Transcriber’s Notes

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. All 
other spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.

Italics are represented thus _italic_, and superscripts thus y^{en}.




                                  THE

                            POWER OF MUSIC,

                               _&c. &c._




                          PRINTED BY J. SWAN,
                       76, FLEET STREET, LONDON.




FRONTISPIECE.

[Illustration: _The Ox Minuet._
  _Page 97._
_Published Dec. 1-1813, by J. Harris, corner of S^{t.} Paul’s Church
Yd._]




                                  THE

                            POWER OF MUSIC.

                          IN WHICH IS SHOWN,

                             BY A VARIETY

                     _OF PLEASING AND INSTRUCTIVE_

                              ANECDOTES,

                         THE EFFECTS IT HAS ON

                           Man and Animals.

                   [Illustration: Publishers Device]

                               _LONDON_:

                        PRINTED FOR J. HARRIS,

                   CORNER OF ST. PAUL’S CHURCH-YARD.

                                 1814.




                                  THE

                            POWER OF MUSIC,

                               _&c. &c._


                     CONVULSIONS RELIEVED BY MUSIC


The following extraordinary instance of the effects of music, is
related by M. Menuret.

“An unmarried lady, about thirty years of age, in consequence of
violent grief in her youth, experienced various derangements in
the natural functions, and was afterwards attacked by convulsions,
which, at first, returned every month, and in the sequel, became
more frequent. Medicines of every kind seemed only to aggravate the
disorder; the fits recurred, not only every day, but several times
a day, and were marked by an involuntary agitation of the limbs, by
their rigidity, gnashing of the teeth without foam, and insensibility,
Their duration was unequal: sometimes a quarter of an hour, but more
frequently several hours; and concluded by an abundant discharge of
tears. No expedient could be devised for her relief during these fits,
nor did any remedy appear capable of preventing them, or of diminishing
their violence, or their frequency: the most affectionate attention,
travelling, diversions, amusements, were equally ineffectual.—Among
the means that were tried on this occasion, was, fortunately, a
concert, during which the young patient seemed highly delighted, and
uncommonly well: she not only remained free from any convulsive fit
while it lasted, but it afterwards returned later than usual. This
method was repeated with the same result. The medical men by whom she
was attended, availed themselves of the intervals of composure which
it produced, to have recourse to other remedies. Long experience
demonstrated their inutility; and repeated trials having proved the
exclusive efficacy of music, her father, being obliged to return into
the country, where he resided, engaged a musician to accompany and live
with him. The soft melody of the violin or the piano forte, skilfully
adapted to the taste and state of the patient, and often repeated,
frequently prevents the convulsive fits, or abates their violence.
This treatment, which has been solely employed for the last three
years, has been attended with such success, that all the functions are
restored to their natural state; and, for a year, the attacks are rare,
and so slight, that the shortness of their duration does not always
render it necessary to have recourse to the agreeable specific.”

  _Monthly Magazine_, _Vol._ xxii. _p._ 65.




                    RECOVERY OF THE VOICE BY MUSIC.


“In the beginning of December, 1801, Elizabeth Sellers, a scholar in
the Girls’ Charity School, at Sheffield, aged 13, lost her voice: so
that she was unable to express herself on any occasion, otherwise than
by a whisper. She, however, enjoyed very good health, and went through
several employments of the school, such as knitting, sewing, spinning,
on the high and low wheel, &c. without _any indulgence_. Read audibly
she could not; and her infirmity resisted, without intermission, all
medical assistance, till, in the evening of the 20th of March, 1803,
she, hearing some of her schoolfellows singing a hymn, in which she
wished to join, went up to one Sarah Milner, and whisperingly begged
that she would shout down her throat. Milner, at first, was shocked at
the proposal, and refused to comply with her request. But, at length,
through her repeated solicitations, she consented, and shouted down her
throat with all her might; upon which Sellers immediately regained her
voice, and, to the astonishment of the whole school, wept and sung, as
if she had been almost in a state of derangement, and has continued in
possession of her voice ever since.”

  _Gentleman’s Magazine_, 1803, p. 524.




                    THE EFFECT OF MUSIC ON A HARE.


The following anecdote was communicated, some years since, by Mr. James
Tatlow, of Wiegate, near Manchester, who had it from those who were
witnesses of the fact.

“One Sunday evening, five choristers were walking on the banks of
the river Mersey, in Cheshire, after some time, they sat down on the
grass, and began to sing an anthem. The field in which they sat, was
terminated, at one extremity, by a wood, out of which, as they were
singing, they observed a hare to pass with great swiftness towards
the place where they were sitting, and to stop at about twenty yards
distance from them. She appeared highly delighted with the music, often
turning up the side of her head to listen with more facility.

“As soon as the harmonious sound was over, the hare returned slowly
towards the wood; when she had reached nearly the end of the field,
they began the same piece again; at which the hare stopped, turned
about, and came swiftly back again, to about the same distance as
before, where she seemed to listen with rapture and delight, till they
had finished the anthem, when she returned again, by a slow pace, up
the field, and entered the wood.—The harmony of the choristers, no
doubt, drew the hare from her seat in the wood.”

  _Eastcott’s Sketches of the Origin and
  Effects of Music._




                  THE POWER OF MUSIC ON THE ELEPHANT.


“At Paris, some curious experiments have been lately made on the power
of music, over the sensibility of the elephant. A band of music went
to play in a gallery, extending round the upper part of the stalls, in
which were kept two elephants, distinguished by the names _Margaret_
and _Hans_. A perfect silence was procured; some provisions, of which
they were very fond, were given them to engage their attention, and the
musicians began to play. The music no sooner struck their ears, than
they ceased from eating, and turned, in surprise, to observe whence
the sounds proceeded. At the sight of the gallery, the orchestra,
and the assembled spectators, they discovered considerable alarm, as
though they imagined there was some design against their safety. But
the music soon overpowered their fears, and all other emotions became
completely absorbed in their attention to it. Music, of a bold and
wild expression, excited in them turbulent agitations, expressive,
either of violent joy, or of rising fury. A soft air, performed on the
bassoon, evidently soothed them to gentle and tender emotions. A gay
and lively air moved them, especially the female, to demonstrations of
highly sportive sensibility. Other variations of the music produced
corresponding changes in the emotions of the elephants.”

  _Bingley’s Animal Biography._




             THE EFFECT OF MUSIC ON A PERSON WHILE ASLEEP.


Dr. Burney, in his Present State of Music, relates the following story.

“Among the anecdotes,” says he, “relative to the strange effects
of music, which were given to me by Lord Marshal, he told me of a
Highlander, who always cried, upon hearing a certain slow Scots tune,
played upon the bagpipe. General G. whose servant he was, stole into
his room one night, when he was fast asleep, and playing the same tune
to him very softly, on the German flute, the fellow, without waking,
cried like a child.”




     CONTRARY EFFECTS OF ITALIAN AND FRENCH MUSIC ON A GREEK LADY.


“A young Greek lady being brought from her own country, to Paris, some
years since, was, soon after her arrival in that city, carried to the
opera by some French ladies, supposing, as she had never heard any
European music, that she would be in raptures at it; but, contrary
to these expectations, she declared, that the singing only reminded
her of the hideous howlings of the Calmuc Tartars; and, as to the
machinery, which it was thought would afford her great amusement,
she declared her dislike of many parts of it, and was particularly
scandalized, by what she called, the impious and wicked imitation of
God’s thunder. Soon after this experiment, she went to Venice, where
another trial was made upon her uncorrupted ears, at an Italian opera,
in which the famous Gizziello sung; at whose performance she was quite
dissolved in pleasure, and was ever after passionately fond of Italian
music.”

  _Dr. Burney’s Present State of Music._




                        ANECDOTE OF ZAMPERINI.


About the year 1775, Zamperini, one of the actresses at the opera,
returning from Lisbon by sea, was so terrified by a storm, that she
fell into a state of stupidity, from which nothing could relieve her.
Upon her arrival at Venice, among her family, she received every
assistance which medicine could give, but in vain. She ate, drank,
slept, and performed all the functions of animal life; but she knew
nobody, took no interest in any thing, and seemed to be sunk into the
most profound state of unconsciousness. Some persons recommended that
a harpsichord should be played in her presence: she was immediately
affected; shortly after, she appeared so far sensible, as to take a
part in the music, and even sung some favourite airs which were played
to her. This was repeated frequently, during six months, and always
with the same symptoms and the same effects. At first sight, any one
would have taken her for an idiot: as soon as the harpsichord was
touched her countenance changed, and, by degrees, she sang with as
much expression and fire as ever; but, in a moment after, she relapsed
into her former state of insensibility. Madame Durazzo, the lady of
the imperial ambassador at Venice, had the curiosity to see her: she
was moved with her situation, took her to her own house, and by care,
medicine, and _above all, by music_, had the satisfaction of seeing
her, in two years, completely restored to her original state of health
and rationality: and in 1778, she appeared upon the stage at Venice,
with the greatest success.




                 EFFECTS OF MUSIC ON MICE AND SPIDERS.


An officer of state, being shut up in the Bastile, obtained permission
to carry with him a lute, on which he was an excellent performer; but
he had scarcely made use of it, for three or four days, when the mice,
issuing from their holes, and the spiders, suspending themselves from
the ceiling by their threads, assembled around him to participate in
his melody. His aversion to these animals, made their visit at first
disagreeable, and induced him to lay aside this recreation; but he soon
was so accustomed to them, that they became a source of amusement.

  _Dr. Burney’s History of Music._




                        ANECDOTE OF STRADELLA.


Stradella, the celebrated composer, having carried off the mistress of
a Venetian musician, and retired with her to Rome, the Venetian hired
three desperadoes to assassinate him; but, fortunately for Stradella,
they had an ear sensible to harmony. These assassins, while waiting
for a favourable opportunity to execute their purpose, entered the
church of _St. John de Latran_, during the performance of an oratorio,
composed by the person whom they intended to destroy; and were so
affected by the music, that they abandoned their design, and even
waited on the musician, to forewarn him of his danger. With regret we
state, that Stradella, however, was not always so fortunate; for other
assassins, who had no ear for music, stabbed him some time after, at
Genoa: this event took place about the year 1670.




                          A MODERN TIMOTHEUS.


Modern music has had its Timotheus, who could excite or calm, at his
pleasure, the most impetuous emotions.— Henry III. King of France,
having given a concert, on occasion of the marriage of the Duke de
Joyeuse, Claudin le Jeune, a celebrated musician of that period,
executed certain airs, which had such an effect on a young nobleman,
then present, that he drew his sword, and challenged every one near him
to combat; but Claudin, equally prudent as Timotheus, instantly changed
to an air, apparently sub-Phrygian, which appeased the furious youth.




                        TIMOTHEUS THE MELISIAN.


Timotheus was so excellently skilled in music, that, one day, when he
played and sung a song, composed in honour of Pallas, in the presence
of Alexander the Great, the prince, as one transported with gallantry
and the martial humour of the air, started up, and being stirred in
every part, called for his armour, and was going to attack his guests;
when the musician immediately changed into more sedate and calmer
notes, sounding, as it were, a retreat; the impetuous prince was
calmed, and sat quiet and still.




   THIRTY THOUSAND PERSONS SAVED BY THE WONDERFUL EFFECTS OF MUSIC.


“Sultan Amurath, having laid siege to Bagdad, and taken it, ordered
thirty thousand Persians to be put to death, though they had
submitted, and laid down their arms. Amongst these unfortunate victims,
was a musician. He besought the officer, who had the command to see the
Sultan’s orders executed, to spare him but for a moment, and permit him
to speak to the Emperor. The officer indulged him, and, being brought
before the Sultan, he was suffered to give a specimen of his art. He
took up a kind of psaltry, which resembles a lyre, and has six strings
on each side, and accompanied it with his voice. He sung the taking of
Bagdad, and the triumph of Amurath. The pathetic tones and exulting
sounds of the instrument, together with the alternate plaintiveness
and boldness of his strains, melted even Amurath; he suffered him to
proceed, till, overpowered with harmony, tears of pity gushed forth,
and he revoked his cruel orders. In consideration of the musician’s
abilities, he not only ordered those of the prisoners, who remained
alive, to be spared, but gave them their liberty.”

  _Prince Cantimer’s Account of the Transactions
  of the Ottomans._




                       PHILIP V. KING OF SPAIN.


Philip V. King of Spain, being seized with a total dejection of
spirits, which made him refuse to be shaved, and rendered him incapable
of attending council, or transacting affairs of state, the queen,
who had, in vain, tried every common expedient, that was likely to
contribute to his recovery, determined that an experiment should be
made of the effects of music, upon the king, her husband, who was
extremely sensible to its charms. The celebrated Farinelli being then
at Madrid, of whose extraordinary performance, an account had been
transmitted from several parts of Europe, but, particularly from
Paris, her majesty contrived that there should be a concert in a room
adjoining to the king’s apartment, in which this singer performed one
of his most captivating songs. Philip appeared, at first, surprised,
then moved; and, at the end of the second air, made the virtuoso enter
the royal apartment, loading him with compliments and caresses; asked
him how he could sufficiently reward such talents; assuring him, that
he could refuse him nothing. Farinelli, previously instructed, only
begged that his majesty would permit his attendants to shave and dress
him, and that he would endeavour to appear in council as usual. From
this time, the king’s disease gave way to medicine; and the singer
had all the honour of the cure, and, by singing to his majesty every
evening, his favour increased to such a degree, that he was regarded as
first minister.

