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rage, some British vessel becomes a wreck, surely there is need of all and every exertion for the safety of the multitudes of lives that are thus imperilled. There can be no more awful spectacle than that of a disabled ship, close in upon a friendly shore, yet separated from it by a boiling gulph which it seems that none can attempt to pass, and live. Distress is more keenly felt when help is near, but yet found unavailing-destruction more lamentable when it occurs almost within the reach of safety.

And does not the consideration of a perishing crew on board a wreck call to mind the condition of those who had once every fair prospect and flattering hope, but who have made shipwreck of faith and of a good conscience? Does not also the sight of a brave crew, exposing themselves for the preservation of others, figure to our thoughts the kindness of him who came to succour us in our perilous state? He not only exposed, but sacrificed, his life. He died that we might live. And by that wonderful condescension he has assured the salvation of all that trust themselves to him. Let no one refuse to lay hold on the hope set forth in the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ.

CONGREGATIONAL PSALMODY*.

IF I am asked to suggest means for restoring the good old custom in any particular congregation, I should say, first of all, abolish the red curtain, and disband the choir. It may be an unpopular act: to break off a bad habit always demands a disagreeable effort, but it must be done. Or, if you think it desirable to engage a few of the more skilful to undertake the part of leaders or precentors in the psalm, let them be such as that you can confidently trust they "believe in their heart what they sing with their mouth, and approve in their works what they believe in their hearts." Let them sit in their ordinary places, and feel themselves to be still a part of the congregation; and let their object and their desire be, not to display their own skill, but only to call forth the voice of praise from their fellow-Christians,

If this be bona fide the wish and the purpose of all concerned, there will be no difficulty about particular arrangements.

In the next place, let the people be exhorted, and taught how simple a duty they omit, how happy a privilege they forego, when they stand silent in the congregation, and suffer others to praise God in their stead. There may be some reluctance at first to make the effort. There is

an outer crust of reserve in all English churchmen, and among highly-educated persons especially, that will have to be rubbed off; but, when once the ice is broken, when they have once felt that it is a good thing to praise the Lord, yea, a joyful and pleasant thing to be thankful," they will not easily let slip the privilege again.

Let your organist, if you must needs have one, be a man whose chief qualification for the office

* From

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Remarks on the Protestant Theory of Church

Music"; by the rev. S. A. Pears, B.D., one of the assistant

masters of Harrow school. London: Hatchard. 1852.

We can by no means agree with some of the remarks in Mr. Pears' pamphlet; but we think many of his suggestions well

worth consideration.-ED.

is, that he desires above all things that the name of the Lord may be glorified. Then his object will be one with that of the pastor and of the flock in his choice of music and style of playing he will aim only to draw forth the voice of praise from the people. He will never be so happy as when he feels that the sound of his own performance is overpowered and drowned in the loud accord of many voices.

The system of chanting requires so much careful practice as to be evidently more suited to the choir than the mixed multitude of the congre gation. Therefore, if not entirely discontinued, it should be strictly limited to one psalm or canticle in each service.

The singing of prayers, such as the earnest ejaculations in the communion service after each commandment, appears to me so absolutely inconsistent with serious devotion as to require no remark here.

It remains that great care should be applied to the selection of tunes, both with regard to their adaptation to the general purpose of Christian worship and to the words of the particular psalm or hymn. It is not only among the members of the village choir, but in persons of education and refinement, that we find a great want of knowledge and of judgment on this head.

The kindred science of architecture is, to a fair extent, studied and understood by most educated persons; so that their eye is struck, and their taste offended, at the introduction of any addition or ornament that is inappropriate to the general design. But on the subject of music there is by

no means the same amount of information to be met with. Many of those who have to appoint there is any peculiar style of music appropriate the singing in a church seem not to be aware that to public worship.

other use,

An air that may come under the vague denomi nation of "pretty," a melody which, from its feeble sentimentalism, is felt to be unfit for any from whencesoever it is borrowed, and with whatis considered suitable for this purpose, often hear words of the most solemn and religious ever meaning it was first designed; and thus we import adapted to a lover's lament, a pastoral me lody, or a dance of fairies: "Drink to me only with thine eyes," or "Lightly tread, 'tis hallowed ground," or, most strange and jarring of inconsistencies, Rousseau's dream."

I believe that it is commonly thought that & psalm-tune is a very easy thing to compose. Any teacher of the pianoforte, or any young lady whe has taken six lessons in thorough-bass, is held to and yet, if the object to be attained is considered, be fully capable of such a simple performance: we ought to form a very different estimate of the powers required for the accomplishment of it.

To produce music suitable for the voice of a genius; but to compose a strain which shall be the multitude is, in itself, a work of science and of fitting expression of that wonderful and mysterious Christians, must, indeed, require the mind of a union of feelings which move a multitude of felt this. Perhaps the principal triumph of Han master. The greatest composers have known and del's genius is to be found in that work in which, through such means of orchestra and chorus as he possessed, he has produced a wonderful, though

of course a very distant imitation, of the song of triumph raised by the multitude of 600,000 Israelites on the further shore of the Red Sea.

