ball-room, or what you will,*-perhaps these naturally educe the newfangled patchworks of modern sacred (?) music. A friend of mine is acquainted with an organist in a Catholic church, who is an excellent artist in his way: he does wonders on his instrument; he is quite au courant' with the last waltz and the last song, and by way of treat makes an escopade now and then in his performance to some favourite turn in them. He is free of his art,—the good man. In an evil hour, he composed some pieces of sacred music, and prepared to bring them out with éclat. There was great choir practice, great expectation, a solemn festival, and crowded church, and the music was performed. Alas! despite the very clever manipulation of the organ, the perfect singing of the parts, the well-wishing of several friends,-it proved a failure. My friend, who was present, on leaving the church, heard some humble persons remark that they recognized in what they had just heard passages exceedingly like some popular airs. Well they might, good souls; for the music was made up of snatches of airs, sacred and profane, in every style of most admired disorder.

All things belong to GOD: I hold it sound theology that every thing which can properly enter into his service may be made ancillary to the duties of public worship. Lights and flowers, frankincense, painting and sculpture, music, and "thoughts that breath and words that burn," all are His,—all are exponents of HIм, and may be made aids to bring us to HIM. Too often do they lead "the other way.". The church removes the desecration, in making them holy to God. The human voice is the first instrument (so to speak) of sacred music, for it is that of God's worshipping creature; its act, a rational and meritorious one. Therefore should we sing the praises of the Lord, as the Royal Psalmist did so well, and invited men to do. The noble instrument the organ is next in order: it is peculiarly adapted to the different purposes of sacred song, from its full majesty of sound, its grave and solemn thunder, its angelic sweetness, its shrill loud trumpet note, calling, as of old, the faithful to join in adoration of their PRESENT GOD. Yes, the man must have no music in his soul, who is not affected, moved, and raised, by the majestic tones pealing from the organ, echoing through the House of GOD, and sending abroad, on the wings of the wind, HIS

THRICE HOLY NAME.

I alluded above to the singular inaptitude of modern music writers for the production of standard sacred music. It is the grave and sad

* Pugin is labouring well in his high vocation to remedy this evil.

complaint of sound critics, that the painters and sculptors of sacred subjects labour under a like inaptitude. All these artists are similarly incapable. They have not the training of preparatory studies-the associations that are prolific of excellence-the high religious enthusiasm that inspired and guided the elder sons of the sister arts. These were frequently poets and scholars, as well as great artists in painting, sculpture, and architecture. I agree with Lord Brougham that the well-stored mind of a man of general education, endowed with even second-rate talent, will achieve greater things in his art than the unlettered artist of a higher order of native talent. But what are many modern artists?-creatures of society, mere worldlings, mechanics in high art, their talent cramped and ill-directed, and producing fine monsters. The fault is in the spirit of the age,—that is, in ourselves.* We have not, we cherish not, the deep spirit of contemplation, which brings forth creations worthy of genius, Let us hope for better things.

Some Protestant composers (I willingly note it) have had a high sense of their art, and a large share of the mens divinior. What amateur of sacred music is ignorant of Handel's glorious work, "The Creation," a series of anthems which may have been composed and sung by Angels. How well he caught the animus of the inspired historian ! How pregnant grew his capacious soul, by dwelling on the "wondrous works of GOD;" and how intelligible the language in which his music sings the first grand epic in all its parts. I remember well, the first time I heard his first anthem, "In the beginning," &c. When the organist performed the score descriptive of the creation of light, and the mighty contest between it and darkness, I thought and felt as if "chaos were come again;" but presently all was light, and harmony, and order. Oh! the soul of the man !—it was inspired, for genius is inspiration.

While in sorrow I make these remarks on the present deplorable state of sacred music in our churches, I would not be understood to wish an entire return to the barbarisms of some Gregorian chaunts. It was well as wittily said of some antiphons in that music sung at vespers, that their framers cast the notes into a cap, and scored them down as they came out. Unmeaning, inharmonious, capricious in transitions, they are a disgrace to the human voice; and even their simplicity reveals more openly their unmusical monstrosity. This is a severe sentence, if you will; that it is just, must be acknowledged. Our love of anti

*Hazlitt's Spirit of the Age.

quity, just and well founded though it be, should not lead us too far: we should not retain what is the vetustas erroris.