  _Burney’s History of Music._




                          THE MUSICAL PIGEON.


Mrs. Piozzy, in her Observations in a Journey through Italy, relates
the following singular anecdote.

“An odd thing,” says she, “of which I was this morning a witness,
has called my thoughts away to a curious train of reflections upon
the animal race, and how far they may be made companionable and
intelligent. The famous _Bertoni_, so well known in London, by his
long residence among us, and, from the undisputed merit of his
compositions, now inhabits this, his native city; and, being fond of
_dumb creatures_, as we call them, took for his companion, a pigeon;
one of the few animals which can live at Venice, where scarcely any
quadrupeds can be admitted, or would exist with any degree of comfort
to themselves.

“This creature has, however, by keeping his master company, obtained
so perfect an ear and taste for music, that no one, who sees his
behaviour, can doubt for a moment of the pleasure he takes in hearing
Mr. Bertoni play and sing: for, as soon as he sits down to the
instrument, Columbo begins shaking his wings, perches on the piano
forte, and expresses the most indubitable motions of delight. If,
however, he, or any one else, strikes a note false, or makes any kind
of discord upon the keys, the pigeon never fails to show evident tokens
of anger and distress; and, if teased too long, grows quite enraged;
pecking the offender’s legs and fingers, in such a manner, as to leave
no doubt of the sincerity of his resentment.”

Signora Cecilia Guiliani, a scholar of Bertoni’s, who has received some
overtures from the London Theatres lately, will, if ever she arrives
there, bear testimony to the truth of an assertion very difficult to
believe, and to which I should hardly myself give credit, were I not a
witness to it every morning that I choose to call and confirm my own
belief. A friend, present, protested he should be afraid to touch the
harpsichord before so nice a critic; and, though we all laughed at the
assertion, Bertoni declared he never knew the bird’s judgment fail;
and that he often kept him out of the room, for fear of affronting or
tormenting those who came to take musical instructions.

“With regard to other actions of life, I saw nothing particular in the
pigeon, but his tameness and strong attachment to his master: for,
though not unwinged, and only clipped a little, he never seeks to
range way from the house, or quit his master’s service, any more than
the Dove of Anacreon.

    While his better lot bestows
    Sweet repast and soft repose;
    And, when feast and frolic tire,
    Drops asleep upon his lyre.”
                 _Mrs. Piozzy._




                           THE MUSICAL DOG.


Signor Morelli, the celebrated Opera singer, has a dog, who, aided
by the well-known comic powers of his master, is productive of much
amusement, by his attempts to sing, when called upon in company. On his
master’s summons for that purpose, he seats himself on the chair left
for him, and, with great earnestness, tries to follow the tones of
his master’s voice; plaintively whining when he hears the high tones,
and growling when the low ones are sounded. Signor Morelli pretends to
be in raptures, when his singular pupil performs well; and his gentle
reproofs, when he proceeds to an unmusical bark, are highly comic and
entertaining to the company.




             THE EXTRAORDINARY EFFECTS OF MUSIC ON A BULL.


A few years ago, a man who lived at Allerton, near Liverpool, by trade
a tailor, but who could occasionally handle his fiddle, as well as
his needle, on his way home, from whence he had been exercising his
musical talents, for the entertainment of his country neighbours, in
passing through a field, about three o’clock, in the morning, in the
month of June, he was attacked by a bull. After several efforts to
escape, he attempted to ascend a tree; not, however, succeeding in the
attempt, a momentary impulse directed him to pull out his fiddle, and,
fortifying himself behind the tree as well as he could, began to play;
upon which the enraged animal became totally disarmed of his ferocity,
and seemed to listen with great attention. The affrighted tailor,
finding his fierce and formidable enemy so much appeased, began to
think of making his escape, left off playing, and was moving forward.
This, however, the bull would not suffer, for, no sooner had the
tailor ceased his fascinating strain, than the bull’s anger appeared
to return with as much rage as before: he, therefore, was glad to have
recourse a second time to his fiddle, which instantly operated again,
as a magic charm upon the bull, who became as composed and attentive
as before. He afterwards made several more attempts to escape, but all
in vain; for no sooner did he stop his fiddle, than the bull’s anger
returned, so that he was compelled to keep fiddling away, till near six
o’clock, (about three hours,) when the family came to fetch home the
cows, by which he was relieved and rescued from a tiresome labour and
frightful situation. This is, perhaps, the first man upon record, who
may be really said to have fiddled for his life, and, who so truly
fulfilled the poet’s idea, that

  “Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast.”

It is proper, and farther curious, to observe, that this man lodged
at the farm-house where the bull was kept; and that, as he frequently
played upon the fiddle, in an evening, to amuse the family, he had
observed the bull, (who always attended the cows home to be milked,)
constantly endeavoured to get as near as possible to that part of the
house where he happened to be playing, and always appeared to listen,
with the greatest attention, which, fortunately struck him with the
idea of having recourse to his fiddle, and, in all probability,
preserved his life.




                     THE DYING MAN AND THE PIANO.


Died lately, aged 85, Mr. William Anthony de Luc. His passion for
music was so predominant, in his latter days, that a piano forte was
placed by his bedside, on which his daughter played a great part of the
day. The evening of his death, seeing her father ready to sink into
a slumber, she asked him, “Shall I play any more?”—“Keep playing,”
said he, “keep playing!”—He slept, but awoke no more! Mr. W. A. de Luc
had explored many volcanic countries, whence he had brought choice
specimens of their productions, in which his cabinet was, perhaps, the
richest in Europe.




        THE POWER OF MUSIC ON ANIMALS, IN THE WEST OF ENGLAND.


The style of driving an ox-team in Devonshire is remarkable, indeed,
cannot pass unnoticed by a stranger. The language, though in a great
degree peculiar to the country, does not arrest the attention, but the
tone, or rather tune, in which it is delivered. It resembles, with
great exactness, the chantings, or recitative of the cathedral service.
The plowboy chants the counter-tenor, with unabated ardour, through the
day; the plowman, throwing in, at intervals, his hoarser notes. It is
understood that this chanting march, which may sometimes be heard at
a considerable distance, encourages and animates the team, like the
music of a marching army, or the song of the rowers.




  TWO INSTANCES OF THE SURPRISING EFFECTS OF MUSIC, AS RELATED IN THE
          HISTORY OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY OF SCIENCES, AT PARIS.


A famous musician, and great composer, was taken ill of a fever,
which gradually increased, till the 7th day, when he was seized with
a violent delirium, almost constantly accompanied by cries, tears,
terrors, and a perpetual watchfulness. The third day of his delirium,
one of those natural instincts, which makes, as it is said, sick
animals seek out for the herbs that are proper for their case, set him
upon desiring earnestly to hear a little concert in his chamber. His
physician could hardly be prevailed upon to grant his request. Some
cantatas, however, were sung to him. On hearing the first modulations,
his countenance became serene, his eyes sparkled with joy, his
convulsions absolutely ceased, he shed tears of pleasure, and was then
possessed with a sensibility for music, which he never had before, nor
after his perfect recovery. He had no fever during the whole concert,
but, when it was over, he relapsed into his former condition. The use
of a remedy, of which the success had been so unexpected, and yet so
fortunate, was continued. The fever and delirium were always suspended
during the concerts, and music was become so necessary to the patient,
that, at night, he obliged a female relation, who sometimes sat up
with him, to sing, and even to dance, and who, found some difficulty
in gratifying him in such a point of complaisance. One night, among
others, having none but his nurse to attend him, who could sing nothing
better than some wretched country ballads, was obliged to take up with
them, and even appeared satisfied, and found some benefit from the
same. At length, ten days of music entirely cured him, without any
other assistance, than being bled in the foot, which was prescribed
for him as necessary. This account was communicated to the Academy, by
Monsieur Dodart, who had it well authenticated. He does not pretend
that it may serve as an example or rule, in all similar cases, but
observes, it is curious to notice, how musical sounds could have
restored the spirits to their natural course, in a man who had so long
been habituated to music.

The second instance of the extraordinary effect of music, is related
of a dancing-master of Alais, in the province of Languedoc. Being once
over fatigued, in Carnival time, by the exercise of his profession,
he was seized with a violent fever, and, on the fourth or fifth day,
fell into a lethargy, which continued upon him for a considerable
time. On recovering out of it, he was seized with a furious and mute
delirium, wherein he made continual efforts to jump out of the bed;
threatened, with a shaking of the head, and an angry countenance, those
that hindered him, and even all that were present; and he, besides,
obstinately refused, though without speaking a word, all the remedies
that were presented to him. One of the assistants bethought himself,
that music, perhaps, might compose so disordered an imagination.
Accordingly, he proposed it to his physician, who did not disapprove
the thought, but feared the ridicule that might take place, should the
patient happen to die during the performance of such a remedy. A friend
of the dancing-master being present, who seemed regardless of the
physician’s measures, and who knew how to play on the violin, seeing
the patient’s hang up in the chamber, laid hold of it, and played
directly to him, the airs that were most familiar to him. He was cried
out against, as a greater madman than the poor sick prisoner in bed,
and some were going to make him desist, when the patient immediately
jumped up, and appeared agreeably surprised, and specified, by the
motion of his head, the pleasure he felt. By degrees, he appeared so
much recovered, that those who held his arms, being sensible of the
effects the violin had on him, remitted something of their force in
keeping him down, and at last yielded to the motions he was desirous
to give them, when, in so doing, they found his furious fits quite
abated. In short, in a quarter of an hour’s time, the patient fell into
a profound sleep, and shortly after was perfectly recovered.




              INTERESTING PARTICULARS OF MONSIEUR MOZART.


“Mozart, the celebrated German musician, was born at Salzburg, in the
year 1756. His father was also a musician of some eminence, but not to
be compared with the son, of whom we have the following account, in one
of the Monthly Miscellanies, taken by Mr. Busby, from some biographical
sketches, of two eminent German professors.

“At the age of three years, young Mozart, attending to the lessons
which his sister, then seven years old, was receiving at the
harpsichord, he became acquainted with harmony, and when she had left
the instrument, he would instantly place himself at it, find the
thirds, sound them with the liveliest joy, and employ whole hours at
the exercise. His father, urged by such early and striking indications
of genius, immediately began to teach him some little airs; and soon
perceived that his pupil improved even beyond the hopes he had formed
of him. Half an hour was generally sufficient for his acquiring a
minuet, or a little song, which, when once learned, he would of himself
perform with taste and expression.

“At the age of six years, he made such a progress, as to be able to
compose short pieces for the harpsichord, which his father was obliged
to commit to paper for him. From that time, nothing made any impression
upon him but harmony; and infantine amusements lost all their
attractions, unless music had a share in them. He advanced from day to
day, not by ordinary and insensible degrees, but with a rapidity, which
hourly excited new surprise in his parents—the happy witnesses of his
progress.

“His father, returning home one day with a stranger, found little
Mozart with a pen in his hand. “What are you writing?” said he.—“A
concerto for the harpsichord,” replied the child. “Let us see it,”
rejoined the father, “it is a marvellous concerto, without doubt.”—He
then took the paper, and saw nothing at first, but a mass of notes
mingled with blots of ink, by the mal-address of the young composer,
who, unskilled in the management of the pen, had dipped it too freely
in the ink; and having blotted and smeared his paper, had endeavoured
to make out his ideas with his fingers; but, on a closer examination,
his father was lost in wonder, and his eyes, delighted and flowing
with tears, became riveted to the notes.—“See!” exclaimed he, to the
stranger, “how just and regular it all is! but it is impossible to play
it; it is too difficult.”—“It is a concerto,” said the child, “and must
be practised till one can play it. Hear how this part goes.” He then
sat down to perform it; but was not able to execute the passages with
sufficient fluency, to do justice to his own ideas. Extraordinary as
his manual facility was universally allowed to be, for his age, it did
not keep pace with the progress of his knowledge and invention. Such
an instance of intellectual advancement, in a child only six years of
age, is so far out of the common road of nature, that we can only
contemplate the fact with astonishment, and acknowledge, that the
possible rapidity of mental maturation is not to be calculated.

“In the year 1762, his father took him and his sister to Munich,
where he performed a concerto before the elector, which excited the
admiration of the whole court; nor was he less applauded at Vienna,
where the emperor called him the _little sorcerer_.

“His father gave him lessons only on the harpsichord; but he privately
taught himself the violin; and his command of the instrument afforded
the elder Mozart the utmost surprise, when he one day, at a concert,
took a second violin, and acquitted himself with more than passable
address. True genius sees no obstacles. It will not, therefore, excite
our wonder, if his constant success, in whatever he attempted, begot
an unbounded confidence in his own powers; he had even the _laudable_
hardihood to undertake to qualify himself for the _first_ violin, and
did not long remain short of the necessary proficiency.

“He had an ear so correct, that he felt the most minute discordancy;
and such a fondness for study, that it was frequently necessary to
take him by force from the instrument. This love of application
never diminished. He every day passed a considerable time at his
harpsichord, and generally practised till a late hour at night. Another
characteristical trait of real genius, always full of its object, and
lost as it were in itself.

