“And thus afforded a practical illustration of a passage of Shakspeare,” exclaimed the vicar, “‘The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not mov’d with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus: Let no such man be trusted.’” “Are you satisfied?” asked Mr. Seymour; “if not, I will proceed to tell you how Palma, a Neapolitan, induced a creditor who came to arrest him, not only to remit his debt, but to contribute a sum for his support. I will also relate an anecdote of Farinelli the actor, who having a pathetic air to sing on the stage to a tyrant who had taken him prisoner, the person who performed the part of the tyrant, and was to have refused his request, was so affected by the music, that he actually melted into tears, and clasped the captive in his arms.” “Enough, enough!” exclaimed the vicar. “I see plainly that you believe not in the power of music.” “In that you wrong me. I certainly do not believe that the ancients were better skilled than ourselves in music; and I have been anxious to convince you that there are as many modern as ancient stories, in proof of the influence of harmony over our feelings; but no one will deny that music is capable of producing extraordinary effects. Let us only interrogate ourselves, and examine what have been our sensations on hearing a majestic or warlike piece of music, or a tender and pathetic air sung or played with expression. Who does not feel that the latter tends as much to melt the soul and dispose it to pleasure, as the former to animate and exalt it? There is a celebrated air in Switzerland, which, I have no doubt, Miss Villers will presently play to us, called ‘_Rans des Vaches_,’ and which had such an extraordinary effect on the Swiss troops in the French service, that they always fell into a deep melancholy whenever they heard it. Louis XIV, therefore, forbade it ever to be played in France, under the pain of a severe penalty. We are also told of a Scotch air, ‘_Lochaber no more_,’ which had a similar effect on the natives of Scotland. Never shall I forget the effect produced upon myself by the impressive requiem of Jomelli, as performed at the chapel of the Portuguese embassy to the memory of the late king of Portugal. The movement with which it commenced was a deep and hollow murmur, that seemed to swell from the tomb, and with which the voices of spirits imperceptibly rose, and intermingled;--a brilliant movement interposed,--it was a ray of hope that pierced the gloom of the sepulchre!”