The Ear of the Future. THERE is an interesting question which might be substituted in the place of the common perplexity whether a man would choose blindness or deafness, if he were compelled to elect between them. Instead of the loss of one or other of the senses, it might be asked if a man under normal circumstances would care for any increase in the faculty of either. In the matter of hearing, for instance, an æsthetic optimist has prophesied for the music of the future an almost boundless scope. The nerve keyboard of the ear has three thousand vibratory nerves, by appealing to whose simultaneous action a more potent effect may be produced than is possible with any of our partly stimulative instruments. Moreover, the ear is capable of receiving a sound produced by 38,000 vibrations in the second; and though it is admitted that a sound of this nature is more penetrating than persuasive, yet the ordinary notes are immensely short of this high degree of receptive power. The highest note ever employed is, we believe, the high D of the piccolo, which is the result of 4,752 vibrations in a second, leaving between the actual and the possible, a difference of some 33,000 unaccounted-for vibrations. What is to hinder the orchestra of the future from occupying and turning to æsthetic purposes this hitherto barren field? The ear is perhaps the most supple and trainable of all our organs; it may attune itself to those finer sound-waves without losing its power to integrate pleasurably more sluggish vibrations. It may even attain to the consciousness of what is now inaudible, the thousand-fold atmospheric quivering which makes for sound, but finds no echo in our coarser ears. From some points of view the vision has its charms. It is obvious that the most aurally acute among us are relatively deaf. There is an infinite possible music around us that beats upon our ears in vain, a ceaseless wandering of disembodied melodies that never find a lodgment. The rhythm of life in endless variation appeals to the imagination as a symphony, a psalm, a dithyramb. The chiming of leaves and grasses, the cries of insects, the grind of atoms, all seem to appeal to us for audience and disentanglement. The Bulgaria under the microscope snaps its tiny beak so strongly to the eye that the ear wonders when it hears no sound. Even single noises the bursting of a bud, the cracking of a twig, the flap of a wing might mass together into continuous notes and changeful harmonies, if the ear could grasp them together; as many cabs rattling upon the granite paving give out a musical note. Of some of these sounds we have hints, as when Tyndall ascribes the murmur of a shell to "the re-enforcement of feeble sounds with which even the stillest air is pervaded." The possibility of perceiving and analyzing these, not by microphone, but by an acquired normal auditory power, in the future, has so many attractions to the imagination, that few who have entertained the idea have paused to ask themselves whether it would be attended with a loss on the side of present pleasure; whether, in fact, life would be unmistakably not worth living. It might, indeed, almost be taken as axiomatic, that if we are at present relatively deaf, there is some good reason for it, and that indefinite earculture would by no means be free from disadvantages. It is, of course, possible that the high piccolo D may fail to meet the demands of advanced ears, and that the squeak of a pencil on a slate may find its notational equivalent; or even- -supposing a corresponding vocal development - that instead of ending in A in alt., a singer may be applauded for a magnificent close upon the Z in heaven knows where ! It may be pleasurable some day to have a fly trumpet in one's ear like a trombone, or prance over one's bald pate like a hippopotamus; to hear a mouse run down the wainscoting like an avalanche, or a clap of thunder assume the acoustic dimensions of a ruining universe; to think one hears a watercourse, and find only a blackberry bush, or get out of the way of a torrent, and cut one's best friend. Why not? Only there are one or two things which may fittingly be remembered. If the unheard sounds are notes, we have them already - of in ferior quantity, perhaps, but probably of similar tonic quality. In that case there is no gain; while if the sounds be noises merely, and not notes, we may be content with all the silences which we can at present command. But, further, an increase of acoustic power of this kind must inevitably be accompanied by a loss of pleasure at the other end. An acute musician's ear detects the sixteen vibrations, as distinct from their affiliated vibrations, in the CCCC of a 32-feet metal open organ-pipe. The power to appreciate finer vibrations means the resolution of what are at present notes into noises. Coleridge, speaking in another connection, had a kindred idea when he said, "The razor's edge becomes a saw to the armed vision, and the delicious melodies of Purcell and Cimarosa might be disappointed stammerings to a hearer whose partition of time should be a thousand times subtler than ours." It would be interesting to have a squeaker in the orchestra, or to hear a beetle sing; but, on the whole, a little deafness is not amiss. Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter- unheard. - Werner's Magazine. What is Classic Music? Of all the music composed, perhaps one number in a hundred lives more than a generation. Of those long-lived compositions, only those that are considered best by all musicians are stamped with the word classic. Those which have only a local celebrity, or that have any defect or infelicity of form or harmony (and there are such which have a good deal of vitality), are not admitted to the distinction of being classic. A composition to be classic, as that word is now understood by musicians, must first be a model of excellence in form and harmony; second, it must possess that mysterious vitality which makes it outlive its companions; and, third, it must be accepted by the common consensus of musical opinion as belonging to the first rank. Classic music is not a . question of simplicity or difficulty. There are beautiful and living forms at every grade, from what are now regarded as the simple melodies of Mozart's, Haydn's, and even Beethoven's compositions, all the way to the highest works of these A short definition of other and great masters. classic music might be : "That music which for more than a generation has been considered by all musicians as the best.". George F. Root. An American Violin Wood. IT has been recently discovered that the barmaple wood grown in Washington is superior to any wood yet tried in the manufacture of smallstringed instruments such as violins. This is verified by the practical experience and testimony of a well-known Chicago instrument maker. He found that the Washington maple is superior to any he has yet used, and he has heretofore been importing maple from the mountain regions of Switzerland as the best he could find in the world. The Washington maple seems to possess the necessary qualities of being very difficult to split, capacity for satiny finish, resonance, strength, and lightness in the superlative degree. While the demand for such wood does not call for any great amount, it is steadily increasing, and will almost command its own price. As an instance of the superiority of some American-made instruments, a purchaser sent to Europe lately for a high-priced instrument, and when it was received it was found to be the product of the aforesaid manufacturer. Paderewski's Ways. PADEREWSKI, the pianist, lives like a prince. He insists that the dignity of his position and of his art demands it. He stops at the best hotels, and occupies the finest rooms. Something like $100 a day it costs him for his suite of rooms at his hotel in New York. Generous to a fault, his money, lightly earned, is freely spent. His fees for service are the despair of other guests at the hotels. His gifts to charity are handsome, whether in money or in the form of concerts, of which he has given several every season when playing in America, some of them entirely at his own expense. Two or three delegations of Poles waited on him in Chicago one afternoon, and carried away with them hundreds of dollars. The Only Sousa. JOHN PHILIP SOUSA's mother was a German, and his father a Spaniard; and they do say that although there were other children in the family, Mrs. Sousa would always talk of "My Chonny," as if he were the only one. "Chonny "had every wish gratified. If he wanted a drum, he got it; a violin, he got it; a piano, he got it. He played any kind of a musical instrument with ease. Sousa began his career as a drummer-boy in the army, and later became conductor of the United States Marine Band. Then he and Mr. Blakely, manager of Theodore Thomas's Orchestra and Gilmore's Band, organized the greatest military band in America. Mr. Sousa is now handled by a syndicate, which pays all his expenses, and gives him a net salary of $6,000 a season, besides receiving the profits from his musical publications. The Irish Harp. THERE is a fashion in musical instruments so far as the English young woman is concerned which compels changes as sudden and sweeping as those which take place in regard to the same young wo man's bonnets and hats. Of course all of them who have pretensions to being considered what is vaguely termed "musical" reckon among their accomplishments the ability to play the piano, and they do not disdain to devote the surplus of their musical ability to instruments of a more portable kind. For a time it was the banjo, then the mandolin, then, taking a flight upward, the violin itself was degraded into the position of a fashionable" instrument, dividing