MUSIC IN THE NATURAL WAY.
How often, when wedged in a heated concert room, annoyed by the creaking of myriad fans, and tortured optically by the glare of gas-light, have I, with a gipsy longing, wished that the four walls might be razed, leaving only the blue sky over my head, that the tide of music might unfettered flow over my soul.
How often, when dumb with delight, in the midst of some scene of surpassing natural beauty, have I silently echoed the poet’s words:—
My dream was all realized at a promenade concert at Castle Garden last night. Shall I ever forget it? That glorious expanse of sea, glittering in the moonbeams; the little boats gliding smoothly over its polished surface; the cool, evening zephyr, fanning the brow wooingly; the music—soothing—thrilling—then quickening the pulse and stirring the blood, like the sound of a trumpet; then, that rare boon, a companion, who had the good taste to be dumb, and not disturb my trance.
There was one drawback. After the doxology, I noticed some matter-of-fact wretches devouring ice-creams. May no priests be found to give them absolution. I include, also, in this anathema, those ever-to-be-avoided masculines, who, then and there, puffed cigar smoke in my face, and the moon’s.