in the same class will bear comparison. Having before us the commencement of this extraordinary production, we are persuaded we shall gratify our readers by inserting the following brief extracts from it :— In Germany, the title of Cantor is given to the first singer of a church choir, and also to the masters who teach singing in the public schools. The Cautor a pears to be an office of very long standing; for about the end of the 6th century, the Cautorate, or a school for teaching children to read and sing, was founded in Rome, by Pope Gregory the Great; and in the 9th century, in the reign of Charlemagne, this establishment was transferred to Germany. The two principal schools of singing which now exist in Germany are the Kreuzscühle, at Dresden, and the Thomasschüle, at Leipsick. At these establishments boys only are receiv 4. Each has an excellent choir, formed by the pupils. |