its claims with the violoncello. We are said to be now on the eve of another change. According to Music, the instrument which is next to be in vogue is the Irish harp, which many young women belonging to the very smartest society are said to be already industriously practising. It is not the large and rather unwieldy thing we are wont to see in the street orchestras, but a beautifully finished and decorated little instrument, some thirty inches in height, and about the weight of a banjo. It is, in fact, the article which the minstrel boy slung behind him when, with his father's sword girded on, he set forth on that bellicose expedition of which the ballads tell The tone of the Irish harp is said to be particularly sweet, though a little thin. - Exchange. us. Proper Piano-Playing To keep a piano-player's wrists in a proper position, and prevent their dropping down below the line of the keyboard, a bracket is placed at each end of the piano to support a rod running across in front of the keys. The Nightingale. THE nightingale does not sing every where; yet it is as great a mistake to consider the bird shy as to imagine its song is chiefly reserved for the night. He will sing continually from one of the oaks bordering the wayside, while the village folks pass and repass. The village couples may rest upon the foot-stile, or linger to listen beneath the very tree on which the bird is stationed; still the full burden of melody goes on unchecked, without pause or intermission. And what a glorious outburst it is! What a perfect cascade of trills and shakes and semi-quavers! Suddenly it is pierced by a single note that shivers in the ear with the sharpness of a fife. Immediately after comes the wondrous water-bubble, to be followed by a delicious warble long drawn out and soft as could be breathed from the richest flute. Another prolonged trill, and then a far-off sound, that almost seems to come from another songster half a mile away, serves to throw into relief the passionate. tremolo issuing from the same tiny throat; and all the time the wings are quivering with excitement, and the whole copice seems to vibrate. The song is, indeed, a whole orchestra of bird music. Expressive of every shade of ecstasy, we are at times startled by a succession of deep, plaintive tones that thrill like sobs. No wonder the nightingale's singing season is brief- six weeks only of the entire year. Nay, it is doubtful whether any individual bird sings for so long a period. The redwing, another fine singer, is a similar instance of the limited period of song. Its voice in this country is confined to two notes, and these by no means musical. Yet the redwing is the nightingale of Norway, to which land he returns for breeding purposes each succeeding April. with our nightingale. From the day the eggs are hatched he becomes gradually silent, until of the marvellous voice that stirred a mile of woodland, naught is heard save a dismal croak hardly to be distinguished from the hoarse cry of the bull-frog. - St. James's Gazette. So How to Keep the Reed Organ Clean. 1. THOROUGHLY clean the organ from dust and dirt. A small brush with moderately stiff bristles will be found useful in removing dust and dirt from carved work, corners, etc. If the case is very dirty, it may be necessary to use soap and water and a scrubbing-brush to dissolve and remove the dirt. In this case, clear water must be afterward used to remove the soap, and the case be quite dry before the polish is applied. 2. Obtain some good polish; the following receipt makes an excellent one: One-half pint of turpentine, one-half pint of raw linseed oil, one tablespoonful of alcohol, or methylated spirits of wine. Put together in a bottle, and compound by thorough shaking. 3. Saturate a piece of cotton, flannel, or any other soft cloth with the polish, and carefully rub the whole surface of the organ with the soft side. The rule is to see that every part of the surface is wet with the polish, but to use as little as possible in doing this. 4. With a piece of the dry, clean flannel rub hard and dry, especially attending to all the crevices and corners. A small stick will be found useful to press the flannel into and rub these. The principal secret in successfully polishing an organ is in thus rubbing carefully and hard every portion of its surface immediately after the polish has been applied. The object is to get off as much of the polish as possible, and leave the organ as dry and smooth as may be in every part. Music Trades. NOTICE. THE following named musical works have been re-entered for copyright before the expiration of their first term of twenty-eight years, and Certificates of such re-entries have been given by A. R. Spofford, Librarian of Congress. Fingertwist. Op. 18, No. 2. By Stephen A. Emery. Polonaise. Op. 17, No. 1. By Stephen A. Emery. 424-427 ARTHUR P. SCHMIDT. |