most valuable gift a man can have is a fine voice; it at once commands
attention, and may therefore be ranked in a man's possession as highly
as beauty in a woman's.

In speaking thus of voice, I do not allude to the power of singing, but
the mere physical quality of a fine voice, which in the bare utterance
of the simplest words is pleasing, but, becoming the medium for the
interchange of higher thoughts, is irresistible. Superadded to this
gift, which Edward possessed, the song he sang had meaning in it which
could reach the hearts of all his auditory, though its poetry might be
appreciated by but few; its imagery grew upon a stem whose root was in
every bosom, and the song that possesses this quality, whatever may be
its defects, contains not only the elements of future fame, but of
immediate popularity. Startling was the contrast between the silence the
song had produced and the simultaneous clapping of hands outside the
door when it was over; not the poor plaudit of a fashionable assembly,
whose "bravo" is an attenuated note of admiration, struggling into a
sickly existence and expiring in a sigh--applause of so suspicious a
character, that no one seems desirous of owning it--a feeble forgery of
satisfaction which people think it disgraceful to be caught uttering.
The clapping was not the plaudits of high-bred hands, whose sound is
like the fluttering of small wings, just enough to stir gossamer--but
not the heart. No; such was not the applause which followed Edward's
song; he had the outburst of heart-warm and unsophisticated satisfaction
unfettered by chilling convention. Most of his hearers did not know that
it was disgraceful to admit being too well pleased, and the poor
innocents really opened their mouths and clapped their hands. Oh, fie!
tell it not in Grosvenor-square.

And now James Reddy contrived to be asked to sing; the coxcomb, not
content with his luck in being listened to before, panted for such
another burst of applause as greeted Edward, whose song he had no notion
was any better than his own; the puppy fancied his rubbish of the "black
stone under the blue sea" partook of a grander character of composition,
and that while Edward's "breeze" but "stirred the stream," he had
fathomed the ocean. But a "heavy blow and great discouragement" was in
store for Master James, for as he commenced a love ditty which he called
by the fascinating title of "The Rose of Silence," and verily believed
would have