can forgive the tuneless squalls that too often
greet our ears from ambulatory minstrels, be they of the Madonna, or
fishy, Dutch-swamp style of beauty. A sweet-toned street organ, heard in
the distance, when all around is still, is not a thing to be despised,
by those who have music enough in their souls to respond to the
slightest touches of Apollo's lyre. If the heart be but attuned to
harmony, it will vibrate to the simplest notes, faint though they be, as
by the wafting of the evening breeze among the chords of a neglected
harp, sadly hung upon the willows; it will cherish the feeblest idea,
and nurture it into perfect melody. As love begets love, so does harmony
beget its kind in the heart of him who can strike the keynote of nature,
and listen to the wild and solemn sounds that swell from her mysterious
treasure-house, and echo among her "eternal hills," while the celestial
arch concludes and re-affirms the wondrous cadence. But these are
secrets revealed to none but her loving worshipper; he who, with a
reverential homage, seeks the hidden recesses of her temple, to bend in
awe before her purest shrine. From him who lingers heedlessly in her
antechamber with faint loyalty, they are deeply veiled, and the glowing
revelations of her favoured ones seem but as the recital of a dream to
his cold heart: for "to _love_ is to know."

But surely of all instruments, the violin, first-rately played, is the
most--yes, we will say it--heavenly. Hark! to the clear, vocal melody,
now rapturously rising in one soul-exalting strain, anon melting away in
the saddest, tenderest lament, as though the soft summer breeze sighed
forth a requiem over the dying graces of its favourite flower; then
bursting forth in haughty, triumphant notes, swept in gusts from the
impassioned strings, as though instinct with life, and glowing with
disdain. Any one may see that painters are no musicians, else had they
furnished their angels not with harps--beautiful and sparkling as the
sea-foam, as are their most graceful chords--but with this, of all
instruments the most musical, whose tones admit of more variety than
any, (the Proteus organ alone excepted,) and whose delicious long-drawn
notes must entrance every one not absolutely soulless. Oh, they are
excruciatingly delightful! And yet you shall hear this identical violin,
in the hands of an everyday performer, emit such squeals and screams as
shall set your teeth on edge for a twelvemonth, curdle