And let it further be remembered, that he who composes a psalm-tune not only has the stupendous task of providing an expression for the feelings of a Christian multitude, but must produce a work of such a character that, while the most refine musician may hear it and take part in it with pleasure, the rudest and simplest of Christians, young men and maidens, old men and children together, without art or practice or training, may join in it, and so pour out the fulness of their hearts' emotions. Mozart composed his masses for the most accomplished singers of the day: the protestant psalm-tune is for the peasant and the mechanic.

the aesthetic allurements of the church of Rome; for their own service-a service in which they would then be active partakers-would be instinct with life and nerve and energy; and the most seductive programme of mass and anthem, executed with all the strength, vocal and instrumental, that the opera can lend, and aided by the most perfect scenic arrangements, would fail any more to enchain their senses, and would stand exposed in its proper character, as a cold and tame and insipid spectacle, a substitute only for the true music of the saints, a mere counterfeit of the real voice of the church.

Surely, when all this is considered, it must be admitted that a good psalm-tune is the last work A of a great musician. And, hence, we must not be surprised that they who understand the matter have been able to find so very small a number of really good and appropriate psalm-tunes out of the vast number current in our churches. Crotch's selection (the best) contains, of all measures, only seventy-eight.

Dr.

No doubt, where a vicious taste has possession of the ground, it will require time to form a correct one. Still the attempt may be made with an almost certain prospect of success; and any congregation may be led by degrees to appreciate the highest and severest style of psalmody. And, though our own collection of tunes is small, it must not be supposed that our choice is bounded by limits so narrow. On the contrary, when our own is exhausted, the psalm-books of Germany and Switzerland supply an inexhaustible stock of pure and noble church music.

It must, however, be borne in mind that our great object is not the revival of a pure taste, but the encouragement of a popular psalmody. And, if there are tunes of a lower standard than the very best, yet so well-known and well-liked as to be acceptable to the people, we must be contented, and thankful to have it so. Better to hear the praise of God heartily sung by the people to a vulgar tune than an anthem of the highest order performed in the purest style by a dozen select singers.

Let me only further suggest that in large parish churches, where the singing is usually led by the organ, one psalm in each service, either before or after sermon, might be sung by the people without any musical accompaniment whatever.

I believe that any clergyman who would try the experiment, who would bestow some pains with a view to cultivate real congregational singing in his church, would find the result such as fully to repay the trouble bestowed upon it. He would feel a pulse beating which was not felt before; a glow in his congregation which is at once the sign and the effect of an active and healthy circulation.

Might we not hope that, as in Jewel's time, neighbouring churches would take up the custom, and that our protestant service generally would soon cast off that reproach of coldness which is so commonly attached to it?

No fear lest the younger or more imaginative members of such a congregation should stray after

Jubenile Reading.

LESSON FOR THE OVERBEARING AND

THOUGHTLESS*.

"I am thy friend-thy best of friends;
No buds in constant heat can blow,
The green fruit withers in the drought,
But ripens where the waters flow.

The sorrows of thy youthful day
Shall make thee wise in coming years;
The brightest rainbows ever play

Above the fountain of our tears."

MACKAY.

WHEN Clifton awoke the morning following the accident, related in the last chapter, he retained a consciousness of something unpleasant having happened. A night's rest had calmed his angry feelings; and by degrees the circumstances of the case stood before him in a very different light from that in which he had first viewed them. Mr. Raymond's observations had made an impression; and he could not deny to himself that he had been much to blame. But this feeling of self-condemnation, unhappily, had but a secondary place in his mind. What most concerned him was the light in which he had appeared to Mr. Raymond, and the mortifying conclusion which he could not but arrive at, namely, that all his anticipated wealth and consequence gave him no value in the eyes of his tutor. He was afraid, too, that he should lose what was a real source of pleasure to him-his daily walk he thought that, after what had passed, Mr. Raymond would not permit him to accompany him; but from this apprehension he was relieved during breakfast, when, upon a conversation arising as to the medicinal properties of quinine and other barks, Mr. Raymond mentioned a species of willow, from which the poor people in a certain part of England derive a cure for ague; and said the tree was growing beside

From "Edgar Clifton; or, Right and Wrong. A Story of School Life." By C. Adams. Bath: Binns and Goodwin. This is a tale, similar in its kind to that we lately noticed favourably, "Louis' School Days." It is not, perhaps, quite equal to that: there is not the same lively delineation of character, or interest in the incidents narrated, nor is religious principle so carefully evolved; still we have much pleasure in saying that this volume will be found to be amusing and instructive, and may be properly placed in young people's hands. The extract we have given above will afford a favourable specimen. We must add, in order to render it perfectly intelligible, that Clifton has, the day before, by his carelessness, caused the death of two pet birds belonging to one of his sisters.-ED.

the river in the park, and that he would point it out to Clifton when they took their customary morning walk.