“It is lamentable that premature genius too rarely enjoys a long
career. The acceleration of nature in the mental powers seems to hurry
the progress of the animal economy, and to anticipate the regular close
of temporal existence.

“In the year 1791, Mozart, just after he had received the appointment
of _Maitre-de-Chapelle_ of the church of St. Peter, and when he was
only thirty-five years of age, paid the last tribute, and left the
world at once to admire the brilliancy, and lament the shortness of his
earthly sojournment.

“Indefatigable, even to his death, he produced, during the last
few months of his life, his three great master-pieces, _La Flute
Enchantée_, _La Clemence de Titus_, and a _Requiem_, his last
production. _La Flutte Enchantée_ was composed for one of the theatres
at Vienna; and no dramatic _olio_ could ever boast of a greater
success. Every air struck the audience with a new and sweet surprise;
and the _tout-ensemble_ was calculated to afford the deepest and most
varied impressions. This piece had, in fact, so great a number of
successive representations, that, for a long time, it was unnecessary
to consult the opera bill, which only announced a permanent novelty.
And the airs selected from it, and repeated throughout the empire,
as well in the cottage as in the palace, and which the echoes have
resounded in the most distant provinces, favoured the idea, that
Mozart had actually the design to enchant all Germany with his _Flutte
Enchantée_.

“_La Clemence de Titus_ was requested by the states of Bohemia, for the
coronation of Leopold. The composer began it in his carriage, during
his route to Prague, and finished it in eighteen days.

“Some circumstances attending his last composition, the _Requiem_, the
last effort of his genius, are too interesting to be omitted. A short
time before his death, a stranger came to him, with the request, that
he would compose, as speedily as possible, a _Requiem_ for a Catholic
prince, who, perceiving himself on the verge of the grave, wished, by
the execution of such a piece, to sooth his mind, and familiarize it to
the idea of his approaching dissolution. Mozart undertook the work; and
the stranger deposited with him, as a security, four hundred ducats,
though the sum demanded was only two hundred. The composer immediately
began the work, and during its progress, felt his mind unusually raised
and agitated. He became, at length, so infatuated with his _Requiem_,
that he employed, not only the day, but some hours of the night, in its
composition. One day, while he was conversing with Madame Mozart on the
subject, he declared to her, that he could not but be persuaded that it
was for himself he was writing this piece. His wife, distressed at her
inability to dissipate so melancholy an impression, prevailed on him to
give her the _score_. He afterwards appearing somewhat tranquillized,
and more master of himself, she returned the _score_ to him, and he
soon relapsed into his former despondency. On the day of his death, he
asked her for the _Requiem_, which was accordingly brought to his bed.
“Was I not right,” said he, “when I declared, that it was for myself
I was composing this funeral piece?” And the tears trickled from his
eyes. This production, of a man impressed, during its composition, with
a presentiment of his approaching death, is _unique_ in its kind, and
contains passages which have frequently drawn tears from the performers.

“Only one complaint escaped him during his malady. ‘I must quit life,’
said he, ‘precisely at the moment when I could enjoy it, free from
care and inquietude, at the very time, when independent of sordid
speculations, and at liberty to follow my own inclinations, I should
have to write from the impulses of my own heart; and I am torn from my
family, just when in a situation to serve it.’ Mozart, at the time of
his death, was considerably involved in debt; but Vienna and Prague
disputed the honour of providing for his widow and children.”

  _Encyclopædia Britannica._




                          G. F. HANDEL, ESQ.


Handel’s government of the fingers was somewhat despotic; for, upon
Cuzzoni’s (a famous singer of his time) insolently refusing to sing his
admirable air, _Falsa Imagine_, in Otho, he told her, that he always
knew she was a _very devil_; but that he should now let _her_ know, in
his turn, that he was _Belzebub_, the prince of the devils; and then,
taking her up by the waist, swore, if she did not _immediately_ obey
his orders, he would throw her out of the window.




                     TARTINI, AN ITALIAN MUSICIAN.


Tartini was a celebrated musician, born at Pirano, in Istria, and
being much inclined to the study of music in his early youth, dreamed
one night, that he made a compact with the Devil, who promised to be
at his service on all occasions: and during this vision, every thing
succeeded according to his mind: his wishes were prevented, and his
desires always surpassed, by the assistance of this new servant. At
last, he imagined that he presented the Devil with his violin, in
order to discover what kind of a musician _he_ was; when, to his great
astonishment, he heard him play a solo, so singularly beautiful, and
which he executed with such superior taste and precision, that it
surpassed all the music which he had ever heard or conceived in his
life. So great was his surprise, and so exquisite was his delight upon
this occasion, that it deprived him of the power of breathing. He
awoke with the violence of his sensations, and instantly seized his
fiddle, in hopes of expressing what he had just heard, but in vain: he,
however, then composed a piece of music, which is, perhaps, the best
of all his works, and called it, the _Devil’s Sonata_; but it was so
far inferior to what he had produced in his sleep, that he declared he
would have broken his instrument, and abandoned music for ever, if he
could have found any other means of subsistence.




                              MR. HANDEL.


When Handel went through Chester, in his way to Ireland, in 1741, he
applied to Mr. Baker, the organist, to know whether there were any
choirmen in the cathedral who could sing _at sight_, as he wished
to prove some books that had been hastily transcribed, by trying
the chorusses, which he intended to perform in Ireland. Mr. Baker
mentioned some of the most likely singers then in Chester; and, among
the rest, a printer, of the name of Janson, who had a good bass voice,
and was one of the best musicians in the choir. A time was fixed,
for the private rehearsal, at the Golden Falcon, where Handel was
quartered: but, alas! on trial of the chorusses in the Messiah, “_And
with his stripes are we healed_,” poor Janson, after repeated attempts,
failed so egregiously, that Handel let loose his great bear upon him;
and, after swearing, in four or five different languages, cried out, in
broken English, “_You schauntrel!_ did not you tell me _dat_ you could
sing at _soite_?” ‘Yes, Sir,’ says the printer, ‘and so I can, but not
at _first sight_.’




                       FARINELLI AND HIS TAYLOR.


“The following story,” says Dr. Burney, “was frequently told, and
believed at Madrid, during the first years of Farinelli’s residence
in Spain. This singer, having ordered a superb suit of clothes for a
_gala_ at court, when the taylor brought it home, he asked him for his
bill. “I have made no bill, Sir,” says the taylor, “nor ever shall
make one. Instead of money,” continues he, “I have a favour to beg. I
know that what I want is inestimable, and only fit for monarchs; but,
since I have had the honour to work for a person, of whom every one
speaks with rapture, all the payment I shall ever require, will be
a song.” Farinelli tried in vain, to prevail on the taylor to take
his money. At length, after a long debate, giving way to the humble
entreaties of the trembling tradesman, and flattered, perhaps, more
by the singularity of the adventure, than by all the applause he had
hitherto received, he took him into his music room, and sung to him
some of his most brilliant airs, taking pleasure in the astonishment of
his ravished hearer; and, the more he seemed surprised and affected,
the more Farinelli exerted himself, in every species of excellence.
When he had done, the taylor, overcome with ecstacy, thanked him in
the most rapturous and grateful manner, and prepared to retire. “No,”
says Farinelli, “I am a little proud; and, it is, perhaps, from that
circumstance, that I have acquired some small degree of superiority
over other singers; I have given way to your weakness, it is but fair,
that, in your turn, you should indulge me in mine;” and, taking out his
purse, he insisted on his receiving a sum, amounting to nearly double
the worth of the suit of clothes.”




                              MR. ABELL.


Mr. John Abell was one of the Chapel Royal, in the reign of King
Charles II. He was celebrated for a fine counter-tenor voice, and for
his skill in playing on the lute. The king admired his singing, and was
desirous of sending him, with the subdean of his chapel, Mr. Gostling,
to the Carnival of Venice, to show the Italians what good voices were
produced in England: but the latter expressing an unwillingness to
go, the king desisted from his purpose. Mr. Abell continued in the
chapel till the time of the Revolution, when he was discharged in
consequence of being a Roman Catholic. He then went abroad, travelled
through Holland, and acquired considerable sums of money, by singing
in public, at Hamburgh and other places. During this period, he lived
in great profusion, and affected the expense of a man of quality,
frequently travelling in his own equipage, though, at times, he was
so reduced, as to walk through whole provinces with his lute slung at
his back. Rambling through Poland, he arrived at Warsaw; of which
the king having notice, sent for him to court. This honour Abell at
first declined, on some frivolous excuse; but, dreading the royal
displeasure, he made an apology, and attended the king on the following
day. Upon his arrival, he was seated in a chair in the middle of a
great hall, and immediately drawn up to a considerable height; soon
after, the king appeared in an opposite gallery, when a number of wild
bears were turned in, and poor Abell was left to his choice, either to
sing, or be let down among them. Of these alternatives, it may seem
unnecessary to say, that Abell preferred the former; and he afterwards
constantly declared that he never sung so well in all his life.

About the latter end of Queen Anne’s reign, Abell was at Cambridge,
with his lute, where he met with but little encouragement. It is
uncertain how long he lived after this period, but he appears to have
required assistance from his friends for support, though he preserved
the tone of his voice to an extreme old age.

  _Harrison’s Musical Magazine._




                                HANDEL.


George Frederick Handel, unquestionably the greatest master of music
the world has ever known, was born at Halle, in Upper Saxony, on the
24th of February, 1684. Scarcely could he speak, before he articulated
musical sounds; and his father, a physician, then upwards of sixty,
having destined him for the law, grieved at the child’s propensity
to music, banished from his house all musical instruments. But the
immortal spark of genius, which Heaven had kindled in the infant’s
bosom, was not to be extinguished by the caprice of a mistaken parent.
The child contrived to get a little clavichord into a garret; where,
applying himself after the family retired to rest, he soon found means
to produce both melody and harmony.

Before he was seven, the Duke of Weisenfels accidentally discovering
his genius, prevailed on the father to cherish his inclination. He was
accordingly placed with Zackan, organist of Halle Cathedral; and, for
three years, from the age of nine, composed a new church-service every
week.

In 1698, he went to Berlin; but, losing his father, he thought he could
best support his aged mother, by repairing to Hamburgh, where he soon
attracted general notice. Yet this wonderful musician was a stripling
of fourteen! At this premature age, he composed Almeria, his first
opera.

Having quitted Hamburgh, he travelled six years in Italy, where he
gave a new display of his wonderful ability, and was pensioned by the
Elector of Hanover, afterwards George I.

In 1710, he came to London, where his opera of Rinaldo was admired,
like his preceding miracles, and the necessity of his departure became
the subject of general regret.

In 1712, he again visited England: but, seduced by the favour and
fortune that overwhelmed him, he forgot to return; and when, on the
death of Queen Anne, the Elector was called to the throne, he was
afraid to appear at court, till an ingenious stratagem restored him to
favour.

Queen Anne’s pension of £200, was now doubted by George I., and the
nobility having formed an Academy of Music, under his direction, it
flourished ten years, when a quarrel between him and Senesino dissolved
the institution, and brought on a contest which ruined his fortune and
his health. Restored by the baths of Aix la Chapelle, he determined
to chuse sacred subjects for the future exercise of his genius.
This resolution produced those noble compositions, his truly divine
Oratorios; which were performed at Covent Garden till his death, in
1759. He was buried in Westminster Abbey with suitable pomp; where his
genius has been since commemorated with little less than divine honours.




                               DR. ARNE.


The father of this celebrated composer, and the still more celebrated
Mrs. Cibber, was an upholder and undertaker in King Street, Covent
Garden, with whom the doctor, when a young man, resided.

At this time, there was a gentleman, of much celebrity in the musical
world, employed at Drury Lane Theatre.—Many may still remember Mr.
John Hebden, who, for almost half a century, stood in a corner of the
orchestra, and performed on the bassoon and the bass viol, on which two
instruments he was unrivalled. He was also of the band of his late, and
a few years of his present, Majesty.

One Sunday morning he called upon Tom Arne, to whom he occasionally
gave lessons. He found him in the undertaker’s shop, practising upon
the violin, his music desk and book placed upon a coffin.

Hebden, shocked at this want of sensibility in his pupil, observed,
that it was impossible for him to practise in such a situation, as,
from the solemn thoughts which the coffin naturally excited, he should
be impressed with the idea that it contained a corpse.

“So it does!” cried Arne: and shoving back the lid, discovered that
this was a fact.

Hebden, disgusted at the sight of a dead body so improperly introduced,
and, perhaps, equally shocked at the insensibility of his pupil, left
the shop with great precipitation, and never could be prevailed on to
renew his visits to him, while he remained in that situation.




                           JEREMIAH CLARKE.


Jeremiah Clarke was originally bred to music, and had his education
in the Chapel Royal, under the celebrated Dr. Blow, who seems to
have had a paternal affection for him. Early in life, Clarke was so
unfortunate as to conceive a violent and hopeless passion for a very
beautiful and accomplished lady, of a rank far superior to his own;
and his sufferings, on this account, became so intolerable to him,
that he resolved to put an end to his existence. He was at the house
of a friend, in the country, where he took up this fatal resolution,
and suddenly set off for London. His friend, observing his dejection,
without knowing the cause, furnished him with a horse, and a servant to
attend him.

