THE EMOTIONS. 469 



comes in.''*^ Classicism and romanticism have their battles 

 over this point. Comj)lex suggestiveness, the awakening of 



* Even the feelings of the lower senses may have this secondary escort, 

 due to the arousing of associational trains which reverberate. A flavor 

 may fairly shake us by the ghosts of ' banquet halls deserted,' which it sud- 

 denly calls up; or a smell may make us feel almost sick with the waft it 

 brings over our memory of ' gardens that are ruins, and pleasure-houses that 

 are dust. ' "In the Pyrenees," says M. Guyau, ' " after a summer-day's tramp 

 carried to the extreme of fatigue, 1 met a shepherd and asked him for some 

 milk. He went to fetch from his hut, under which a brook ran, a jar of 

 milk plunged in the water and kept at a coldness which was almost icy. 

 In drinking this fresh milk into which all the mountain had put its perfume, 

 and of which each savory swallow seemed to give new life, I certainly ex- 

 perienced a series of feelings which the word agreeable is insufficient to 

 designate. It was like a pastoral symphony, apprehended by the taste in- 

 stead of by the ear" (quoted by F. Paulhan from ' Les Problemes de I'^s- 

 thetique Contemporaine, p. 63). — Compare the dithyrambic about whiskey 

 of Col. R. Ingersoll, to which the presidential campaigu of 1888 gave such 

 notoriety: " I send you some of the most wonderful whiskey that ever 

 drove the skeleton from a feast or painted landscapes in the brain of man. 

 It is the mingled souls of wheat and corn. In it you will tind the sunshine 

 and shadow that chase each other over the billowy fields, the breath of 

 June, the carol of the lark, the dews of the night, the wealth of summer, 

 and autumn's rich content— all golden with imprisoned light. Drink it, 

 and you will hear the voice of men and maidens singing the 'Harvest 

 Home,' mingled with the laughter of children. Drink it, and you will feel 

 within your blood the .star-lit dawns, the dreamy, tawny dusks of many 

 perfect days. For forty years this liquid joy has been within the happy 

 staves of oak, longing to touch the lips of man."— It is in this way that I 

 should reply to Mr. Gurney's criticism on my theory. My "view," this 

 writer says (Mind, ix. 425), "goes far to confound the two things which in 

 my opinion it is the prime necessity of musical psychology to distinguish 

 — the effect chiefly sensuous of mere streams or masses of finely colored 

 sound, and the distinctive musical emotion to which the/orm of a sequence 

 of sound, its melodic and harmonic individuality, even realized in complete 

 silence, is the vital and essential object. It is with the former of these two 

 very different things that the physical reactions, the stirring of the hair — 

 the tingling and the shiver — are by far most markedly connected. ... If I 

 may speak of myself, there is plenty of music from which I have received 

 as much emotion in silent representation as when presented by the finest 

 orchestra; but it is with the latter condition that I almost exclusively asso- 

 ciate the cutaneous tingling and hair-stirring. But to call my enjoyment 

 of the/orm, of the note-after -notewQ%?, of a melody a mere critical ' judgment 

 of right ' [see below, p. 472] would really be to deny to me the power of 

 expressing a fact of simple and intimate expression in English. It is quint- 

 essenlially emotion. . . . Now there are hundreds of other bits of music 

 .... which I judge to be right without receiving an iota of the emotion. 

 For purposes of emotion they are to me like geometrical demonstrations or 



