Though birds receive ideas of a simple character, and express simple feelings, understood by each other, through the medium of various sounds, yet nothing from age to age is thereby added to their knowledge; they remain what they have been from the commencement of their creation. Their ears are far less the inlets to knowledge than their eyes, and this observation applies generally to the lower animals.
Now let us turn to man. Setting aside meaningless sounds and noises, (some of which, however, through the association of ideas, are very grateful, as those of the multifarious denizens of a farm-yard,) man derives both pleasure and knowledge from a definite succession of sounds, which appeal to his mind, as sound cannot appeal to the mind of the lower orders. How laughable is the fabled contest of the lutist and the nightingale, and of the death of the latter disappointed of the victory--the lutist might have enjoyed the warbling of the bird, but the bird could not have entered as a rival into the strains of the lutist. Nevertheless, from personal observation, and from the most credible authorities, we fearlessly assert, that many animals are allured by sweet sounds; we have seen rats peeping out of their holes, listening to airs played on a flute; and sir Walter Scott says,
"Rude Heiskar's seals through surges dark, Will long pursue the minstrel's bark."
A little lizard (the _anolis_) in the West Indies, and snakes in North Africa and India, are attracted by the notes of a rude pipe; to deny this is futile; it has been proved in modern days, and the fact is noticed in Scripture. Some animals, when certain notes are struck, or certain keys tried over, are decidedly agitated, and perhaps feel as we do when some horrid sound "sets our teeth on edge,"--that is, irritates by a mysterious sympathy the whole nervous system. In the same way, perhaps, are animals pleased with certain sounds; that is, a sympathetic tranquillity or pleasing excitement of the nervous system is produced, and they yield, instinctively, to "the voice of the charmer."
With regard to ourselves, music (we need not enter into a learned explanation of what it is) operates far less upon the reasoning than the instinctive faculties of man. Tones, modulations, swellings, and cadences, though no words be sung, excite all the emotions of which our animal nature is capable. But when words are used--when music is married to immortal verse, and an appeal through language is also made to the mind, then, indeed, the effect is tremendous. A song shouted forth in the streets may overturn an empire. Who knows not what was the effect of the Jacobite songs in Scotland, when Charlie came "o'er the water?" Who knows not the effects resulting from _Caira_ and the Marseillaise Hymn? Whose bosom has not beat high when our own national hymn, when Rule Britannia, and other patriotic airs, have been energetically and effectively delivered? In fine, who is there that is not affected by music? very few; it is and has been a natural expression of human feeling appealing to human feeling, since the time of Jubal even unto the present day; and Miriam's song of triumph, and the songs (how mournful!) of the daughters of Judah on the willowy banks of Babel's rivers, were equally expressive of natural emotions.