at the same
time some songs of a plaintive character. An idea now occurred to me
to have an instrument made according to my own plans, which should be
nothing less than a violin. Almah was delighted at the proposal, and
at once found a very clever workman, who under my direction succeeded
in producing one which served my purpose well. I was a good violinist,
and in this I was able to find solace for myself and for Almah for
many a long hour.

The first time that I played was memorable. As the tones floated
through the air they caught the ears of those outside, and soon great
numbers came into the apartment, listening in amazement and in rapt
attention. Even the painful light was disregarded in the pleasure of
this most novel sensation, and I perceived that if the sense of sight
was deficient among them, that of hearing was sufficiently acute.
I played many times, and sometimes sang from among the songs of
different nations; but those which these people liked best were the
Irish and Scottish melodies--those matchless strains created by the
genius of the Celtic race, and handed down from immemorial ages
through long generations. In these there was nothing artificial,
nothing transient. They were the utterance of the human heart, and in
them there was that touch of nature which makes all men kin. These
were the immortal passions which shall never cease to affect the soul
of man, and which had power even here; the strains of love, of
sadness, and of pathos were sweet and enticing to this gentle race;
for in their mild manners and their outburst of cruelty they seemed to
be not unlike the very race which had created this music, since the
Celt is at once gentle and blood-thirsty.

I played "Tara," "Bonnie Doon," "The Last Rose of Summer," "The Land
of the Leal," "Auld Lang Syne," "Lochaber." They stood entranced,
listening with all their souls. They seemed to hunger and thirst after
this music, and the strains of the inspired Celtic race seemed to come
to them like the revelation of the glory of heaven. Then I played more
lively airs. Some I played a second time, singing the words. They
seemed eager to have the same one played often. At last a grisly
thought came to me: it was that they would learn these sweet strains,
and put their own words to them so as to use them at the awful
sacrifices. After that I would play no more.

It is a land of tender love and remorseless cruelty. Music is
all-powerful to awaken the one, bu