before Sevastopol, and weep while they sang or listened. There are other ballads just as sweet as that sweet ballad, as there are other girls as dear as Annie Laurie; but it happened to be a favorite in England when the war broke out; it mingled with the memories of fading Dover cliffs, and told those tearful, bearded heroes of the girls they had left behind them. The Swiss herdsmen's songs are beautiful; but the songs that Mozart wrote are far more beautiful, with a beauty higher, tenderer, more essential, more enduring. Yet the strains of the herdsman never die out of a Switzer's ear, and ever call him back to his mountain home with sad imperiousness, while he is content to admire Mozart wherever he can hear him to the best advantage. It is not safe to measure the power of music by the effects that it produces, or to trust to the genuineness of feeling exhibited under its influence. So many dull ears and honest hearts think that they are enjoying music when they are only resting their heads once more in their mothers' laps, or trembling again with the sweet tumults of their first passion; so many sensitive organizations think that they are wrapt in the fervor of religious worship, when they are but spell-bound by the enchanting strains of Haydn or of Cherubini.

Music affords a pleasure neither purely intellectual nor purely sensual. More than any other art, more than any other means of impressing the human organization, it addresses itself to man's entire nature. With those who really feel its power, it takes mind and soul, and sense all captive. It does not refine;

it does not elevate; it does not strengthen. It leaves the moral nature quite untouched. It has no moral, nay, no intellectual influence whatever. Pages of weak sentiment and fallacious speculation have been written upon the contrary assumption; volumes of nonsense have been talked and retalked, in ever diluting and re-diluting feebleness. Some of the greatest scoundrels that ever lived, some of the feeblest intellects, some of the most grovelling souls, have possessed not only the finest and most sensitive musical organizations, but the most exquisite musical taste; have thrilled themselves, and have sent responsive thrills through throngs of cultivated hearers by the mere spell of their own voices. Where are there pettier jealousies or fiercer hates than among musicians?-private or public, it makes no difference. Not by reason of their art, but altogether in spite of it. It does absolutely nothing towards the elevation of intellectual tone, or the mitigation of moral deformity. Let any man ask himself if he ever spoke the more kindly to a shivering beggar, or was tenderer of the feelings of a friend because he had just turned his back upon the opera-house and was still palpitating with the exquisite pleasure of hearing Alboni's Ah non credea. We are told that the angels sing in heaven; but were not the Sirens monsters from below the lungs? and do men need to lash themselves to masts to keep from rushing heavenward? Sometimes it seems as if the Poets were wiser than the Apostles.

But Music, we know not why, is both a relief and

a stimulus to all emotion. It originates no sentiment, it develops none; but it quickens and subtilizes the action of all that are in being. It is not food for the soul, but wine. So with national music: patriotism must exist before patriotic songs are written. No man was ever brought to love his country by the music to which his countrymen sang their devotion.. But if that heroic sentiment does dwell within his breast, either he is exceptional among his kind, or his country in its fortunes, if there do not arrive occasions when his whole soul yearns for musical expression.. Patriotic feeling, like all other feeling excited by any unusual incident, seeks utterance in verse and music; and thus a national hymn seems almost as indispensable an appanage of nationality as a national flag.. One of the first indications of an incipient revolution in France is the singing of the Marseillaise Hymn; and one of the first steps taken to restrain the outbreak is the suppression of the song. Only a few months ago the Poles, charged and fired upon by the Russian troops, as they assembled to present a petition in Warsaw, fell upon their knees, and sang their national hymn; thus fortifying themselves to endure an attack which they were powerless to repel.

And so when loyal Americans assembled in those dark days of the Republic which immediately followed the bombardment of Fort Sumter, they longed to sing; but there was no song suited to them or to the occasion. "The Star-Spangled Banner" had been growing in favor in the loyal States from the beginning of the secession movement, and was played con

tinually by all military and orchestral bands, and sung often at concerts and private musical gatherings. But as a patriotic song for the people at large, as the National Hymn, it was found to be almost useless. The range of the air, an octave and a half, places it out of the compass of ordinary voices; and no change that has been made in it has succeeded in obviating this paramount objection, without depriving the music of that characteristic spirit which is given by its quick ascent through such an extended range of notes.

The words, too, are altogether unfitted for a national hymn. They are almost entirely descriptive, and of a particular event. Such lines as these have not a sufficiently general application for a national hymn; they paint a picture, they do not embody a sentiment :

"On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze o'er the towering steep

As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses ? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream."

The lines are, also, too long, and the rhyme too involved for a truly popular patriotic song. They tax the memory: they should aid it. The rhythm, too, is complicated, and often harsh and vague.

"Oh! thus be it ever when free men shall stand

Between their loved home, and the war's desolation; Blest with victory and peace, may the Heaven-rescued land Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation."

In fact, only the choral lines of this song have brought it into general favor.

"And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph shall wave

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave."

But even in regard to this, who cannot but wish that the spangles could be taken out, and a good, honest flag be substituted for the banner!

"The Star-Spangled Banner," though for these reasons so utterly inadequate to the requirements of a national hymn that the people stood mute while in some instances it was sung by a single voice, or in most cases it was only played by a band, is yet far the best of the three songs which, for lack of better, have until now been called American national airs. Of the other two, Yankee Doodle has the claim of long association, and will probably always retain a certain degree of a certain kind of favor. But no sane person would ever dream of regarding it as a national hymn. Its words, as all know who have ever heard them, are mere childish burlesque; and its air, if air it must be called, is as comical as its words, and can hardly be regarded as being properly music. To set serious or even earnest words to this grotesque tune, would be only to excite laughter by absurd incongruity. It has been attempted; and the best result appears in the following spirited verses, in which the author of "The New Priest at Conception Bay" commemorated the encounter of the Sixth Massachusetts regiment with the secession mob in Balti