to the heart of the English nation. In the congregational singing in churches, in the overwhelming attention which an English audience will bestow on such an oratorio as the
Messiah
, we realise that a chord is struck, which vibrates through the whole of our being, which lifts us into a state of semi-exultation, and moves us like the words of some great statesman. I will not discuss the question, of whether a drama or an opera has most power over its audience, but I will fearlessly affirm, that apart from the drama there is no art that has the same soul-stirring influence, as the art of music. The simple harmonies of our Anglican hymns suffice for the untaught peasant, and the broad sweep of a Handelian chorus holds captive musical amateurism. But there is a music that reaches to higher heights, embraces within its sphere a wider domain, and goes deep down into the mysteries of nature—into the abysses of the soul; but such music is an open book only for the musical student. It lives. It exists. It swells through the length and breadth of the land; and year by year its influence increases, its power becomes more dominant, and its glowing beauties more vividly appreciated. People are beginning to comprehend the wondrous message, sent to us by such composers as Ludwig Beethoven, and Richard Wagner. They are beginning to understand the voice of that most marvellous of all instruments—more marvellous than the organ itself,
for its keyboard is human brains, and its stops are human hands. I mean the modern orchestra. The world's finest music has been written for that instrument; the divinest melodies have been given it to interpret, and the most significant factor in the English art life of the present is the growing enthusiasm with which music, in its highest and most abstract form and beauty, is listened to, by those who, in political phraseology, are summed up in that terse and comprehensive expression "The Masses." I look with much greater confidence to music, than I do to Parliament, for the means of preventing crime and intemperance—indeed, as one of the most permanent cures of all vice and discontent. Much has been done in later years by local authorities, towards enabling the public to have within easy and reasonable reach such music as can be provided by bands and local orchestra. But this is only the beginning. I trust the day may not be far distant, when local authorities will see their way to providing at cheap prices the best of operas, as is done so largely on the Continent of Europe. We rightly and wisely provide libraries, technical schools, and many other forms of instructive recreation, but why are we in England to lag behind other countries in providing that most instructive form of entertainment—namely, opera. I have never known a true lover of music who was not a good citizen. And what a preventive against idleness, the
cause of so much crime. Once produce opera at a price which all can afford to pay to hear, and can anyone doubt, that many a man and woman will choose it, in preference to an evening in a public-house or a music-hall. I never remember listening to an opera, however poor or badly performed, that I have not gained some strength with which to continue the desperate struggle of the battle of life—which is very much more than I can say, for instance, for speeches in the House of Commons. He who loves music has a servant at his command which will ever render him willing and delightful service; he who loves music brings himself into subjection, to one of the most elevating and purifying influences of civilisation, and he who loves music and will practise it, becomes a valuable and agreeable factor in the social life of the community. There are no selfish restrictions in music. The painter must keep himself to his canvas, and the actor to his stage, but singers and instrumentalists have a standing in the humble parlours of the poor, and in the luxuriously-upholstered drawing-rooms of the rich; they have a coign of vantage in the choir stalls of churches and on the platforms of concert halls. Music offers her favours alike to the modest reader of the Tonic Sol-fa Notation, and to the pianist who can master the difficulties of the Beethoven Sonatas. The chorus singer enjoys the same measure of gratification as the leading soloist, and the
student with his score in his hand is just as great a king as the conductor. In speaking briefly on such a vast and interesting subject, one must necessarily leave volumes unsaid that ought to be said. I have but casually touched on the beginnings of musical art, and the utmost I can hope for is that I have succeeded in arousing some degree of curiosity in the minds of those, who have shown but little regard for musical literature, and which will have the effect of ultimately leading them to devote more of their time and attention to good musical performances.