When we pass from the monumental arts of architecture and sculpture to those of a more subjective character, which use more fleeting vehicles for their expression, we have in modern life painting and music, which we may expect to be more independent of Greek models than the rest. For, _ex hypothesi_, pictures so far as they are on panels of wood or canvas can hardly survive the lapse of ages of neglect,[29] and as for music, the notation is so small and poor a clue to its real meaning, that even if we understood it perfectly, we should still be a long way from grasping the full meaning as felt by the Greek public. I will give you an illustration of this from my own experience. There is in our English and Irish cathedrals a tradition of the way in which certain anthems are to be sung--a tradition generally derived from those who sang them in the composer’s presence, or under his influence. The older editions of these anthems seldom give any expression marks, the performance being entrusted to the taste of the choir or its knowledge of the composer’s intentions. A signal example is the finest of Blow’s anthems, “I beheld and lo! a great multitude,” composed in the reign of Charles II. (1680), and sung ever since by sundry cathedral choirs, amongst others those of Dublin, where there has from long since been a great school of church music. In Dublin, this is one of the most moving and dramatic anthems, owing to the great liberties taken with the time by the Vicars Choral, who have kept the tradition unbroken. I chanced to hear it sung by the very excellent choir of Magdalen College, Oxford, on their high day--All Saints’ Day, when it is annually performed. I was astonished to find that they merely sang it from the text without any of the traditional liberties. The effect was so poor and unmeaning as to be almost ridiculous to one who had been taught to understand the inner sense of the work.