In his way to town, a fit of despair suddenly seized him, he alighted,
and, giving his horse to the servant, went into an adjoining field, in
the corner of which was a pond, surrounded with trees, which pointed
out to his choice two ways of getting rid of life. Hesitating for some
time, which to take, he at last determined to leave it to chance, and
taking a piece of money out of his pocket, tossed it up in the air to
decide it. The money, however, falling on its edge in the clay, seemed
to forbid both ways of destruction; and it had such an effect upon him,
that he declined it for that time, and, regaining his horse, rode to
town.

His mind, however, was too much disordered to receive comfort, or take
any advantage from the above omen: and, after a few months, worn out in
the utmost dejection of spirits, he shot himself, in his own house, in
St. Paul’s Church-yard.

The late Mr. John Reading, organist of St. Dunstan’s Church, a scholar
of Dr. Blow, and master to the late Mr. Stanley, the well-known blind
organist, who was intimately acquainted with Clarke, happened to be
passing by the door as the pistol went off; and, upon entering the
house, found his friend and fellow-student in the agonies of death.

This unfortunate man was the original composer of that beautiful air,

  “’Tis woman that seduces all mankind.”

and many other, _then_, popular pieces; among them was Dryden’s
celebrated Ode on St. Cecilia’s Day, which was afterwards recomposed by
Handel, in 1736.




                                HANDEL.


One night, while Handel was in Dublin, Dubourg, having a solo part
in a song, and a close to make at his pleasure, he wandered about in
different keys a great while, and seemed a little bewildered, and
uncertain of his original key; but, at length, coming to the shake
which was to terminate this long close, Handel, to the great delight of
the audience and augmentation of applause, cried out, loud enough to be
heard in the most remote part of the theatre, “_You are welcome home_,
Mr. Dubourg!”

In 1749, _Theodora_ was so very unfortunately abandoned, that he was
glad if any professors, who did not perform, would accept of tickets
or orders for admission. Two gentlemen of that description, now living,
having applied to Handel, after the disgrace of _Theodora_, for an
order to hear the _Messiah_, he cried out, “Oh, your _sarvant!_ you
are _tamnaple tainty!_ you would not _co_ to _Theodora_—there was room
enough to _tance dere_ when _dat_ was _perform_.”

Sometimes, however, I have heard him as pleasantly, as philosophically,
console his friends, when, previous to the curtain being drawn up, they
have lamented that the house was so empty, by saying, “_Nevre moind, de
moosic vil sound de petter_.”




                              MR. BROWN.


The late Mr. Brown, leader of his Majesty’s band, used to tell several
stories of _Handel’s_ love of good cheer, liquid and solid, as well
as of his impatience: of the former he gave an instance, which was
accidentally discovered, at his own house, in Brook Street, where
Brown, in the Oratorio Season, among other principal performers, was
at dinner. During the repast, _Handel_ often cried out——“O, I have de
taught, (thought),” when the company, unwilling that, out of civility
to them, the public should be robbed of any thing so valuable as his
musical ideas, begged he would retire and write them down; with which
request, however, he so frequently complied, that, at last, one of
the most suspicious had the ill-bred curiosity to peep through the
key-hole, into the adjoining room, where he perceived that _dese
taughts_ were only bestowed on a fresh hamper of Burgundy, which,
as was afterwards discovered, he had received in a present from his
friend, the late Earl of Radnor, while his company was regaled with
more generous and spirited port.

  _Burney’s Life of Handel._




                                LULLI.


This fortunate musician, the son of a peasant in the neighbourhood of
Florence, was born in 1633. He had a few instructions in music from a
cordelier. His first instrument was the guitar, to which he was always
fond of singing. The Chevalier de Guise brought him into France, in
1646, as a present to his sister, Mademoiselle de Guise, who placed
him among the assistants of her kitchen, where he was assigned the
honourable office of _sous marmiton_[1].

[1] Under scullion.

In his leisure hours, being naturally fond of music, he used to
be scraping on a miserable violin, to the great annoyance of his
fellow-servants. However, his disposition for music being discovered,
his patroness had him taught the violin by a regular master, under
whom he made so rapid a progress, that he was admitted among the
violins of the king’s band; where he distinguished himself so much,
that he was employed to compose the music for the court ballads, in
which Louis XIV., at this time very young, used to dance. But though
Lulli approached the royal presence, early in life, it was by slow
degrees, that he arrived at solid preferment. In 1652 he was appointed
superintendent or master of the king’s new band of violins, which, if
we may judge by the business assigned them afterwards, by Lulli in his
operas, was composed of musicians not likely, by their abilities, to
continue the miraculous powers ascribed to Orpheus and Amphion.

Lulli married the daughter of Lambert, the celebrated musician and
singing master of his time, who lived till the year 1720. Having
composed a _Te Deum_ for the king’s recovery, after a dangerous
illness, in 1687, during the performance, at the Church of the
Feuillans, in the animation of beating time, and difficulty in keeping
the band together, by striking his foot, instead of the floor, with
his cane, he occasioned a contusion, that, from a bad habit of body,
brought on a mortification, which was soon pronounced to be incurable.
Every expedient that was tried, in order to stop the progress of the
malady, being ineffectual, he was informed of his situation. His
confessor refusing to give him absolution, unless he would burn the
opera of _Achilles and Polixene_, which he was composing for the stage;
he consented; and this new music was committed to the flames. A few
days after, being a little better, one of the young princes of Vendome
went to see him. “Why, Baptiste,” says he, “have you been such a fool
as to burn your new opera, to humour a gloomy priest?” ‘Hush, hush!’
says Lulli, ‘I have another copy of it.’ However, a few days after, he
was not only obliged to submit to the will of his confessor, but of
Death himself, who terminated his existence, March the 22d, 1687, at
fifty-four years of age.




                           MADAME LE MAUPIN.


This celebrated lady seems to have been the most extraordinary
personage of all the _siren troup_, instructed by Lulli. She was
equally fond of both sexes, fought and loved like a man, and resisted
and fell like a woman. Her adventures are of a very romantic kind.
Married to a young husband, who was soon obliged to absent himself
from her, to enter on an office he had obtained in Provence, she ran
away with a fencing-master, of whom she learned the small sword, and
became an excellent fencer, which was afterwards a useful qualification
to her, on several occasions. The lovers first retreated, from
persecution, to Marseilles; but necessity soon obliged them to solicit
employment there, at the Opera; and as both had, by nature, good
voices, they were received without difficulty. But soon after this,
she was seized with a passion for a young person of her own sex, whom
she seduced, but the object of her whimsical affection, being pursued
by her friends and taken, was thrown into a convent at Avignon, where
Maupin soon followed her; and having presented herself as a novice,
obtained admission. Some time after, she set fire to the convent, and,
availing herself of the confusion she had occasioned, carried off her
favourite. But, being pursued and taken, she was condemned to the
flames for contumacy: a sentence, however, which was not executed, as
the young _Marseillaise_ was found, and restored to her friends. She
then went to Paris, and made her first appearance on the Opera stage
in 1695, when she performed the part of Pallas, in _Cadmus_, with the
greatest success. The applause was so violent, that she was obliged,
in her car, to take off her casque to salute and thank the public,
which redoubled their marks of approbation. From that time, her success
was uninterrupted. Dumeni, the singer, having affronted her, she put
on men’s clothes, watched for him in the _Place des Victoires_, and
insisted on his drawing his sword, and fighting her, which he refusing,
she caned him, and took from him his watch and snuff-box. Next day,
Dumeni having boasted at the Opera-house, that he had defended himself
against three men, who attempted to rob him, she related the whole
story, and produced his watch and snuff-box, in proof of her having
caned him for his cowardice. Thevenard was nearly treated in the same
manner, and had no other way of escaping her chastisement, than by
publicly asking her pardon, after hiding himself at the _Palais Royal_,
during three weeks. At a ball, given by Monsieur, the brother of Louis
XIV. she again put on man’s clothes, and having behaved impertinently
to a lady, three of her friends, supposing her to be a man, called
her out. She might easily have avoided the combat, by discovering her
sex, but she instantly drew, and killed them all three. Afterwards,
returning very coolly to the ball, she told the story to Monsieur, who
obtained her pardon. After other adventures, she went to Brussels,
and there became the mistress of the Elector of Bavaria. This prince,
quitting her for the Countess of Arcos, sent her by the count, the
husband of that lady, a purse of 40,000 livres, with an order to quit
Brussels. This extraordinary heroine threw the purse at the count’s
head, telling him it was a recompense worthy of such a scoundrel and——
as himself. After this, she returned to the Opera stage, which she
quitted in 1705. Being at length seized with a fit of devotion, she
recalled her husband, who had remained in Provence, and passed with him
the last years of her life, in a very pious manner, dying in 1707, at
the age of thirty-four.




                          ARCHANGELO CORELLI.


That this celebrated composer was a man of humour and pleasantry may
be inferred from the following story, related by Walther, in his
account of Nicholas Adam Strunck, violinist to Ernestus Augustus,
Elector of Hanover. This person being at Rome, upon his arrival,
made it his business to see Corelli: upon their first interview,
Strunck gave him to understand that he was a musician. “What is
your instrument?” asked Corelli. “I can play,” answered Strunck,
“upon the harpsichord, and a little on the violin; and should esteem
myself extremely happy, might I hear your performance on this latter
instrument, on which, I am informed, you excel,” Corelli very politely
condescended to this request of a stranger. He played a solo, Strunck
accompanied him on the harpsichord, and afterwards played a foccata,
with which Corelli was so much taken, that he laid down his instrument
to admire him. When Strunck had done at the harpsichord, he took up the
violin, and began to touch it in a very careless manner; upon which
Corelli remarked, that he had a good bow-hand, and wanted nothing but
practice to become a master of the instrument. At this instant, Strunck
put the violin out of tune; and, applying it to its place, played on
it with such dexterity, attempering the dissonances occasioned by the
mistuning of the instrument with such amazing skill and dexterity, that
Corelli cried out, in broken German, “I am called _Arcangelo_, a name
that, in the language of my country, signifies an _Archangel_; but let
me tell you, that _you_, Sir, are an _arch-devil_.”

  _Sir John Hawkins’s History of Music._




                          HENRY PURCELL, ESQ.


Mr. Purcell received his professional education in the school of a
choir; it is therefore not very surprising, that the bent of his
studies was towards church music. Services he seemed to neglect, and to
addict himself to the composition of anthems, a kind of music which, in
his time, the church stood greatly in need of.

The anthem, “_They that go down to the sea in ships_,” was composed by
him, on the following extraordinary occasion.

“King Charles II. had given orders for building a yatch, which, as
soon as it was finished, he named the Fubbs, in honour of the Duchess
of Portsmouth; who, we may suppose, was, in her person, rather full
and plump. Soon after the vessel was launched, the king made a party,
to sail in his yatch down the river, and round the Kentish coast: and,
to keep up the mirth and good humour of the company, Mr. Gostling,
was requested to be of the number. They had got as far as the North
Foreland, when a violent storm arose, in which the King and the Duke
of York were necessitated, in order to preserve the vessel, to hand
the sails, and work like common seamen; by good providence, however,
they escaped to land: but the distress they had been in, made such
an impression on the mind of Mr. Gostling as could never be effaced.
Struck with a just sense of the deliverance, and the horror of the
scene which he had lately viewed, upon his return to London, he
selected from the Psalms those passages which declare the wonders and
terrors of the deep, and gave them to Mr. Purcell, to compose as an
anthem, which he did; adapting it so peculiarly to the compass of Mr.
Gostling’s voice, which was a deep bass, that hardly any person but
himself was then, or has since, been able to sing it: but the king did
not live to hear it performed. This Anthem is taken from the 107th
Psalm, the first two verses of the Anthem are the 23d and 24th of the
Psalm. “They that go down to the sea in ships, and occupy business in
great waters. These men see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in
the deep.”

Among the Letters of Tom Brown, from the Dead to the Living, is one
from Dr. Blow, to Mr. Purcell, in which it is humourously observed,
that persons of their profession are subject to an equal attraction
of the church and the play-house; and are, therefore, in a situation
resembling that of Mahomet, which is said to be suspended between
heaven and earth. This remark of Brown was truly applicable to Purcell;
and it is more than probable, his particular situation gave occasion to
it, for he was scarcely known to the world, before he became, in the
exercise of his profession, so equally divided between both, the church
and the theatre, that neither the church, the tragic, nor the comic
Muse, could call him her own.




                         THE QUEEN OF SWEDEN.


In the extracts from the Duchess of Orlean’s Letters, we find, that
Queen Christina, of Sweden, (who was as peculiar in her night dress,
as in almost every thing else, and who, instead of a night-cap, made
use of an uncouth linen wrapper,) having spent a restless day in bed,
ordered a band of Italian musicians, from the opera, to approach near
to her curtains, which were close drawn, and strive to amuse her.
After some time, the voice of one of the performers striking her with
singular pleasure, she suddenly thrust her homely, stern, ill-dressed
head from behind the curtains, exclaiming loudly, “_Mort Diable! comme
il chante bien!_” (Death and the Devil! how well he sings!) The poor
Italians, not used to such rough applause, from a figure so hideous,
were unable to proceed, from the terror which they felt, and the whole
concert was at a stand for several minutes.