Why should there be a war to the death between the Gregorian and Italian musics? Why may not both be improved and employed when and where fitting? The former boasts its Requiem Mass, its lamentations in the office of Tenebræ for Holy Week, and many pieces in the Graduale Romanum. The effect which a well sung Requiem and office for the dead has on the hearer, is the best proof of its great merit. That I would not give for all the sacred music, Webb, and Novello, and Mozart too, ever wrote. In the Italian music there are some good pieces; retain them by all means, and let more of the same high character be written. But "Procul oh! procul este profani,"-away with profane music from our churches. Every thing has its time and place: music is of various kinds; let all that deserve encouragement be encouraged, talent for their production patronized and rewarded. But let not any one species claim universal empire, and endeavour to enter the legitimate domains of the others. The demand creates the supply; and in musical works we find it so. Profane music (I use the word as the antithesis of sacred, not in a bad sense) in all its departments, particularly the dramatic, engrosses musical talent at home and abroad. The rich and the noble of the land extend to its professors their almost exclusive patronage. Honor, distinction, wealth, are showered in purfusion on genius successful in the production of" chefs d'œuvre," for purposes not sacred;-while scarcely any favour is extended to the aspirant for distinction in the far more difficult, more elevated, and more meritorious department of sacred music. This is the power of the world, against which, all good men should contend. There are, it is true, one or two indifferently supported societies for the cultivation of sacred music: but they should be as numerous, as there are large, wealthy, and influential congregations. They may, sui modo, be followed in spirit by smaller bodies in less favored localities. The sounds of prayer and praise should ascend from the whole earth: why will man alone be silent amidst the universal choir of nature?

323

THE ENCLOSED GARDEN.-A TALE.

CHAPTER III.

Now, the mother of these children had a pleasaunce, or Enclosed Garden of delight, in which were contained all manner of goodly trees, and shrubs, and flowers of every variety. And it was laid out with consummate skill, and in some manner after the fashion of a maze ;-for as the ground on which it stood was varying, so the walks wound up and down, meandering in great variety. Sometimes they passed under bowering alleys of tall and stately trees, that were arched over head, ever cool, and most pleasant, while the ear was refreshed by the warbling of countless birds, that filled the whole air with their woodland minstrelsy, save only at noon-tide, when their notes were silenced while they enjoyed the shade of the ample branches: then were these long avenues even more delightful than before, for the silence accorded well with the cool shade, and persuaded the heart to sweet meditation; as their mother used to say: "It is good to wait for the salvation of GoD in silence,”—and her children hearkened to her voice, and felt that the silence of these cloistral walks had indeed a tongue that spoke music to the heart.

Countless were the variety of goodly trees and sweet-scented shrubs and flowers that grew in this pleasaunce. Sometimes, it might be, on emerging from the thick wood, they would come to a green carpet of grass that stretched out into a smooth glade, girt about with trees, where they would sport and cull garlands of sweet and gentle flowers; there would they sport for hours, gathering the painted blossoms of spring, for each little flower had a virtue in it, that made the wearer more comely. And like as we have already said of those precious stones which communicated their several gifts to the happy possessor, so these also had a true gift to make him that wore the rose of modesty, more beautiful; and the lily of chastity, altogether comely; and as of these, so was it of all: and hence it came, that the more they gathered, and of greater variety, the fairer the wreath became; so that when the rose was blended with the lily, and both with the violet of humility, they became more like their mother, who was herself all beautiful, and was "clothed in varieties."

Now at the entrance to this pleasaunce there was a gate, carved in goodly stone, and by the side thereof there stood many fair and comely

Beings, clothed in long white garments, over which was hung an ample cloak, fastened in front by an agraffe of costly pearls; and the cloak, like the garments, was white, and studded with golden stars, from the back whereof appeared wings, which hung down behind, fair, white, and glistering, as the rays of the sun. And some were in a kneeling position, and some bore lights in their hands, and some had their hands clasped together, and some had golden censers in their hands; and one there was who had a scabbard round his loins, though without a sword, but in its stead he bare the likeness thereof, which, however, he carried not by the hilt, but by the end of the blade; and there was no appearance of steel; for though wavy, as if once it had been a deadly weapon, its form was still wavy, but it came from the flickering brilliancy of the light of which it was composed,-a radiance that increased as it rose towards the hilt, where, and in the Cross thereof, it seemed to centre, or rather whence the light arose as from a centre, and diffused itself four ways,-upwards and downwards, to the right and to the left.

Now when the little children saw this seeming sword, they were afraid to enter, for the brilliancy was very great, and it struck their young hearts with awe, and they held back. Then their mother took them gently by the hand, and told them that there was once an Angel who carried a sword here, terrible to behold,—and that they might well be filled with awe, for that sword was once of fire, and waved fearfully over the entrance of the Enclosed Garden, into which she was about to lead them, and that for many long and weary years he had stood there, to prevent any one from passing in; and that at last her Holy Spouse, by his goodness, won an entrance therein, and bequeathed to her, as a gift, the power of entrance therein; for "see how kind and sweetly these blessed Beings regard you, and beckon you to come; and see how they point to that fountain, which with waters chrystaline as diamonds, perpetually flows therefrom."

So saying, she took her little ones by the hand and led them within the gate of the pleasaunce, and set them down by that clear and beautiful fountain; and she stooped down and laved them with the water thereof, and gave them to drink of its sweetness; and when they had drunk, they felt as if a heavy burthen had fallen from them, and that they were assimilated to the blessed Beings, whose brilliancy had at first awed, but who, as their mother had shewn them, were all smiles, and ever beckoning them to enter.

From that moment, external things were changed to them; the woods, which they had before but, as it were, seen at a distance, wore