Among the stations which the pilgrim of Music in Germany might conceive himself bound to visit is the pleasant town of Cassel. The same reasons, however, as would tempt me entirely to avoid the subject, were it possible, have made that little capital a shrine unvisited by me. To write of an excellent man–a worthy musician still living, and still pursuing the career of honourable industry in creation–is not easy for one who conceives that the influence which such a celebrity has exercised on his art in Europe is already proved to have been partial or curiously transitory. But it is not admissible, when treating of modern German music, to pass over the career and works of Dr. Spohr–such utter silence being more disrespectful to the artist's self, and more offensive to his admirers, than the most qualified admiration could possibly be.

The secrets of the temporary charm exercised over most lovers of German art by Dr. Spohr's compositions, and of the no less general sequel, a gradual disenchantment with respect to them, are not difficult to unriddle, if we consider the strange union of polished richness of manner and meagreness of idea which the bulk of his music presents ; and if we recollect, that whereas manner fascinates admiration, it is the union of imagination and thought–it is matter, in short– that retains respect.