                 THE ORIGIN OF CHANTING IN CATHEDRALS.


St. Austin, who was originally a monk at Rome, and was sent about the
year 596, by Gregory I. at the head of forty other monks, to convert
the English to Christianity, was the first who introduced chanting in
the Divine Service, which is still continued in our cathedrals. His
desire was to induce converts; and he strove, not only by argument,
to effect his object, but by every other laudable means he could
devise; hence he endeavoured, as much as possible, to render the
Divine Service interesting, as well as instructive. This practice of
chanting, or singing, made rapid increases. Our Saxon forefathers were
so enthusiastically fond of it, that one continued strain was kept up
night and day, by a succession of priests; even their penances could
be redeemed by the singing of a certain number of Psalms, or by a
frequent repetition of the Lord’s Prayer. He was very successful in his
endeavours, and, among others, King Ethelbert himself became a convert.
St. Austin resided principally at _Durovernum_, (Canterbury,) and died
May 26, 607.




         ORIGIN OF THE CELEBRATED OX MINUET, BY SIGNOR HAYDN.


Haydn saw with surprise a butcher call upon him one day, who being as
sensible to the charms of his works as any other person, said freely
to him, “Sir, I know you are both good and obliging, therefore I
address myself to you with full confidence;—you excel in all kinds of
composition; you are the first of composers: but I am particularly fond
of your minuets. I stand in need of one, that is pretty, and quite
new, for my daughter’s wedding, which is to take place in a few days,
and I cannot address myself better than to the famous Haydn.”—Haydn,
always full of kindness, smiled at this new homage, and promised it
to him on the following day. The amateur returned at the appointed
time, and received with joyful gratitude the precious gift. Shortly
after, the sound of instruments struck Haydn’s ear.—He listened, and
thought he recollected his new minuet. He went to his window, from
whence he saw a superb Ox, with gilded horns, adorned with festoons
and garlands, and surrounded by an ambulating orchestra, stopping
under his balcony. Haydn was roused from his reverie by the butcher,
who made his appearance in his apartment, and again expressed his
sentiments of admiration, and concluded his speech, by saying, “Dear
Sir, I thought that a butcher could not express his gratitude for so
beautiful a minuet better than by offering you the finest Ox in his
possession.”—Haydn refused—the butcher entreated, till at length Haydn,
affected at the butcher’s frank generosity, accepted the present, and
from that moment the minuet was known throughout Vienna by the name of
the Ox Minuet, and has lately been introduced as a musical curiosity in
England.




                            MUSICAL BATTLE.


On Monday evening, June 2, 1783, one of the most extraordinary attempts
to prove the power of music, that ever yet has been made in this
kingdom, was exhibited, in the style, and under the title of a concert,
at the Assembly room, King Street, St. James’s, Westminster.

The idea was that of representing the martial music, din, and horrors
of an embattled army, so that the tones of the different instruments
should cause the ear to believe a reality of the action, whilst the eye
was convinced of the inimitable deception.

The entertainment commenced with a grand overture, composed for two
orchestras, and divided into _allegro_, _andante_, and _presto_ parts,
as a prologue to the battle.

The call to arms followed; and several random cannon and musket shots,
interchanged between the two orchestras, were so distinctly imitated in
music, that we were led to imagine the actual presence of the bursting
powder, and the real noise of the whistling ball. These gradually
increased, as the armies were supposed to near their distance, until an
_allegro moderato_ gave the thunder of the artillery, the regular fire
of the platoons, the press from one army on the redoubt of the other,
the final attack upon the first line with musketry, and then carrying
the redoubt by storm. Here followed a representation of a tempest,
attended with thunder and lightning, which afforded a temporary rest to
the two orchestran armies.

A recitative, with accompaniments, expressed a council of war, after
which the signal was given for the cavalry of the conquering army to
attack; then, a most perfect and harmonious imitation of the galloping
and trotting of the horses, the discharge of the carbines and pistols,
and the clashing of swords, followed.

Here the supposition of a defeat gave further scope to the inventive
faculties of the designer, and proved the executive powers of the band
to imitate the total rout of the conquered army, the sound of the
retreat, the signal to pursue, with the bustle, noise, and clamour,
naturally attending, until the victorious troops beat a halt, in
consequence of the brave resistance of that division, which covered the
retreat of the vanquished army.

The straggling shots in the pursuit conveyed a most beautiful harmony
in the corresponding music from one orchestra to the other; which,
with the plaintive tones of the wounded, and the lamentations of the
expiring soldier, so naturally expressed, had a most powerful effect on
the auditors.

The whole concluded with a lively and spirited allegory, three times
repeated by the victors, in which was introduced a _feu de joye_,
imitating artillery and musketry.

The invention, we understand, is due to Mr. Kloeffler, a professor
of music, and musical director to the reigning Prince Bentheim,
Steinfurth, &c., and the bands were under the direction of Messrs.
Cramer and Solomon.

There were upwards of three hundred persons present, mostly of the
first rank, among whom were the foreign ambassadors. The company
expressed the highest satisfaction, and retired perfectly delighted
with their evening’s entertainment.




                    THE MEDICINAL EFFECTS OF MUSIC.


The medicinal effects attributed to music are so numerous, and some
of them so well authenticated, that to reject them totally would be
to deny credibility to many respectable historians, philosophers, and
physicians. Martinus Capella assures us, that fevers were removed by
song, and that Asclepiades cured deafness by the sound of the trumpet.
Plutarch says, that Thetales, the Cretan, delivered the Lacedemonians
from the pestilence, by the sweetness of his lyre. Many of the Ancients
speak of music as a receipt for every kind of malady. M. Buretti, an
eminent physician, who made the music of the ancients his particular
study, thinks it not only possible, but even probable, that music,
by repeated strokes and vibrations given to the nerves, fibres, and
animal spirits, may sometimes alleviate the sufferings of epileptics
and lunatics, and even overcome the most violent paroxysms of those
disorders.—Buretti is by no means singular in his opinion, for many
modern philosophers and physicians, as well as ancient poets and
historians, have declared that they had no doubt, but that music
has the power, not only of influencing the mind, but of affecting
the nervous system, in such a manner, as will, in certain diseases,
proceed by slow degrees, from giving temporary relief, to effecting a
perfect cure. In the Memoirs of the Academy of Sciences, for 1707, and
the following year, are recorded many accounts of diseases, which,
having obstinately resisted all the remedies prescribed by the most
able of the faculty, at last submitted to the powerful impression
of harmony. M. de Marian, in the Memoirs of the same academy,
speaking of the medicinal powers of music, says, that it is from
the mechanical involuntary connection between the organs of hearing
and the consonances excited in the outward air, joined to the rapid
communication of the vibrations of these organs, to the whole nervous
system, that we owe the cure of spasmodic disorders, and of fevers,
attended with a delirium and convulsions, of which the Memoirs give
many examples. Dr. Bianchina, professor of physic at Udina, who has
searched numerous ancient authors, and collected all the passages
relative to the medicinal application of music by Asclepiades, says,
that it was considered by the Egyptians, Grecians, and Romans, as a
remedy both in acute and chronical disorders; and he adds, that he
himself had seen it applied, in several cases, with great effect.




                             ODE TO MUSIC,

                       BY THE LATE DR. WHARTON.


    Queen of ev’ry moving measure,
    Sweetest source of purest pleasure,
    Music; why thy pow’rs employ,
    Only for the sons of joy?
    Only for the smiling guests,
    At natal or at nuptial feasts;

    Rather thy lenient numbers pour
    On those whom secret griefs devour;
    Bid be still the throbbing hearts
    Of those, whom death or absence parts;
    And, with some softly whisper’d air,
    Oh! smooth the brow of dumb despair.




                         THE MUSICAL PRODIGY.


In the public prints for February, 1807, appeared the following account
of an infant musician.

“Miss Randles, who astonishes the world with her wonderful performance
on the piano-forte, was born at Wrexham, in Denbeighshire, North Wales,
in August, 1799. Her father (an organist, and the celebrated lyrist,
mentioned by Miss Seward, in her beautiful poem, called Llangollen
Vale,) was deprived of his sight by the smallpox, at the age of three
years. When Miss Randles was but sixteen months old, she discovered
her wonderful talents, by going to the piano-forte, and instinctively
playing, “God save the King” and the “Blue Bells of Scotland;” her
father was astonished, and endeavoured, by signs, (for she could not
yet speak,) to make her repeat the tunes, which she did. He then sung
another simple air, “Charley o’er the water,” which her ear caught, and
she played it instantly. Mr. Randles then put her left hand upon the
corresponding bass note, and, as well as he could make her understand,
told her that she should strike that note, while she played the melody
with her right hand; she found this grateful to her ear, and, in a
short time, played a great many little tunes; and, at the age of two
years, could tell the name of any note on the instrument, when it was
struck, though she was in another room. Her father, of course, was
very proud of his little Cecilian, and composed several variations
to favourite airs, which she no sooner heard than played, with both
hands, correctly. She continued to improve daily; and, in June, 1803,
had the honour of performing under the patronage of his Royal Highness
the Prince of Wales, before their Majesties, and all the royal family.
His Majesty made her a present of a hundred guineas. She performed at
Cumberland Gardens, and there were about five hundred of the first
people of rank and distinction in the kingdom present, who were no
less astonished than delighted, at her truly great execution and
expression. In 1805, she was taught her notes, and, in a very short
time, could play several of Pleyel’s, Desseck’s, and Clementi’s Sonatas
in a surprising manner.

“Towards the latter end of 1805, she and her father took a tour through
the north of England, and received the greatest encouragement and
applause. Fearing that her health might suffer from too much fatigue,
Mr. Randles returned home, and, in September last, set off towards
Buxton, &c. Since that time, this fascinating infant has performed
at most of the principal places in the kingdom; and has passed, with
additional honour and fame, the criticism of Bath, where she has
been performing with universal applause, accompanied by her father
on the harp, and her uncle, Mr. Parry, who plays duets and trios, on
flageolets, which altogether form a truly novel and interesting little
band. They are now on their way to the west of England, where they
intend giving concerts.

Miss Randles now plays the most scientific compositions, at sight,
and sings delightfully. The only motive her father has, in taking her
about, is to procure the means to give her the best education. She is
to appear once more in the metropolis under illustrious patronage. Her
age is now seven years and six months.”

  _Taunton, February 9, 1807._




            MASTER WILLIAM CROTCH, THE MUSICAL PHENOMENON.


This very extraordinary child, who now (in June 1779,) daily attracts
the notice and attention not only of persons of the first distinction,
but of all lovers of natural genius, is the son of Michael and Isabella
Crotch: he was born at Norwich, on the 5th of July 1775. His father
being an ingenious carpenter, built an organ for his own amusement; and
it was owing to this incidental circumstance that the musical talents
of his little son William were discovered so early: they might have
lain dormant for years, if Mrs. Lullman, who teaches music at Norwich
with great reputation, and was intimately acquainted with his parents,
had not played upon this organ, and accompanied it with her voice
before the child.

One evening in particular, about the beginning of August 1777, he sat
in his mother’s lap while Mrs. Lullman played and sung a considerable
time. After that lady was gone, the child cried, and was remarkably
fractious: his mother attributed it to a pin, or some inward pain; she
undressed him, and endeavoured to find out the cause, but in vain:
however, as she was carrying him to bed, she passed near the organ, and
he stretched out his little hands towards it: upon which Mrs. Crotch
set him down to the keys, and he instantly struck them, seemingly in
great ecstasy: he played a few minutes; but imagining it to be only
the humour of an infant, she paid no regard to his manner of touching
the instrument, and he was soon put to bed, to all appearance perfectly
satisfied.

The next morning, after breakfast, while Mrs. Crotch was gone to
market, his father, willing to indulge his own curiosity, put the child
to the organ, and was astonished to hear him play great part of the
tunes of _God save the King_, and _Let Ambition fire thy Mind_. The
first Mr. Crotch had attempted several times in the child’s hearing,
but was not perfect in it. The last, Mrs. Lullman had performed in his
presence. Upon his mother’s return, this surprising event being related
to her, she could hardly credit it: but _Billy_ did not keep her long
in suspence, and Mrs. Crotch communicating the intelligence to their
friends, she was advised to let him play according to his own fancy,
whenever he expressed a desire for it.

He was now two years and three weeks old, and, from this time, all
persons who had any taste for music, and all the performers in Norwich,
resorted to the house: he played almost every day, and acquired more
tunes; and, in the midst of performing them, would strike out little
airs of his own in harmony; for it is remarkable, that he never plays
discord, neither will he bear it in others, without expressing disgust.

He performed before full assemblies at different places and at sundry
times, at Norwich, till the beginning of November, when he was carried,
by his mother, to Cambridge, where he played on all the College and
church organs, to the astonishment of the gentlemen of the University.

About the middle of December, he arrived in London, but no public
exhibition was made of his performance, till they had been heard by
their Majesties, to whom he and his mother were presented, by Lady
Hertford, at the Queen’s Palace, on the 7th of February, when he played
on the organ in the presence of their Majesties and the Royal Family,
who were graciously pleased to express their approbation.

