“Give us, therefore,”—­let us cry with Carlyle,—­“oh, give us the man who sings at his work!  He will do more in the same time, he will do it better, he will persevere longer.  One is scarcely sensible of fatigue whilst he marches to music.  The very stars are said to make harmony as they revolve in their spheres.  Wondrous is the strength of cheerfulness, altogether past calculation its powers of endurance.  Efforts, to be permanently useful, must be uniformly joyous, a spirit all sunshine, graceful from very gladness, beautiful because bright.”

“It is a good sign,” says another writer, “when girlish voices carol over the steaming dish-pan or the mending-basket, when the broom moves rhythmically, and the duster flourishes in time to some brisk melody.  We are sure that the dishes shine more brightly, and that the sweeping and dusting and mending are more satisfactory because of this running accompaniment of song.  Father smiles when he hears his girl singing about her work, and mother’s tired face brightens at the sound.  Brothers and sisters, without realizing it, perhaps, catch the spirit of the cheerful worker.”

There are singing milkers in Switzerland; a milkmaid or man gets better wages if gifted with a good voice, for a cow will yield one-fifth more milk when soothed by a pleasing melody.

It was said by Buffon that even sheep fatten better to the sound of music.  And when field-hands are singing, as you sometimes hear them in the old country, you may be sure the labor is lightened.

It is Mrs. Howitt who has told us of the musical bells of the farm teams in a rural district in England:—­“It was no regular tune, but a delicious melody in that soft, sunshiny air, which was filled at the same time with the song of birds.  Angela had heard all kinds of music in London, but this was unlike anything she had heard before, so soft, and sweet, and gladsome.  On it came, ringing, ringing as softly as flowing water.  The boys and grandfather knew what it meant.  Then it came in sight,—­the farm team going to the mill with sacks of corn to be ground, each horse with a little string of bells to its harness.  On they came, the handsome, well-cared-for creatures, nodding their heads as they stepped along; and at every step the cheerful and cheering melody rang out.

“‘Do all horses down here have bells?’ asked Angela.

“‘By no means,’ replied her grandfather.  ’They cost something; but if we can make labor easier to a horse by giving him a little music, which he loves, he is less worn by his work, and that is a saving worth thinking of.  A horse is a generous, noble-spirited animal, and not without intellect, either; and he is capable of much enjoyment from music.’”

A spirit of song, if not the singing itself, is a constant delight to us.  “It is like passing sweet meadows alive with bobolinks.”

“Some men,” says Beecher, “move through life as a band of music moves down the street, flinging out pleasures on every side, through the air, to every one far and near who can listen; others fill the air with harsh clang and clangor.  Many men go through life carrying their tongue, their temper, their whole disposition so that wherever they go, others dread them.  Some men fill the air with their presence and sweetness, as orchards in October days fill the air with the perfume of ripe fruit.”