as an idiom of lovers, which precluded the necessity either of speaking or writing. Not that our hero could boast of the discovery: it was known to many of those sentimental Celadons both of Italy and Spain, who chanted it under the balconies of their favourite ladies. More impressive than the finest eloquence of Tully or Demosthenes, its pathos seldom failed to reach the hearts of its fair audience, to inspire tender and delicious feelings, and express all the emotions of the lover. But in that illiterate age, poor Frank had neither heard nor read of it; and he had all the merit of original discovery in employing music, as an explanation of his passion.
In doleful hour, therefore, he seized his lute, and calling forth strains that far surpassed his usual powers, in about a month he made such rapid progress, that he might very well have been admitted to play an accompaniment to Amphion. To be sure his sweetest melodies were at first little noticed, but ere long they attracted the admiration of the whole neighbourhood; for, the moment he touched his lute, mothers succeeded in quieting their children, the riotous little urchins ran away from the doors, and at length he had the delight to behold a white hand open the window opposite, when he began to prelude an air. Having so far gained her ear, he played several happy and triumphant strains as if to express his joy:—but when her mother’s presence