On the 13th of the same month they waited on their Royal Highnesses,
the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, and performed to their entire
satisfaction. On the 26th he played on the organ of the chapel royal
of St. James’s, after morning service was over, their Majesties being
present.

From this time he has continued playing every day, between the hours
of one and three, in public, at Mrs. Hart’s, milliner, in Piccadilly,
opposite Dover Street.

Master William Crotch is now three years and nine months old: is a
lively, active child, has a pleasing countenance, rather handsome,
having fine blue eyes and flaxen hair. A large organ is placed about
the centre of the room, against the wainscot: it is raised upon a stage
about two feet from the floor, and a semicircular iron rod is fixed so
as to secure him in his seat, and separates him from the company. An
arm chair is placed upon this stage, and in it a common, very small
matted chair, which his mother fastens behind with a handkerchief to
the other, that he may not fall out, for he is wanton and full of
tricks, in the short intervals from playing. A book is placed before
him, as if it was a music book, and strangers in a distant part of the
room may mistake it for such; but it is no more than a magazine, or
some other pamphlet, with an engraved frontispiece: this, he looks at,
and amuses himself with the figures in the plate, while he is playing
any tune, or striking into his own harmony. In short he laughers,
prattles, and looks about at the company, at the same time keeping his
little hands employed on the keys, and playing with so much unconcern,
that you would be tempted to think he did not know what he was doing.

He appears to be fondest of solemn tunes, and church music,
particularly the 104th Psalm. As soon as he has finished a regular
tune, or part of a tune, or played some little fancy notes of his own,
he stops, and has the pranks of a wanton boy: some of the company then
generally give him a cake, an apple, or an orange, to induce him to
play again; but it is nine to one, if he plays the tune you desire,
unless you touch the pride of his little heart, by telling him he
has forget such a tune, or he cannot play it: this seldom fails of
producing the effect, and he is sure to play it with additional spirit.

After playing more than an hour, he desired to be taken down, and to
have a piece of chalk. He then entertained himself, and the company,
with drawing the outlines of a grotesque head on the floor: his
mother said it resembled an old grenadier he had seen in the park
that morning. He seems to have strong imitative powers; and, as every
trivial incident of such a child ought to be noticed, the following
instance of an apt idea, uncommon to his age, is mentioned, as it
struck the writer.

A lady gave him a remarkable large orange: after looking at it a
moment, with admiration, “Ah! (says he,) this is a double orange.” Some
have reported that he is humoursome: it is true, he will not always
continue playing on in a regular manner during the time allotted for
company to see him; nor can it be expected, he is not of an age to be
reasoned with, and humanity forbids compulsion: it is, in fact, rather
surprising that he can be brought to play everyday, without growing
tired, and disappointing the company.

We forgot to observe, that if any person plays a tune he never heard,
with the right hand on his organ, he will put a bass to it with his
left hand. He will also name every note that is struck on an organ, or
any other instrument, and always knows if any person plays out of tune.

  _Literary Miscellany, for June, 1779._




  ACCOUNT OF MADEMOISELLE THERESA PARADIS, OF VIENNA, THE CELEBRATED
                  BLIND PERFORMER ON THE PIANO-FORTE.


The following account of this wonderful woman appeared in one of the
periodical papers for March, 1785.

“This young person, equally distinguished by her talents and
misfortunes, is the daughter of M. Paradis, secretary to his Imperial
Majesty, in the Bohemian department, and god-daughter to the Empress
Queen.

“At the age of two years and eight months, she was suddenly deprived of
sight, by a paralytic stroke, or palsy in the optic nerves.

“At seven years old, she began to listen with great attention to the
music she had heard in the church, which suggested to her parents, the
idea of having her taught to play on the piano-forte, and soon after to
sing. In three or four years time, she was able to accompany herself
on the organ, in the _Stabat Mater_ of Pergolesi, of which she sung
the first _soprano_, or upper part, in the church of St. Augustin, at
Vienna, in the presence of the Empress Queen; who was so touched with
her performance and misfortune, that she settled a pension on her for
life.

“After learning of several masters at Vienna, she pursued her musical
studies under the care of Kozeluch, who has composed many admirable
lessons and concertos, on purpose for her use, which she plays with the
utmost neatness and expression.

“At the age of thirteen, she was placed under the care of the
celebrated empyric, Dr. Mesmer, who undertook to cure every species of
disease by Animal Magnetism. He called her disorder a perfect _gutta
serena_, and pretended, after she had been placed in his house, as
a boarder, for several months, that she was perfectly cured; yet,
refusing to let her parents take her away, or even visit her, after
some time; till, by the advice of the Barons Stoerk and Wenzel, Dr.
Ingenhous, Professor Barth, the celebrated anatomist, and by the
express order of her late Imperial Majesty, she was taken out of his
hands by force; when it was found, that she could see no more than
when she was first admitted as Mesmer’s patient. However, he had the
diabolical malignity to assert, that she could see very well, and only
pretended blindness, to preserve the pension granted to her by the
Empress Queen; and, since the decease of this princess, the pension of
Madame Paradis has been withdrawn, indiscriminately with all other
pensions granted by her Imperial Majesty.

“Last year Madame Paradis quitted Vienna, in order to travel,
accompanied by her mother, who treats her with extreme tenderness,
and is a very amiable and interesting character. After visiting
the principal courts and cities of Germany, where her talents and
misfortunes procured her great attention and patronage, she arrived at
Paris early last summer, and remained there five or six months; and
likewise received every possible mark of approbation and regard in
that capital, both for her musical abilities and innocent and engaging
disposition.

“When she arrived in England, the beginning of this winter, she brought
letters from persons of the first rank to her Majesty, the Prince
of Wales, the Imperial Minister, Count Kaganeck, Lord Stormont, and
other powerful patrons, as well as to the principal musical professors
in London. Messrs. Cramer, Abel, Solomon, and other eminent German
musicians, have interested themselves very much in her welfare; not
only as their country-woman bereaved of sight, but as an admirable
performer.”

She has been at Windsor, to present her letters to the Queen, and has
had the honour of playing there to their Majesties, who were extremely
satisfied with her performance; and treated her with that condescension
and kindness, which all those who are so happy as to be admitted into
the presence of our gracious sovereigns, in moments of domestic
privacy experience, even when less entitled to it, by merit and
misfortunes, than Madame Paradis. Her Majesty was not only graciously
pleased to promise to patronize and hear her frequently again, in the
course of the winter, but to afford her all the protection in her
power: as did his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, to whom she has
since performed, at a grand concert at Carlton-house, to the entire
satisfaction and wonder of all who heard her.

Besides her musical talents, which are indisputable, for neatness,
precision, and expression, particularly in the great variety of
admirable pieces she executes of her master’s, Kozeluch, Mademoiselle
Paradis has been extremely well educated, and is very ingenious and
accomplished: as she is able, almost as quick as if she could write,
to express her thoughts on paper, with printing types. She understands
geography by means of maps, prepared for her use, in which she can
find and point out any province or remarkable city in the world; and
is likewise able, by means of tables, formed in the manner of draught
boards, to calculate with ease and rapidity any sums, or numbers, in
the first five rules of arithmetic. She is likewise said to distinguish
many colours and coins by the touch: plays at cards, when prepared for
her, by private marks, unknown to the company; and, in her musical
studies, her memory and quickness are wonderful; as she learns, in
general, the most difficult pieces for keyed instruments, however full
and complicated the parts, by hearing them played only on a violin:
and, since her arrival in this kingdom, she has been enabled, in
this manner, to learn to perform some of Handel’s most elaborate and
difficult organ fugues and movements, in his first book of lessons, as
well as his Coronation Anthem, and more popular compositions.




                      THE LEGEND OF ST. CECILIA.


As this celebrated patroness of music has given rise to some of the
most beautiful poetic productions in our language, the Legend of the
said lady, not being generally known, the following particulars of her
life and martyrdom, it is presumed, will prove highly acceptable to our
readers.

“St. Cecilia, among Christians, is esteemed the patroness of music:
for the reasons whereof, we must refer to her history, as delivered by
the notaries of the Roman church, and from them transcribed into the
Golden Legend, and other books of the like kind. The story says, that
she was a Roman lady, born of noble parents, about the year 225; that,
notwithstanding she had been converted to Christianity, her parents
married her to a young Roman nobleman, named Valerianus, a Pagan,
who, going to bed to her on the wedding night, (_as the custom is,
says the book_) was given to understand by his spouse, that she was
nightly visited by an angel, and that he must forbear to approach her,
otherwise the angel would destroy him. Valerianus, somewhat troubled
at these words, desired that he might see his rival, the angel; but his
spouse told him that was impossible, unless he would be baptised, and
become a Christian, which he consented to. After which, returning to
his wife, he found her in her closet, at prayer; and by her side, in
the shape of a beautiful young man, the angel clothed with brightness.
After some conversation with the angel, Valerianus told him, that
he had a brother, named Tiburtius, whom he greatly wished to see a
partaker of the grace, which he himself had received: the angel told
him, that his desire was granted, and that shortly they should be both
crowned with martyrdom. Upon this the angel vanished, but soon after
showed himself as good as his word. Tiburtius was converted, and both
he and his brother Valerianus were beheaded. Cecilia was offered her
life, upon condition, that she would sacrifice to the deities of the
Romans, but she refused; upon which, she was thrown into a cauldron of
boiling water, and scalded to death: though others say, she was stifled
in a dry bath, i. e. an inclosure from whence the air was excluded,
having a slow fire underneath it; which kind of death was sometimes
inflicted, among the Romans, upon women of quality who were criminals.

“Upon the spot where her house stood, is a church, said to have been
built by Pope Urban I. who administered baptism to her husband and his
brother; it is the church of St. Cecilia, in Trastevere. Within is a
most curious painting of the saint, as also a most stately monument,
with a cumbent statue of her, with her face downwards.

“St. Cecilia is usually painted playing either on the organ, or on the
harp, singing as Chaucer relates, thus,

    “And whiles that the organs made melodie,
      To God alone thus in her heart sung she,
    O Lorde my soul, and eke my bodie gie
      Unwemmed, lest I confounded be[2].”

[2] See the second Nonne’s Tale, in Chaucer; the Golden Legend, printed
by Caxton; and the Lives of Saints, by Peter Ribadeneyra, a priest of
the Society of Jesus, printed at St. Omers, in 1699.

“Besides this account, there is a tradition of St. Cecilia, that she
excelled in music, and that the angel, who was thus enamoured of her,
was drawn down from the celestial mansions, by the charms of her
melody: this has been deemed authority sufficient for making her the
patroness of music and musicians.

“The lovers of music, residing in this metropolis, had a solemn annual
meeting, at Stationers’ Hall, on the 22d day of November, being the
anniversary of the martyrdom of St. Cecilia, from the rebuilding of
that edifice after the fire of London. These performances, being
intended to celebrate the memory of the tutelar saint and patroness
of music, had every possible advantage that the times afforded, to
recommend them. Not only the most eminent masters in the science
contributed their performance, but the gentlemen of the King’s
Chapel, and of the choirs of St. Paul’s and Westminster, lent their
assistance, and the festival was announced in the London Gazette.

“For the celebration of this solemnity, Purcell composed his _Te Deum_
and _Jubilate_; and Dr. Blow also composed a musical entertainment for
the same anniversary, the following year.

“The Legend of St. Cecilia has given frequent occasion to painters and
sculptors to exercise their genius in representations of her playing on
the organ, and sometimes on the harp. Raphael has painted her singing,
with a regal in her hands; and Dominichino and Mignard singing and
playing on the harp. And, in the vault under the choir of St. Paul’s
Cathedral, against one of the middle columns, on the south side, is
a fine white marble monument, for Miss Wren, the daughter of Sir
Christopher Wren, wherein the young lady is represented, on a _bass
relief_, the work of Bird, in the character of St. Cecilia, playing
on the organ, a boy angel sustaining her book, under which is the
following inscription:

“Here lies the body of Mrs. Jane Wren, only daughter of Sir Christopher
Wren, Knight, by Dame Jane, his wife, daughter of William Lord
Fitz-William, Baron of Lifford, in the Kingdom of Ireland. Ob. 29th
Dec. 1702, ætat. 26.”

  _From Sir John Hawkins._




                       CLINIAS, THE PYTHAGOREAN.


“This philosopher was a person very different, both in his life and
manners, from other men. If it chanced at any time that he was
inflamed with anger, he would take his harp, play upon, and sing to
it; saying, as often as he was asked the cause of his so doing, ‘That
by this means he found himself reduced to the temper of his former
mildness.’”

  _Treasury of Ancient and Modern Times._




                       THE SPARTAN POET TYRTŒUS.


Tyrtœus, the Spartan poet, having first rehearsed his verses, and
afterwards made them to be sung with flutes, well tuned together, he
so stirred and inflamed the courage of the soldiers thereby, that,
whereas, they had before been overcome in divers conflicts, being then
transported with the fury of the Muses, they remained conquerors, and
cut in pieces the whole army of the Messinians.




         THE RAGE OF THE EMPEROR THEODOSIUS SUBDUED BY MUSIC.


