OF THE MATERIAL WORLD.

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is the object of a very popular and very pleasing superstition, this note is singularly beautiful.

merous.

2. Such sounds as are either from experience, or from imagination, associated with certain qualities capable of producing emotion, are beautiful only when they are perceived in those tempers of mind which are favourable to these emotions. Instances of this are very nuThe bleating of a lamb is beautiful in a fine day in spring in the depth of winter it is very far from being so. The lowing of a cow at a distance, amid the scenery of a pastoral landscape in summer, is extremely beautiful in a farmyard it is absolutely disagreeable. The hum of the beetle is beautiful in a fine summer evening, as appearing to suit the stilness and repose of that pleasing season: in the noon of day it is perfectly indifferent. The twitter of the swallow is beautiful in the morning, and seems to be expressive of the cheerfulness of that time: at any other hour it is quite insignificant. Even the song of the nightingale, so wonderfully charming in the twilight, or at night, is altogether disregarded during the day; in so much so, that it has given rise to the common mistake, that this bird does not sing but at night. If such notes were beautiful in themselves, independently of all association, they would, necessarily, at all times be beautiful.

3. In this, as in other cases before mentioned, when such associations are destroyed, the beauty of the sounds ceases to be felt. The call of a goat, for instance, among rocks, is strikingly beautiful, as expressing wildness and independence. In a farm-yard, or in a common inclosure, it is very far from being so. The plaintive and interesting bleat of the lamb ceases to be beautiful whenever it ceases to be the sign of infancy, and the call for that tenderness which the infancy of all animals so natu

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rally demands. There is a bird that imitates the notes of all other birds with great accuracy. Such imitations, however, are not in the least beautiful in it. There are people, in the same manner, who imitate the song of birds with surprising dexterity. It is the imitation, however, in such a case, that alone pleases us, and not the notes themselves. It is possible (according to the curious experiments of Mr. Barrington), to teach a bird of any species the notes of any other species: It may however, I think, very justly be doubted, whether the acquired notes would be equally beautiful. The connec tion we observe between particular birds, and the peculiar scenes in nature which they inhabit, and the different seasons at which they appear; and the great difference in their instincts and manner of life, render their notes expressive to us of very dissimilar characters; and we accordingly distinguish them by epithets expressive of this variety. The wildness of the linnet, the tenderness of the redbreast, the pertness of the sparrow, the cheerfulness of the lark, the softness of the bullfinch, the plaintiveness of the nightingale, the melancholy of the owl, are expressions in general use, and the associations we thus connect with them, very obviously determine the character or expression of their notes. By the artificial education above mentioned, all these associations would be destroyed; and, as far as I am able to judge, all, or at least a great part of the beauty we feel from their songs. It is in the same manner that we are generally unhappy, instead of being delighted with the song of a bird in the cage. It is somewhat like the smile of grief, which is much more dreadful than tears, or like the playfulness of an infant, amid scenes of sorrow. It is difficult therefore to say, whether in this cruel practice there is a greater want of taste or of humanity; and there

could be in fact no excuse for it, if there were not a kind of tenderness excited towards them, from the reflection that they are altogether dependent upon our benevolence, and a very natural gratitude awakened, by the exertions they make for our pleasure.

I forbear to produce any farther illustrations on this subject. From those that have been produced, it seems to me that we have sufficient ground for concluding, that, of those sounds which have been considered, the sounds that occur in the scenes of nature, and the sounds produced by animals, the sublimity or beauty arises from the qualities of which they are considered as the signs or expressions, and not from any original fitness in the sounds themselves to produce such emotions.

I have only further to add, that upon the principle of the absolute and independent sublimity or beauty of sounds, it is very difficult to account for the different sounds which have been mentioned as productive of these emotions. There is certainly no resemblance as sounds, between the noise of thunder and the hissing of a serpent-between the glowing of a tyger and the explosion of gunpowder-between the scream of an eagle and the shouting of a multitude; yet all of these are sublime. In the same manner, there is as little resemblance between the tinkling of the sheepfold bell, and the murmuring of the breeze-between the hum of the beetle, and the song of the lark-between the twitter of the swallow, and the sound of the curfew; yet all of these are beautiful. Upon the principle which I endeavour to illustrate, they are all perfectly accountable.

PART III.

Of the Tones of the Human Voice.

There is a similar sublimity or beauty felt in partic ular notes or tones of the human voice.

That such sounds are associated in our imaginations, with the qualities of mind of which they are in general expressive, and that they naturally produce in us the conception of these qualities, is a fact so obvious, that there is no man who must not have observed it. There are some philosophers who consider these as the natural signs of passion or affection, and who believe that it is not from experience, but by means of an original faculty, that we interpret them: and this opinion is supported by great authorities. Whether this is so, or not, in the present inquiry, is of no very great importance; since, although it should be denied that we understand such signs instinctively, it cannot be denied, that very early in infancy this association is formed, and that our opinions and conduct are regulated by it.

That the beauty or sublimity of such tones arises from the nature of the qualities they express, and not from the nature of the sounds themselves, may perhaps appear from the following observations :

1. Such sounds are beautiful or sublime, only as they express passions or affections which excite our sympathy. There are a great variety of tones in the human voice, yet all these tones are not beautiful. If we inquire what are the particular tones which are so, it will universally be found, that they are such as are expressive of pleasing or interesting affections. The tones peculiar to anger, peevishness, malice, envy, misanthropy, deceit, &c. are neither agreeable nor beautiful. The tone of good nature, though very agreeable, is not beautiful but

at particular seasons, because the quality itself is in general rather the source of complacence than pleasure: we regret the want of it, but we do not much enjoy its presence. On the contrary, the tones peculiar to hope, joy, humility, gentleness, modesty, melancholy, &c. though all extremely different, are all beautiful; because the qualities they express are all the objects of interest and approbation. In the same manner, the tones peculiar to magnanimity, fortitude, self-denial, patience, resignation, &c. are all sublime; and for a similar reason. This coincidence of the beauty and sublimity of the tones of the human voice, with those qualities of mind that are interesting or affecting to us, if it is not a formal proof, is yet a strong presumption, that it is from the expression of such qualities that these sounds derive their sublimity or beauty.

2. The effect of such sounds in producing these emotions, instead of being permanent, is limited by the particular temper of mind we happen to be in, or by the coincidence between that temper, and the peculiar qualities of which such sounds are expressive. To most men, for instance, the tone of hope is beautiful. To a man in despair, I presume it would be far from being so. To a man in grief, the tone of cheerfulness is simply painful. The tone of indignation, though in particular situations strongly sublime, to a man of a quiet and pla cid temper is unpleasant. To men of an ardent and sanguine character, the tone of patience is contemptible. To peevish and irritable spirits, the voice of humility, so peculiarly beautiful, is provoking. Such observations may be extended to many diversities of passion: and it may still farther be remarked, that those sounds in the human voice, which are most beautiful or most sublime to us, are always those that are expressive of the quali