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The art of letter writing, we are told, has died out; its candle-lit intimacy shrinks before the electric glare of today and the shrill blatancy of the telephone. All the more precious to us, therefore, are those specimens that have survived the limbo of carelessness and attained the permanence of print. It is, of course, still an open question with many people whether letters should be made public property at all by being published.
There are certain examples, however, to which no one could take exception - despite their intimate nature. Of such are the letters written by Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple; they have all the charm of romance, whilst they also excel as quiet pictures of sixteenth-seventeenth century domesticity. Lady Temple (as she became) has been vividly painted for us by Macaulay; her attachment to Temple, the loss of her beauty by small-pox, her gentle nature, and the treatment she received at the hands of her managing sister-in-law, Lady Giffard, make one of the most attractive intimate histories of that (or any other) time.

Contributors

Speaker:
F.L. Lucas

Proposed by the Rt. Hon. Stanley Baldwin
At the Annual Dinner of the Edinburgh Sir Walter Scott Club
Relayed from The North British Station Hotel, Edinburgh
S.B. from Edinburgh

The popular conception of the artist is incorrigibly romantic. Extreme poverty and fantastic wealth are his inevitable lot. If he is a poet, his proper home, of course, is the garret; if he is a novelist, he will, assuredly, in the end, never write a word without receiving therefrom monstrous remuneration. For the public mind is inevitably more interested in the artist's cheque-book than in his art. Thus it is that Sir Walter Scott, to most of us, still remains the man who made poetry pay - did he not sell twenty thousand copies of The Lady of the Lake in a year? - and the man who later, when hard pressed by creditors who were not really his creditors at all, worked himself literally to death to pay his debts. It is all true enough, but it is not the whole of the picture. There is also the man's poetry itself, and his prose.

Remembering his gigantic sales, we are apt to forget his influence on contemporary life and letters. Few people, when once they have quit schooldays, now read the 'Waverley Novels' with the constancy and devotion that is still lavished, say, on Dickens; and even school-children (we believe) take their Scott by the pinch rather than by the peck. But the place of Scott, for all that, is secure. He wrote too prolifically, perhaps, to have written with consistency; but there is enough pure gold when the dross is taken away, both from his poetry and from his prose, to make his heritage to the English-speaking peoples one of the noblest in our literature. It may be that, as with Tennyson, we are suffering at the momenta a two severe reaction. Perhaps Scott has yet to come into his own?

Choral Prelude:

One of the most amazing of child prodigy pianists, Mozart naturally wrote for his first instrument with special affection, and he has left a great volume of music for pianoforte alone and along with other instruments. It includes, very naturally, a good deal of his early work and in the pianoforte Sonatas there are little failings which he afterwards outgrew. His good humour, to be sure, his whole-hearted youthful zest in life, as well as the earnestness of youth, can all be traced in them, but they are not expressed with the clearness or fullness that we can hear in later and bigger works. In listening to them it should be borne in mind that keyboard music had scarcely passed the transition stage from the old instruments of the clavichord group, to the modern pianoforte; even the pianoforte of Mozart's day had a somewhat slender, delicate tone as compared with the modem concert grand. None the less, his pianoforte music lends itself well to performance on a present-day instrument, with all the fullness and resonance which that has at command.
This Sonata in C was one of the first three of Mozart's to be published; it was composed in 1779, when lie was twenty-three. It is in three movements, a sprightly Allegro, a gracious Andante cantabile, and a merry Allegretto.

2LO London

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This data is drawn from the Radio Times magazine between 1923 and 2009. It shows what was scheduled to be broadcast, meaning it was subject to change and may not be accurate. More