At such time as the tyrant Eugenius raised that perilous war in the
East, and that money grew short with the Emperor Theodosius, he
determined to raise subsidies, and to gather, from all parts, more than
before he had ever done: the citizens of Antioch bore this exaction
with so ill a will, that, after they had uttered many outrageous words
against the Emperor, they pulled down his statues, and those also of
the Empress, his wife. A while after, when the heat of their fury was
past, they began to repent themselves of their folly, and considered
into what danger they had cast themselves and their city. Then did
they curse their rashness, confess their fault, implore the goodness
of God, and that with tears, “That it would please him to calm the
Emperor’s heart.” These supplications and prayers were solemnly sung
with sorrowful tunes, and lamenting voices. Their bishop, Flavianus,
employed himself valiantly, in this needful time, in behalf of the
city, made a journey to Theodosius, and did his utmost to appease
him: but finding himself rejected, and knowing that the Emperor was
devising some grievous punishment; and, on the other side, not having
the boldness to speak again, and yet much troubled in his thoughts
because of his people, there came this device into his head. At such
time as the Emperor sat at meat, certain young boys were wont to sing
musically unto him. Flavianus wrought so, that he obtained of those
that had the charge of the boys, that they would suffer them to sing
the supplications and prayers of the city of Antioch. Theodosius,
listening to that grave music, was so moved with it, and so touched
with compassion, that having the cup in his hand, he, with his warm
tears, watered the wine that was in it, and forgetting all his
conceived displeasure against the Antiochians, freely pardoned them and
their city.




         THE BISHOP OF ORLEANS RESTORED FROM PRISON BY MUSIC.


The sons of Ludovicus I. then Emperor, had conspired against him,
and amongst divers of the bishops that were confederate with them,
was Theodulphus, Bishop of Orleans, whom the Emperor clapped up in
prison in Anjou. In this place, the Emperor kept his Easter, and was
present at the procession on Palm Sunday, in imitation and honour of
Christ’s entrance into Jerusalem. All the pomp was passing by the
place where Theodolphus was under restraint; the Bishop, in sight of
that solemnity, had prepared a most elegant hymn in honour of that
procession; and, as the Emperor passed by, opening his casement, with a
clear and musical voice he sung it, so as to be heard of the multitude
that passed by: the Emperor enquired, “What voice that was, and who
that sung?” It was told him, “The captive Bishop of Orleans.” The
Emperor diligently attending both the purport of the verses and the
sweetness of the voice, was therewith so delighted, that he restored
the prisoner forthwith to his liberty.




      A WOMAN PREVENTED FROM STARVING HERSELF TO DEATH, BY MUSIC.


Among the many anecdotes related of persons whose lives have been
preserved by music, is the following.

“A woman, being attacked for several months with the vapours, and
confined to her apartment, had resolved to starve herself to death.
She was, however, prevailed on, but not without difficulty, to see a
representation of the _Servo Padrona_ (a musical piece so called.) At
the conclusion of which she found herself almost cured; and, renouncing
her melancholy resolution, was entirely restored to health by a few
more representations of the same kind.”




                  REMARKABLE EFFECTS OF A SWISS AIR.


There is a celebrated air in Switzerland, called, _Rans des Vaches_,
which had such an extraordinary effect on the Swiss troops in the
French service, that they always fell into a deep melancholy when they
heard it. Louis XIV. therefore forbade it ever to be played in France,
under the pain of a severe penalty.

We are told also of a Scotch air (_Lochaber no more_) which had a
similar effect on the natives of Scotland.




                         THE DENMARK MUSICIAN.


There was a musician, formerly in Denmark, that so excelled in the art
of music, that he used to boast, that he could, with his performance,
set his hearers beside themselves, or make them merry, pensive, or
furious, as he pleased. This he performed upon trial at the command of
Ericus II. surnamed the Good, King of Denmark.




            WONDERFUL POWER OF MUSIC ON MADAME DE LA MARCH.


Madame de la March, a young lady of beauty and virtue, (near to Garet,)
upon report of her husband’s inconstancy, fell into such a fury,
that, on the sudden, she would throw herself into the fire, or out at
the window, or into a fish-pond, near her house, out of which she
had been twice rescued: but was afterwards more diligently watched.
The physicians attended her to no purpose, notwithstanding all their
endeavours; but a Capuchin passing that way to crave alms, and hearing
what had befallen her, advised that some skilful and experienced
performer on the lute should be sent for, and continue to play by her,
day and night, as occasion might require. This was accordingly done,
and, in less than three months, the violent passion forsook her, and
she remained, ever after, sound both in body and mind.




               A RHODIAN MUSICIAN’S REPLY TO APOLLONIUS.


When Apollonius was inquisitive of Canus, a Rhodian musician, “What
he could do with his instrument?” He told him, ‘that he could make a
melancholy man merry, and him that was merry, much merrier than he was
before: a lover more enamoured, and a religious man more devout, and
more attentive to the worship of the gods.




        EXTRAORDINARY EFFECTS OF MUSIC ON SNAKES AND SERPENTS.


In the month of July, 1791, (says an eminent historian,) we were
travelling in Upper Canada, with several families of savages, belonging
to the nation of the Onontagues. One day, when we had halted in
a spacious plain on the bank of the river Genesse, a rattlesnake
entered our encampment.— Among us was a Canadian who could play on
the flute, and who, to divert us, advanced against the serpent with
his new species of weapon. On the approach of his enemy, the haughty
reptile curls himself into a spiral line, flattens his head, inflates
his cheeks, contracts his lips, displays his envenomed fangs, and his
bloody throat: his double tongue glows like two flames of fire; his
eyes are burning coals: his body, swollen with rage, rises and falls
like the bellows of a forge: his dilated skin assumes a dull and scaly
appearance: and his tail, whence proceeds the death-denouncing sound,
vibrates with such rapidity as to resemble a light vapour.

The Canadian now begins to play upon his flute; the serpent starts
with surprise, and draws back his head. In proportion as he is struck
with the magic effect, his eyes lose their fierceness, the oscillations
of his tail become slower, and the sound which it emits grows weaker,
and gradually dies away. Less perpendicular upon their spiral line,
the rings of the charmed serpent are, by degrees, expanded, and sink,
one after another, upon the ground in concentric circles. The shades
of azure, green, white, and gold, recover their brilliancy on his
quivering skin; and slightly turning his head, he remains motionless,
in the attitude of attention and pleasure.

At this moment, the Canadian advanced a few steps, producing, with his
flute, sweet and simple notes. The reptile, inclining his variegated
neck, opens a passage with his head, through the high grass, and
begins to creep after the musician; stopping when he stops, and
beginning to follow him again as soon as he moves forward. In this
manner he was led out of our camp, attended by a great number of
spectators, both savages and Europeans, who could scarcely believe
their eyes when they witnessed this wonderful effect of harmony. The
assembly unanimously decreed, that the serpent which had so highly
entertained them, should be permitted to escape.

  _M. de Chateaubriand._




                          THE DANCING SNAKES.


The dancing snakes are carried in baskets throughout Indostan, and
procure a maintenance for a set of people, who play a few simple notes
on the flute: with which these snakes seem much delighted, and keep
time by a graceful motion of the head, erecting about half their length
from the ground, and following the music with gentle curves, like the
undulating lines of a swan’s neck. It is a well attested fact, that
when a house is infested with these snakes, and some others of the
coluber genus, which destroy poultry and small domestic animals, as
also by the larger serpents of the boa tribe, the musicians are sent
for; who, by playing on a flageolet, find out their hiding places, and
charm them to destruction: for no sooner do the snakes hear the music,
than they come softly from their retreat, and are easily taken. It is
imagined, that these musical snakes were known in Palestine, from the
Psalmist comparing the “ungodly to the deaf adder, which stoppeth her
ears, and refuseth to hear the voice of the charmer, charm he never so
wisely.”

When the music ceases, the snakes appear motionless, but, if not
immediately covered up in the basket, the spectators are liable to
fatal accidents.

  _M. de Chateaubriand._




   CURIOUS CONTEST ABOUT THE ERECTION OF THE CELEBRATED ORGAN IN THE
                        TEMPLE CHURCH, LONDON.


After the Restoration, the number of workmen in England being found too
few to answer the demand for organs, it was thought expedient to make
offers of encouragement for foreigners to come and settle here; these
brought over from Germany Mr. Bernard Schmidt and—— Harris; the former
of these, for his excellence in his art, and the following particulars
respecting him, deserves to live in the remembrance of all such as are
friends to it.

Bernard Schmidt, or, as we pronounce the name, Smith, was a native of
Germany, but of what city or province is not known. He brought with
him two nephews, the one named Gerrard, the other Bernard; and to
distinguish him from these, the elder had the appellation of Father
Smith. Immediately upon their arrival, Smith was employed to build an
organ for the Royal Chapel, at Whitehall; but, as it was built in great
haste, it did not answer the expectations of those who were judges of
his abilities. He had been but a few months here, before Harris arrived
from France, bringing with him a son, named Renatas, who had been
brought up in the business of organ making under him; they met with but
little encouragement, for Dallans and Smith had all the business of the
kingdom: but upon the decease of Dallans, in 1672, a competition arose
between these two foreigners, which was attended with some remarkable
circumstances. The elder Harris was in no degree a match for Smith;
but his son, Renatus, was a young man of ingenuity and spirit, and
succeeded so well in his endeavours to rival Smith, that, at length, he
got the better of him.

The contest between Smith and the younger Harris was carried on with
great spirit; each had his friends and supporters, and the point of
preference between them was hardly determined by that exquisite piece
of workmanship of Smith, the organ now standing in the Temple Church,
of the building thereof, the following is the history, as related by a
person who was living at the time, and intimately acquainted with both
Smith and Harris.

Upon the decease of Mr. Dallans, and the elder Harris, Mr. Renatus
Harris, and Father Smith, became great rivals in their employment, and
several trials of skill were betwixt them on several occasions; but
the famous contest between these two artists was at the Temple Church,
where a new organ was going to be erected, towards the latter end of
King Charles II.’s time. Both made friends for that employment; but,
as the Society could not agree about who should be the man, the Master
of the Temple, and the Benchers, proposed they both should set up an
organ on each side of the church; which, in about half a year, or three
quarters of a year, was done accordingly. Dr. Blow and Mr. Purcell,
who was then in his prime, showed and played Father Smith’s organ, on
appointed days, to a numerous audience; and, till the other was heard,
every body believed that Father Smith would certainly carry it.

Mr. Harris brought Mr. Lully, organist to Queen Catharine, a very
eminent master, to touch his organ, which brought it into such vogue,
that they thus continued vieing with each other near a twelvemonth.

Then Mr. Harris challenged Father Smith to make additional stops
against a set time; these were the Vox Humane, the Cremona, or Violin
Stop, the double Courtel, or Bass Flute, and others.

These stops, as being newly invented, gave great delight and
satisfaction to a numerous audience, and were so well imitated on both
sides, that it was hard to judge the advantage to either. At last it
was left to my Lord Chief Justice Jeffries, who was of that house,
and he put an end to the controversy, by pitching upon Father Smith’s
organ; so Mr. Harris’s organ was taken away without loss of reputation,
and Mr. Smith’s remains to this day.

Now began the setting up of organs in the chief parishes of the city
of London, for the most part Mr. Harris had the advantage of Father
Smith, making, I believe, two for his one; among them some are reckoned
very eminent; viz. the organ at St. Bride’s, St. Lawrence, near
Guildhall, St. Mary Axe, &c.

Notwithstanding this success of Mr. Harris, Smith was considered as an
able and ingenious workman, and, in consequence of this character, he
was employed to build an organ for the cathedral of St. Paul.

The organs made by him, though in respect of workmanship they are far
short of those of Harris, and even of Dalian’s, are justly admired;
and, for the fineness of their tone, have never yet been equalled.

Harris’s organ was afterwards purchased for the cathedral of Christ
Church, at Dublin, and set up there; but, some years back, Mr. Byfield
was sent for, from England, to repair it, which he objected to, and
prevailed on the Chapter to have a new one, made by himself, he
allowing for the old one in exchange. When he had got it, he would
have treated with the parishioners of Lynn, in Norfolk, for the sale
of it; but they, disdaining the offer of a second-hand instrument,
refused to purchase it, and employed Snetzlor to build them a new one,
for which they paid him seven hundred pounds. Byfield dying, his widow
sold Harris’s organ to the parish of Wolverhampton for five hundred
pounds, and there it remains at this day (i. e. 1778.) One of two
eminent masters, then living, were requested by the churchwardens of
Wolverhampton to give their opinions of this instrument, who declared
it to be the best modern organ he had ever touched.

  _Sir John Hawkins’s Memoirs._




                      QUEEN MARY AND MR. PURCELL.


The famous old ballad, “_Cold and raw_,” was greatly admired by
Queen Mary, consort of King William; and she once affronted Mr.
Purcell, by requesting to have it sung to her, he being present. The
story is as follows: The Queen, having a mind, one afternoon, to be
entertained with music, sent to Mr. Gostling, then one of the Chapel,
and afterwards subdean of St. Paul’s; to Mr. Henry Purcell, and Mrs.
Arabella Hunt, who had a very fine voice, and an admirable hand on
the lute, with a request to attend her. Mr. Gostling and Mrs. Hunt
sung several compositions of Purcell, who accompanied them on the
harpsichord. At length the queen, beginning to grow tired, asked Mrs.
Hunt, if she could not sing the old Scotch ballad, “Cold and raw?”
Mrs. Hunt answered yes, and sung it to her lute. Purcell was all the
while sitting at the harpsichord unemployed, and not a little nettled
at the queen’s preference of a vulgar ballad to his music; but, seeing
her majesty delighted with this tune, he determined that she should
hear it upon another occasion, and accordingly, in the next birth-day
song, viz. that for the year 1692, he composed an air to the words,
“_May her bright example chace vice in troops out of the land_,” the
bass whereof is the tune to Cold and Raw. It is printed in the Orpheus
Britannicus, and is note for note the same with the Scotch tune.




