A story is told of Farinelli, the famous singer, being sent for express to Madrid, to try the effect of his magical voice on the king of Spain, who was then buried in the profoundest melancholy—proof against every appeal to exertion, living without signs of life in a darkened chamber, the unresisting prey of dejection beyond relief. But relief came with Farinelli. The vocalist was desired by the physicians to sing in an outer room, which for a day or two he did, without any apparent effect upon the royal patient. But at length it was noticed that the king seemed partially roused from his stupor, and became an evident listener; next day tears were seen starting from his eyes; the day after he ordered the door of his chamber to be left open; and at last “the perturbed spirit entirely left our modern Saul, and the medicinal voice of Farinelli effected what no other medicine could.” Well known in modern verse is the poet’s picture of a despairing sufferer, whom nought avails to move until— “At last a slave bethought her of a harp: The harper came, and tuned his instrument; At the first notes, irregular and sharp, On him her flashing eyes a moment bent, Then to the wall she turned as if to warp Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart re-sent. ... Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall In time to his old tune ... ... And in a gushing stream The tears rushed forth from her o’erclouded brain, Like mountain mists at length dissolved in rain.” Nor be forgotten the impressive instance of Schiller’s Wallenstein, in his hour of darkness, tranquillised by Thekla’s voice and lute:— “Come here, my girl. Seat thee by me, For there is a good spirit on thy lips. Thy mother praised to me thy ready skill; She says a voice of melody dwells in thee, Which doth enchant the soul. Now such a voice Will drive away from me the evil demon That beats his black wings close above my head.” William Godwin makes his savage Tyrell amenable to well warbled melody. Readers of Scott will remember how a frenzied Highlander is soothed into self restraint by the minstrelsy of Annot Lyle. Goethe makes the first bar of an air by Gretchen suffice to lull the sorrows of young Werter, who protests that “instantly the gloom and madness which hang over me are dispersed, and I breathe freely again.” Another Charlotte—our English Richardson’s—is less successful in her manipulation of medicinal melody, when essaying to subdue an angry spirit by the spells of song: “I go to my harpsichord; music enrages him. He is worse than Saul; for Saul could be gloomily pleased with the music even of the man he hated,” But this is antedating Saul’s aversion; in those days Saul loved David greatly.