เ

'russet hues of distant slopes, the livid gashes of 'ravines and precipices; the silver line of falling waters, and the whirling clouds at his feet; and

cast his gaze over lakes, and forests, wide lands, ' and smoaking towns, to the ocean's brink,-knows 'nothing of the splendid scenes this land affords.'*

The tremendous avalanches of snow from the summits of the high Alps in Switzerland, form another order of the most appalling echoes. Mr. Bakewell, speaking of the fall of these masses, says 'The noise was indescribably deep and aw'ful; reverberating in long and repeated echoes, 'which truly might be called the music of the 'mountains, and was in perfect harmony with the ' vast sublimity of the scene. To these deep echoes 'succeeded a solemn silence, till again an appalling 'crash from another part of the range was repeated 'by louder bursts, responding from mountain to 'mountain. It would have required no very poetic 'imagination to have heard, amid these sounds, the 'mighty genii of the Alps holding conference together, in an awful language, that spoke of the 'feebleness of human power, compared with the 'force and immensity of nature.' Descending from this vast theatre of sounds, into the haunts of men, how cheering to hear the joyful notes of the goatherd ringing through the valley, as he runs through the gamut at a breath; and, with a stentorian voice, calls up the echoes that surround him. Ac*Howitt's Book of the Seasons.

companied with the lowing herds, and the murmur of waterfalls, how rich he pours his liquid song Ignorant of all the rules of art, and guided by his fancy alone, his voice in the deep solitude has a charm indescribable.

On turning to the sequestered spots of our own isle, let us seek the Wood nymph wild' with Izaak Walton. 'Look,' says he, 'under the broad beech 'tree! I sat down when I was last this way a fish'ing, and the birds in the adjoining grove seemed to 'have a friendly contention with an echo, whose 'dead voice seemed to live in a hollow tree, near 'to the brow of that primrose hill. There I sat viewing the silver stream glide silently towards 'the tempestuous sea; yet sometimes opposed by rugged roots and pebbled stones, which broke their 'waves and turned them into foam; and now beguiled time by viewing the harmless lambs, some 'leaping securely in the cool shade, whilst others sported in the cheerful sun; and as I sat, these ' and other sights had so fully possessed my soul 'with content, that I thought, as the poet has hap'pily expressed it,

I was for that time lifted above earth,

And possess'd joys not promised in my birth.'

It is in rural scenes like these we hail the 'Nymph unseen,' and listen with delight to her wooing voice.

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CHAPTER XXII.

THE FLUTE.

THE flute is the most simple of all the wind instruments, and its antiquity may be referred to a period even prior to the Greeks and Romans; rude as it was in those ages, it ranked next to the lyre. It derives its name from Flutta, a lamprey, a sort of eel, which it resembles not only in figure, but also in the number and distance of its holes, similar to those observable in the sides of that slender fish. The instrument in the time of Shakespeare, no doubt, was the common flute, blown at the end like a flageolet, or child's toy. From Dryden's description, we may infer the same was in use in his day, who speaks of it as the

Soft-complaining flute.

The introduction of the flauto traversa, or side flute, was a great improvement: this is now generally called the German flute. At first it was played with but one key, and aspired to no greater extent of notes than those of the female voice; but these were full and delicious. In this simple form it was often found in the hands of the village swain, who, after the toil of the day, played an artless melody. On a summer's eve I have heard with delight its complaining voice, concealed in the dark shade of

the lime trees, telling a tale of hapless love. But since it has been allowed a place in the orchestra, its character has entirely changed:* it is no longer the Soft-complaining flute,' its language is rather that of pertness than modesty. This great alteration has arisen from the circumstance of its having been called upon to play its part an octave higher than formerly, which has so augmented its tones, and the difficulties of execution, that it is a rare thing to meet with a performer who can sufficiently restrain it.†

Of all instruments in the orchestra it is the most prominent; being elevated so high in the sphere of sounds, so much above the other instruments, it is completely unmolested, and free from those checks which are incident to those who are placed in a lower station in the band. Hence it is a dangerous instrument to place in the hands of an unskilful musician, as the least deviation in time or tune renders it intolerable to the ear. In brightness of tone it so transcends the other instruments, that the composer reserves it for particular occasions. In the song which describes the creation of man, 'In his eyes brightness,' how beautifully is it introduced!

* The one-keyed flute had nearly the fulness of the pan-pipe, the most rich and powerful tone of its kind. If the same scale of notes could be formed in a pan-organ, for the purpose of the orchestra, then the most difficult flute parts could be properly executed by a piano-forte performer.

† Mozart was the first writer who drew forth the sparkling tones of this instrument, which were utterly unknown to Cimarosa before him.

The few pointed notes impart the same brilliancy as the spots of light upon the eyes, given by the painter.

The flute, like the rest of the wind instruments, has no pretension to become a concerto instrument. Its powers are not sufficiently various to engage the attention for the length of time to which these pieces extend. Though handled in this way with great dexterity by Nicholson, it never appears to so much advantage, as when it retires to its own station in the orchestra, occasionally decorating and giving the finishing stroke to the band.

CHAPTER XXIII.

LONDON CRIES.

NOT a hundred years ago, the metropolis was famous for its cries, a sort of music in the streets, which attracted the attention of all strangers. As the noise of the carriages, and the din of traffic increased, these intonations have died away, and are scarcely heard, but in the quiet of the morning in the most solitary parts of the town. The articles of commerce being chiefly brought from the country, were cried in the artless tones of the peasantry, founded upon the natural exclamations of the voice; but