CHAPTER VIII.

HARMONY AND DISCORD.

Hark! what harmony is this ;*

Which strikes the list'ning sense?

Where through the long drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

Is there a heart that music cannot melt,

GRAY.

Ah me! how is that rugged heart forlorn;
Is there who ne'er those mystic transports felt
Of solitude and melancholy born? BEATTIE.

LETTER VIII.

CAROLINE ST. CLAIR TO MRS. BALCARRIS.

Martigny, July 20.

HAVING inquired from the Prior before we separated for the night, the hour of matins, I attended them next morning in the Church of the Convent, grateful to have an opportunity

of joining in public worship-from this—the highest dwelling-place of the earth, consecrated to Him who made it-and offer up the fervent thanksgiving of my heart to that Almighty Power whose mercy had delivered me from the perils of the tempest of the night.

After service I accompanied the Prior, who is passionately fond of music-into the organ gallery-where, at his earnest request, I played and sung an anthem, and some sacred music. I found on leaving it, that Mr. Lindsay, and lastly Mr. Heathcote, had been my auditorsthe sounds of the organ guiding them to the church on descending to the refectory. Mr. Lindsay expressed his surprise that he had never heard me sing or play in any of the musical parties in which we have met in London. I could not help laughing, and asked him if he had ever thought upon any of those occasionsthat he had not had enough of music!'

'Enough-too much!—to perfect satiety of such mechanical performances as one is doomed to hear for ever in those assemblies-where every fair executor is emulously labouring to execute something so difficult-that as

Johnson said-one is sorry it is not impossible:but of music-real music-music which speaks to the soul-I never can have enough. How can you answer it to your conscience, to rob the world of the exquisite enjoyment of hearing you sing ?'

"If you think it is exquisite,' I said, laughing, it is because you hear it in this lofty church-and feel that you are listening to it in the convent of St. Bernard, on the summit of the Alps! If you had heard it in a London drawing-room, you would have thought it just as tiresome as any of the music of which you complain so feelingly.'

'Impossible!-do not traduce my taste and discrimination so much!--I should not be capable of feeling the heavenly enjoyment of true music if I could, in any situation, mistake what I have just heard for that laboured, tortured, artificial system of sounds-that passes for music.'

I

Music is indeed a heavenly enjoyment' replied. It is the only thing on earth which even the imaginations of men have deemed worthy of having a place in heaven.'

Mr. Lindsay looked at me as if struck with the remark-at last he said-very seriously'Yes-Miss St. Clair, there is one other thing on earth which the imaginations of men have placed in heaven-and without which there would be no heaven for us.'

'What do you mean ?'

'Woman! with whose enchanting form alone, our imagination peoples heaven.'

That is very flattering to us indeed,' I said, laughing-but are there no men there ?"

Why no-I never fancy any men thereI suppose men are converted into women before they can be admitted into heaven.'

'Heaven keep me away from it then, I say,' exclaimed Mr. Heathcote 'I beg to decline that transformation.'

'But don't you fancy heaven full of angels of light, and cherubims, and seraphims?' I enquired.

'As to cherubims-I always fancy them little rosy chubby children-flying about in the air;—and as to seraphims, I have no very

clear idea about them-except that they are dressed in blue, and blowing trumpets.'

'Like hussars' said Mr. Heathcote.

And as for angels,' continued Mr. Lindsay-not heeding him-with thousands and ten thousands of which the grand empyreal vault of heaven is peopled ;-when we try to figure angels-our fancy only represents women -or rather some one woman-some being whose form and countenance realizes all that our fondest fancy can paint of heaven.'

O Lord! Lord!' exclaimed Mr. Heathcote- what stuff!'

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Acknowledge its truth, Heathcote ! you yourself, even you-rugged of soul as you are— must acknowledge that when you fancy angels, it is in the form of women.'

"Well, if it is; all the evils and mischief in this world are caused by women—so it is but fair they should make some amends for it in the other.'

"You wretch!-you monster !'-exclaimed Mr. Lindsay, 'do you dare to vilify woman?—