self under Banderali. In May 1821 he went to Naples, where he received advice and instruction from Rossini. In 1822 he sang, mostly in Rossini's operas, at Pisa and Bologna. In 1823 he was engaged at Venice, where Rossini wrote for him the part of Idreno in 'Semiramide.' After singing at Genoa he returned to England, and reappeared at Covent Garden, Nov. 19, 1823, as Prince Orlando in 'The Cabinet'; his voice and style having greatly improved. He continued at the theatre for a season or two; in 1828 and 1829 was engaged at the Adelphi, and in 1829–30 at Drury Lane. He then visited America; on his return retired from public life, and died at Margate, Sept. 23, 1857.
SINFONIE-CANTATE. The title of Mendelssohn's Lobgesang or Hymn of Praise (op. 52). The term—accurately 'Symphonie-Cantate'—is due to Klingemann, according to Mendelssohn's own statement in his published letter of Nov. 18, 1840. Mendelssohn was so much in love with it as to propose to bestow it also on the 'Walpurgisnight' (see the same letter and that to his mother of Nov. 28, 1842). That intention was not however carried out.
SINGAKADEMIE. [See after Singing.]
SINGER'S LIBRARY, THE. A collection of Part-songs, Glees, and Choruses, edited by Mr. Hullah, and published by Addison & Co., and by Ashdown & Parry successively. 107 numbers have been issued in all, besides 50 of a 'Sacred series.'
SING. SINGING. 'To sing' is to use the voice in accordance with musical laws. 'Singing' is a musical expression of thought and feeling through the medium of the voice and the organs of speech generally, by means of two technical operations—Vocalisation (the work of the vowels), and Articulation (that of the consonants).
A passing word on the meaning and nature of music will hardly be out of place, as from common English parlance it might be often inferred that singing is distinct from music, and that 'music' means instrumental music only.
'Music' may be accepted to signify sounds in succession or combination[1] regulated by certain natural and artificial laws, the result of which has been the establishment of a series of these sounds (called a Scale) having certain proportions to, and relations with, each other, and being susceptible of combinations capable of affording deep emotion.
The effect of abstract music–that is, music without words–upon the soul, though vague, weird, and undefinable, is so incontestable and all-powerful, that its immediate origin in nature itself can hardly for a moment be doubted. Musical combinations and progressions seem at times to recall something that does not belong to the present order of things, and to inspire almost a conviction that in another existence only, will the full scope and significance of abstract music be understood.
From the time of man's first awakening to the influence of that which was not purely animal, or at least from the date of the earlier forms of organisation and civilisation, it is probable that singing in some form has had its place, as an individual solace, or as a convenient means of expressing a common sentiment, either in war-cries (afterwards war-songs) or in addresses to the deities or idols (afterwards chants and hymns).
Much has been said of the 'language of music.' This is but a rhetorical figure. Language is definite and states facts, the significance of which will depend upon the greater or less sensitiveness of the hearer. Music does precisely what words do not do. It represents a state of thought and feeling, more or less continuous, awakened by the statement of facts a brooding over what has been said after the words are supposed to have ceased. Hence the propriety of prolonging syllables and repeating words, which the cynically disposed are often inclined to ridicule as opposed to reason and common sense. This inclination to ignore the high office of music (that of expounding what passes in the mind and soul) is one great cause of the frequent tameness of English singing; and this same tameness it is that in reality makes singing at times ridiculous and opposed to reason and common sense. And if this higher view of music in singing is not to be taken—if all that is to be looked for is a rhythmical tune—then by all means let it be played upon an instrument, as the intonation will be safe, provided the instrument be in tune; and the head may nod, and the feet may tap, the ear will be tickled and the soul unruffled. Besides, the power of using the voice for the purpose of communicating ideas, thoughts and feelings, and of recording facts and events (to be set down in characters, and thus transmitted from generation to generation), being a special gift to the human race, and the attribute which most thoroughly separates man from the lower animal tribe, the inane warbling of a tune is an anomaly.
It scarcely matters which of the many theories may be the right one of the origin of musical sound, that is to say, of the manner in which it first presents itself to the ear. Any continuous sound in nature may call our appreciation into activity. It is certain that it appeals to something in our inmost nature which responds as directly to it, and that its effect is a reality; otherwise it could not take its active part in the expression of thought and feeling, or rather be, as it is, the real manifestation or representation of a state of thought and feeling only suggested by words. Its appreciation by the mind and soul through the medium of the ear cannot well be a matter of development, but is rather a revelation, from the simple fact that it is distinguished from noise by the isochronism of vibration; and the difference between the two could not but be marked the moment it presented itself, as a brilliant colour, distinguished from surrounding neutral tints, at once attracts the eye. The manner in which a musical sound
