Vowel-Music.

At the meeting of the Hawke's Bay Philosophical Institute on the 13th August, an original paper was read by Mr R. Coupland Harding, on « The Mental Effects of Certain Vowel Sounds. » The writer set forth that there was a parallel or correspondence between the notes of the musical scale and the tones of the vowel scale, the latter constituting a true « gamut, » varying slightly in pitch with individuals of the same race and dialect, and varying in different nationalities so completely as to constitute the national « accent » —there being, for example, not one vowel sound in English absolutely identical with the corresponding sound in Lowland Scotch. Inasmuch as each note of the musical scale had its well-recognized mental effect, so also had the vowels of the language, as abundantly evidenced (1) by their artistic use in the best poetry and oratory, and (2) by their ordinary use in the formation of words. His propositions were: 1. In dignified, stately, and solemn composition, the long vowels predominate, especially in the accented syllables; and conversely, in trivial, light, and burlesque composition, the short vowel sounds predominate, even in the accented syllables—sometimes to the almost entire exclusion of the long vowels. 2. There is a distinct affinity between the long vowels and words relating to the higher emotions and intellectual qualities; and, conversely, the short vowels characterize words referring to the lower propensities, to such as embody trivial and frivolous ideas, and to the language of cant and slang, abuse and vituperation. 3. That each vowel, long or short, has its own specific mental effect. In support of the first proposition, numerous passages from the old and modern English poets were cited; in support of the second, seven vowel-sounds, four long and three short, were analysed, and a long list of words and phrases quoted to show their effect singly, in combination, in reduplication, and as strengthened or weakened by their consonantal relationships. The long a in far—one of the extremes of the vowel scale, was taken as the highest and finest in mental effect—the vowel of dignity—of meditative, serious, and melancholy composition; the full o, as bold, noble, and resolute, involving the ideas of vastness and solemnity; the broad a in fall, as the vowel of sublimity, corresponding to the faculty of veneration. The long e was the vowel of brightness, clearness, and freedom—of « sweetness and light. » Of the short sounds, the short i was the vowel of triviality and frivolity; the short a in hag, a vowel of vituperation;— and the short u—the most degraded in the whole scale—the vowel of contempt. Instances were quoted of words degraded from higher meanings, suffering also similar degradation by a corresponding change in their vowel quality. Fancy names from fiction were adduced in proof that the mental quality of vowels is inherent and not arbitrary, giving a kind of vague general meaning to otherwise meaningless words. In this connexion, the writer remarked: « We have no more occasion to deride the old lady who 'found much comfort from that beautiful word "Mesopotamia"'—which is mysterious, sonorous, and full of long vowels—than to ridicule the musical enthusiast who is 'elevated' or 'consoled' by the subtle and far-reaching power of a musical composition. We derive much of our delight in fine poetry from a precisely similar cause…. And acknowledging that there is in each of the vowel-sounds a quality answering to a certain mental state, we raise the interjection, despised by grammarians, to the dignity of a 'part of speech' in no wise inferior to the onomatopoetic substantive or adjective. It is not by accident, nor is it by mere rhetorical trick, that the preacher exclaims, 'Ah, how sad the condition!' or 'Oh, how grand the thought!' No correct speaker would interchange these interjections. » —In the short discussion which followed, the general conclusions were supported by all who took up the subject; one gentleman supplementing the writer's illustrations by a very appropriate passage, quoted from memory from Longfellow's Evangeline.