_voice_, and without that organ in its most perfect state, complete
justice can never be done to their strains.

I before said these masters flourished previous to the debut of Mr.
Braham; for it is in a great measure owing to that gentleman, and the
false taste he introduced and has kept alive, that they are now so
seldom heard in our theatres, concerts, or drawing-rooms. We have lost
the notes of melody and feeling, and what have we in their stead? The
glitter and plagiarism of Rossini, the ponderous science of Weber, and
the absolute trash of all our English composers. The last mentioned
gentlemen certainly came into court "in forma pauperis,"--satisfied with
the merit of arrangers, harmonizers, &c., and are found to confess, when
detection is probable, that the very soul of their pieces--the
melody[5]--is taken from such an Italian, such a Sicilian, Greek, nay
even Russian air.

[5] "Melody is the essence of Music," said Mozart to Michael
Kelly; "I compare a good melodist to a _fine racer_, and
counter-points to _hack post-horses_."

I think I can, in some degree, account for the fashion these composers
have gained, and why, I fear, they are likely to maintain it. It is that
the _public have become too musical_. Every female, from the highest to
the lowest, whose parents can purchase a piano-forte, and pay a master,
_must_ learn music; the number of teachers and pupils are multiplied
without end; and out of either class how many are there qualified by
nature as singers? Not two in fifty. What follows? By labour and
attention _science_ may be acquired, although _voice_ cannot. The
voiceless teacher may instruct his voiceless pupil in the foppery of an
art, the _spirit_ of which is unattainable by either; pieces merely