“Nothing, as you very justly observe, is now left us, but conjecture,” said the vicar; “and yet it is impossible to read the accounts of the extraordinary effects produced by the different ‘modes’ of ancient music, without entertaining a strong conviction of its great superiority over that of modern times. What have we, my dear Miss Villers, to compare with the soft ‘_Lydian_,’ the grave ‘_Dorian_,’ or the furious ‘_Phrygian_;’ to say nothing of the subaltern modes of Aristides Quintilianus and others; such, for example, as the ‘_erotic_,’ ‘_comic_,’ and ‘_encomiastic_?’ What modern strains can produce the effects which are recorded to have followed the performance of Timotheus, the director of the music of Alexander the Great? One day, while the prince was at table, the musician performed an air in the Phrygian mode, which made such an impression on him, that, being already heated with wine, he flew to his arms, and was going to attack his guests, had not Timotheus immediately changed the style of his performance to the sub-Phrygian, or Lydian. This mode calmed the impetuous fury of the monarch, and induced him to resume his place at table. Music,” continued the vicar, “has, in modern times, so fallen from this degree of majesty and power, as to induce some persons to doubt the truth of the historical statements.” “I confess, Mr. Twaddleton,” said Miss Villers, “that I have always been inclined to regard ancient music as the mere vehicle of poetry; and to attribute to the power of the latter that influence which you appear to refer exclusively to the former.”