Whuh! cried Llewellyn, (whistling out his admiration and contempt in an under-note, not meant to reach the ears of the old gentleman) This is a new discovery in medicine, and one more than the dispensary has yet taken notice of. Pardon me, resumed De Lancaster, it is no new discovery, but the very doctrine held by Theophrastus, Aristoxenus and by Pythagoras himself; the last of whom depended almost entirely on the flute or flagelet for the expulsion of melancholy; and, as I am no dealer in assertions without authorities, I shall take the liberty of quoting the very words of Martianus Capella in his ninth book, which to Mr. Edward Wilson at least I have no doubt will be familiar, and these they are--_Pythagorei enim, ferociam animi tibiis aut fidibus mollientes, docuerunt cum corporibus adhærere nexum fædus animarum_. In this practice however I must beg leave slightly to differ from the Pythagoreans, and recommend the harp or lyre in preference, forasmuch as these were the proper instruments of Apollo, the god of healing, whereas the flute or flagelet belonged to Tritonia, whose attributes we all know were of a different description. Let me however do Pythagoras the justice to acknowledge, that he recommends the lute also as a sedative in the paroxysms of rage and anger. Here the colonel interposed, by observing, that what effect a flute, or a lute, or a flagelet might have upon the passions of mankind he could not pretend to say, but he apprehended neither one nor the other could have any thing to do with their diseases, and to this Llewellyn assented with a significant nod of approbation. De Lancaster had now got amongst his sophists and grammarians, and committed himself much too far to halt upon a nod; he proceeded therefore as follows-- Whilst there subsists a sympathy between the senses and the soul, the intellectual remedy for man must be sought for in harmony. All the nations under heaven, whether civilized or not, have borne witness to the powers and effects of music. The Mariandyni, a wild people inhabiting the confines of Bithynia, made their national music from pipes, which they formed of the reeds, that grew upon the borders of the lake Acherusia. The pipe was also the favourite of those mountain shepherds of Bœotia, called Aonians; whilst the Egyptians with more ingenuity struck out the complex instrument called Pandura, which was composed of no less than seven pipes. We have in our practice, said Llewellyn, an instrument with one pipe, but I can’t for my soul conceive the use, that can be made of seven. It was doubtless an instrument of no inconsiderable difficulty to the performer, replied De Lancaster gravely. I should not chuse to perform upon it, said the apothecary.