                      THE HIGHLAND CHARGING TUNE.


In one of the late battles in Calabria, a bagpiper of the 78th
regiment, when the light infantry charged the French, posted himself on
their right, and remained in his solitary situation during the whole of
the battle, encouraging the men with a famous Highland charging tune;
and actually, upon the retreat and complete rout of the French, changed
it to another, equally celebrated in Scotland upon the retreat of and
victory over an enemy. His next hand neighbour guarded him so well,
that he escaped unhurt. This was the spirit of the “Last Minstrel,” who
infused courage among his countrymen, by possessing it in so animated a
degree, and in so venerable a character.

  _Curiosities of Literature._




            EFFECTS OF FOREIGN MUSIC ON DIFFERENT ANIMALS.


Sir William Jones, in his curious Dissertation on the musical Modes of
the Hindus, relates the following story.

“After food, when the operations of digestion and absorption give so
much employment to the vessels, that a temporary state of mental repose
must be found, especially in hot climates, essential to health, it
seems reasonable to believe that a few agreeable airs, either heard
or played without effort, must have all the good effects of sleep, and
none of its disadvantages: _putting the soul in tune_, as Milton says,
for any subsequent exertion; an experiment often made by myself. I
have been assured by a credible eye-witness, that two wild antelopes
used often to come from their woods to the place where a more savage
beast, Sirajuddaulah, entertained himself with concerts, and that
they listened to the strains with an appearance of pleasure, till the
monster, in whose soul there was no music, shot one of them, to display
his archery. A learned native told me, that he had frequently seen
the most venomous and malignant snakes leave their holes upon hearing
tunes on a flute, which, as he supposed, gave them peculiar delight.
An intelligent Persian declared he had, more than once, been present,
when a celebrated lutanist, surnamed Bulbul, (i. e. the nightingale,)
was playing to a large company, in a grove near Schiraz, where he
distinctly saw the nightingales trying to vie with the musician,
sometimes warbling on the trees, sometimes fluttering from branch to
branch, as if they wished to approach the instrument, and, at length,
dropping on the ground, in a kind of ecstacy, from which they were soon
raised, he assured me, by a change of the mode.”




                      EFFECT OF MUSIC ON LIZARDS.


A modern traveller assures us, that he has repeatedly observed, in
the island of Madeira, that the lizards are attracted by the notes of
music, and that he has assembled a number of them by the powers of
his instrument. He tells us also, that when the negroes catch them,
for food, they accompany the chase, by whistling some tune, which has
always the effect of drawing great numbers towards them.

Stedman, in his expedition to Surinam, describes certain sibyls among
the negroes, who, among several singular practices, can charm or
conjure down from the tree certain serpents, who will wreath about the
arms, neck, and breast of the pretended sorceress, listening to her
voice. The sacred writers speak of the charming of adders and serpents;
and nothing, says he, is more notorious than that the eastern Indians
will rid the houses of the most venomous snakes, by charming them with
the sound of a flute, which calls them out of their holes.




                    MUSICAL ANECDOTE FROM MARVILLE.


Marville has given us the following anecdote. He says, “that doubting
the truth of those who say it is natural for us to love music,
especially the sound of instruments, and that beasts themselves are
touched with it, being one day in the country, I enquired into the
truth; and, while a man was playing on the trump-marine, made my
observations on a cat, a dog, a horse, an ass, a hind, cows, small
birds, and a cock and hens, who were in a yard, under a window on
which I was leaning.

“I did not perceive that the cat was the least affected, and I even
judged, by her air, that she would have given all the instruments in
the world for a mouse, sleeping in the sun all the time. The horse
stopped short, from time to time, before the window, raising his head
up now and then, as he was feeding on the grass. The dog continued
for above an hour seated on his hind legs, looking stedfastly at the
player. The ass did not discover the least indication of his being
touched, eating his thistles peaceably. The hind lifted up her large
wide ears, and seemed very attentive. The cows slept a little, and,
after gazing, as though they had been acquainted with us, went
forward. Some little birds, who were in an aviary, and others on the
trees and bushes, almost tore their little throats with singing: but
the cock, who minded only his hens, and the hens who were solely
employed in scraping a neighbouring dunghill, did not show, in any
manner, that they took the least pleasure in hearing the trump-marine.”




          ACCOUNT OF THE RECITATION OF THE BOATMEN OF VENICE.


It is well known, observes a celebrated literary character that, in
Venice, the gondoliers know by heart long passages from Ariosto and
Tasso, and are wont to sing them in their own melody. But this talent
seems at present on the decline:—at least, after taking some pains, I
could find no more than two persons who delivered to me, in this way, a
passage from Tasso.

There are always two concerned, who alternately sing the strophes. We
know the melody eventually by Rousseau, to whose songs it is printed;
it has properly no melodious movement, and is a sort of a medium
between the canto fermo and the canto figurato; it approaches to the
former by recitativical declamation, and to the latter by passages and
course, by which one syllable is detained and embellished.

I entered a gondola by moonlight; one singer placed himself forwards,
and the other aft, and thus proceeded to St. Georgio. One began the
song: when he had ended his strophe, the other took up the lay, and so
continued the song alternately. Throughout the whole of it, the same
notes invariably returned; but, according to the subject matter of the
strophe, they laid a greater or a smaller stress, sometimes on one, and
sometimes on another note, and indeed changed the enunciation of the
whole strophe, as the object of the poem altered.

On the whole, however, their sounds were hoarse and screaming: they
seemed in the manner of all rude, uncivilised men, to make the
excellency of their singing in the force of their voice: one seemed
desirous of conquering the other by the strength of his lungs, and so
far from receiving delight from this scene, (shut up as I was in the
box of the gondola) I found myself in a very unpleasant situation.

My companion, to whom I communicated this circumstance, being very
desirous to keep up the credit of his countrymen, assured me that this
singing was very delightful, when heard at a distance. Accordingly we
got out, upon the shore, leaving one of the singers in the gondola,
while the other went to the distance of some hundred paces. They now
began to sing against one another, and I kept walking up and down
between them both, so as always to leave him who was to begin his part.
I frequently stood still and hearkened to the one and to the other.

Here the scene was properly introduced. The strong declamatory, and,
as it were shrieking sound met the ear from far, and called forth
the attention: the quickly succeeding transitions, which necessarily
required to be sung in a lower tone, seemed like plaintive strains
succeeding the vociferations of emotion or of pain. The other,
who listened attentively, immediately began where the former left
off, answering him, in milder or more vehement notes, according as
the purport of the strophe required. The sleepy canals, the lofty
buildings, the splendour of the moon, the deep shadows of the few
gondolas, that moved like spirits, hither and thither, increased the
striking peculiarity of the scene, and, amidst all these circumstances,
it was easy to confess the character of this wonderful harmony.

It suits perfectly well with an idle, solitary mariner, lying at length
in his vessel, at rest on one of these canals, waiting for his company,
or for a fare, the tiresomeness of which situation is somewhat
alleviated by the songs and poetical stories he has in memory. He often
raises his voice as loud as he can, which extends itself to a vast
distance over the tranquil mirror, and, as all is still around, he is,
as it were, in a solitude, in the midst of a large and populous town.
Here is no rattling of carriages, no noise of foot passengers: a silent
gondola glides now and then by him, of which the splashing of the oars
are scarcely to be heard.

At a distance he hears another, perhaps utterly unknown to him.
Melody and verse immediately attach the two strangers; he becomes the
responsive echo to the former, and exerts himself to be heard, as he
had heard the other. By a tacit convention, they alternate, verse for
verse; though the song should last the whole night through, they
entertain themselves without fatigue; the hearers, who are passing
between the two, take part in the amusement.

This vocal performance sounds best at a great distance, and is then
inexpressibly charming, as it only fulfils its design in the sentiment
of remoteness. It is plaintive, but not dismal, in its sound, and, at
times, it is scarcely possible to refrain from tears. My companion,
who otherwise was not a very delicately organised person, said, quite
unexpectedly:—“_e singolare come quel canto intenersce, e molto più
quando lo cantano meglio_.”

I was told that the women of Libo, the long row of islands that divides
the Adriatic from the Lagouns, particularly the women of the extreme
districts of Malamocca and Palestrina, sing in like manner the works
of Tasso to these and similar tunes.

They have the custom, when their husbands are fishing out at sea, to
sit along the shore, in the evenings, and vociferate these songs,
and continue to do so with great violence, till each of them can
distinguish the responses of her own husband at a distance.

How much more delightful and more appropriate does this song show
itself here, than the call of a solitary person, uttered far and wide,
till another equally disposed shall hear and answer him! It is the
expression of a vehement and hearty longing, which yet is every moment
nearer to the happiness of satisfaction.

  _Curiosities of Literature._


                               THE END.




                                INDEX.


  A.

  AMURATH, Sultan of the East, saves the lives of 30,000 persons,
    by music, 23.

  Animals in the West of England, stimulated by music, 37.

  Abell, Mr. anecdote of, 62.

  Arne, Dr. ditto, 69.

  Archangelo Corelli, ditto, 87.


  B.

  Bull, extraordinary effects of music on one, 32.

  Brown, Mr. musical anecdote related by, 77.

  Battle, musical one, 99.

  Boatmen of Venice, account of their recitation, 169.


  C.

  Contrary effects of music on a Greek lady, 15.

  Clarke, Jeremiah, anecdote of, 71.

  Convulsions relieved by music, 5.

  Corelli, Archangelo, anecdote of, 87.

  Chanting in Cathedrals, the origin of, 95.

  Crotch, Master William, the musical phenomenon, 113.

  Cecilia, St. the Legend of, 130.

  Clinias, the Pythagorean, the power of music on, 137.


  D.

  Dog, musical one, 31.

  Dying Man and the Piano, 36.

  Devil’s Concerto, 56.

  Denmark Musician, remarkable one, 145.


  E.

  Elephant, the power of music on one, 12.


  F.

  Farinelli and his Taylor, anecdote of, 60.

  Foreign Music, effects of, on different animals, 163.


  G.

  Greek lady, contrary effects of music on, 15.


  H.

  Hare, the effect of music on one, 10.

  Highlander, ditto, 14.

  Highland charging tune, power of, on soldiers, 162.

  Handel, George Frederick, anecdotes of, 55, 58, 65, 75.

  Haydn, account of his celebrated Ox Minuet, 97.


  L.

  Lady, indisposition of one, cured by music, 5.

  Lulli, the celebrated musician, anecdote of, 78.

  Legend of St. Cecilia, 130.

  Lizards, effects of music on, 165.


  M.

  Mademoiselle Theresa Paradis, account of, 122.

  Mice affected by music, 19.

  Musical Elephant, 12.

  —— Pigeon, 27.

  —— Dog, 31.

  —— Bull, 32.

  Music Composer, wonderfully affected by his  art, 38.

  Mozart, interesting particulars in his life, 44.

  Madame la Maupin, anecdote of, 82.

  Musical battle, description of one, 99.

  Music, medicinal effects of, 104.

  Musical Prodigy, 108.

  —— Phenomenon, 113.

  March, Madame de la, wonderful effect of music on, 145.

  Marville, musical anecdote, related by, 167.


  O.

  Ox Minuet, celebrated one, by Haydn, origin of 97.

  Ode to Music, by Dr. Wharton, 107.

  Orleans, Archbishop of, restored from prison by music, 141.


  P.

  Philip V. King of Spain, cured by music, 25.

  Pigeon, musical, one described, by Mrs. Piozzy,  27.

  Piano and the Dying Man, anecdote of, 36.

  Purcell, Henry, Esq. ditto, 90.


  Q.

  Queen Mary and Mr. Purcell, anecdote of, 160.


  R.

  Randles, Miss, musical prodigy, 108.

  Rans des Vaches, remarkable Swiss air, 144.

  Rhodian Musician’s reply to Apollonius, 146.


  S.

  Spiders affected by music, 19.

  Sweden, Queen of, and Italian Musicians, 94.

  Swiss Air, remarkable one, 144.

  Snakes, extraordinary effects of music on, 147.

  ——, dancing ones, account of, 150.

  Stradella, anecdote of, 20.


  T.

  Timotheus the Ancient, anecdote of, 22.

  —— —— Modern, ditto, 21.

  Thirty thousand persons saved by the power of music, 23.

  Tartini, the celebrated Italian musician, anecdote of, 56.

  Tyrtœus the Spartan poet, anecdote of, 138.

  Theodosius, the Emperor, soothed by music, 139.

  Temple Organ, curious contest about, 152.


  V.

  Voice, recovered by music, 8.

  Venice Boatmen’s recitation, 169.


  W.

  Woman prevented from starving, by music, 143.


  Z.

  Zamperini, Madame, anecdote of, 17.