“In this mask Arne introduced a style unique and perfectly his own. Without pretending to the high energy of Purcell or the ponderous dignity of Händel, it was vigorous, gay, elegant and natural, and possessed such strong and distinctive features as, by its production, to form an era in English music. By the beauty of this piece and by that of his numerous songs, Arne influenced the national taste, and begat a partiality for that flowing, sweet, and lucid style of melody which captivates the ear by the simplicity of its _motivo_, and satisfies the understanding by the truth and emphasis of its expression. It long guided or governed the genius of inferior composers for the theatres and public gardens, and constituted and settled a _manner_ which more justly than any other may be denominated _English_. Unfortunately, the ingenious inventor of this manner, the mellifluous, the natural, the unaffected Arne, was not himself sufficiently sensible of its value to continue true to the native cast of his own genius. Tempted to follow the Italian composers, he deserted a path in which he could not be exceeded or followed.” Busby’s censure of Arne’s deviation from that path in which the highest honours awaited him, has reference to the opera _Artaserse_, which was written in the florid Italian style popular at the time. But it is hard to blame the composer for a backsliding which was the inevitable consequence of the bad taste of the public. _Artaserse_ was produced at Covent Garden in 1762, and, as we are told, was “immediately successful.” Whose fault was it that the good English works of the previous thirty years were not so “immediately successful?” During those thirty years Arne had produced the music to the _Tempest_, which contains that daintiest of dainty songs, “Where the bee sucks.” I hope that there is not an English girl with a voice in her throat who has not sung those witching notes of Ariel’s. Scarcely less beautiful are the songs in _As You Like It_—“Under the greenwood tree,” “Blow, blow, thou winter wind,” and “When daises pied.” But all these and many more would not have gained for our composer the title “the English Amphion,” which is so justly his. The legend tells that to the sound of Amphion’s lyre the stones placed themselves in order, forming an impregnable wall round the city of Thebes; and the story is explained by the assumption that, fired by their leader’s eloquence, the men of Thebes became invincible. Was ever patriotic song written so great as “Rule, Britannia,” or could Amphion himself have led an army to battle with more inspiring music? Wagner once said that the whole character of the English nation is contained in the first eight notes of “Rule, Britannia.” It is interesting to compare these eight notes with the first eight notes of the parallel French and German songs. [Music: “The Marseillaise.”] [Music: “Rule, Britannia.”] [Music: “Die Wacht am Rhein.”] The French song repeats every step—that is dull!