This was a great relief to Clifton his wonted confidence returned; and he joined his tutor, and set out on their walk, with a perfect forgetfulness of the humiliating part he had borne in the transactions of the day before.

On crossing a lawn on their way to the park, they perceived Ann standing by one of the little parterres. It was the hour when she had been used to amuse herself with her love-birds; and, missing her customary occupation, she had come out to look at the flowers, and to select some of the prettiest to draw. Mr. Raymond stopped to speak to her; and, observing that her countenance did not wear its usual placid appearance, be concluded she was still feeling the loss of her little favourites, and kindly asked her to accompany her brother and himself on their walk. Ann's eyes lighted up with pleasure; for she liked Mr. Raymond very much, and was delighted whenever he noticed her and talked to her (which he often did, for she was an intelligent, wellbehaved child); but, catching a look of Edgar's face, she hesitated, and appeared afraid to accept this pleasant offer.

"A walk," said Mr. Raymond, "will do you good; and I will try to amuse you as we go along."

Edgar, unperceived by his tutor, shook his head. Fearing, as Ann still hesitated, that he had not done enough to deter her from going, and thus spoiling his pleasure, he exclaimed

"You must not go, Ann; your mamma will want you."

"Mamma gave me leave to come out," said

Ann.

"Well, well," said Clifton impatiently, do not want you with us."

66 We

"Speak for yourself," said Mr. Raymond, drily. "I wish Ann to come down to the river side with me;" and, taking the little girl by the hand, he led her forward, saying, at the same time, "You remember, Ann, I promised to tell you the names of some aquatic plants with which you are not acquainted. I will do so this morning, if you will come with me."

Ann, unable to refuse this agreeable proposal, consented to go; and Edgar, defeated in his attempt to make her stay away, was obliged to submit to her being of the party, and to her sharing with him the pleasures of Mr. Raymond's conversation.

Mr. Raymond was aware of what was passing in his pupil's mind; and, ever anxious for the improvement of those under his charge, he sought to give him a practical lesson that pleasures when shared are increased. For this purpose he contrived to manage the conversation, which was of an interesting nature, in such a manner that it could only go on by the brother and sister talking to each other, as well as to himself; and so skilfully did he do this, that, by the time they had reached the river, and the willow trees had been looked at, and the names of the water plants learned, Clifton had lost all sense of his sister's company being disagreeable, and had ceased to wish her away.

The day was sultry; and the little party were

glad, after a time, to rest on a rustic bench, which stood overshadowed by trees, beside the margin of the river. The stream, as it glided by, looked temptingly cool and clear; and Ann, who was thirsty, said she wished she had some of it to drink, and looked round to see if there were any means of obtaining what she wanted. Clifton suggested that she might drink through a straw, putting one end into the water, and drawing it up by her mouth through the other; but there was no straw at hand; and, besides, had there been, the banks of the river were too steep for her to reach it in this manner. A shell was then spoken of, and then a leaf; but Anu laughingly said the river produced no shell-fish, and she did not think she could hold a leaf so as to drink out of it, "You should make yourself a cup of the gras around you, Ann," said Mr. Raymond. "A grass cup!" repeated Ann, surprised. "You are joking with me, sir."

"Indeed I am not," replied Mr. Raymond. "In a part of North America where I once was, the natives form their vessels for carrying water of grass,”

How very curious!" said Ann; "how I should like to see such a vessel!"

"If I have not forgotten, I think I can show you how it is made," said Mr. Raymond. "I got a native to teach me his art; and, though the grass of this country is not well adapted for the purpose, I can show you the process, if your brother will gather me some of that tall kind that grows yonder, a little to the left, just on the edge of the river. I will tell you the name of it byand-bye. The grasses are a numerous tribe; and I think you would like to know how to call some of them aright."

Ann replied that she should be much pleased to be so instructed, and hastened after Edgar, who called her to hold the grass as he gathered it. Edgar had lost his right-hand glove during the walk; and the brambles and thorns, amidst which the grasses grew, pricked him.

"You must fetch me a pair of gloves, Ann. "Run away, and bring me those thick ones that lie on the hall table.”

Ann set off to do her brother's bidding, and returned with a pair of gloves.

"These are not the gloves I bid you bring," said Edgar, impatiently.

"There were no others lying on the ball-table," said Ann.

"Then why did you not look somewhere else!" said Edgar. These are thin kid," continued be, holding them up before her eyes," and there are holes in them: a moment's thought would have told you they are of no use to keep my hands from being hurt. You must go again. Ask John for a pair, it you cannot find them: now quick, be off."

"I think," said Ann, timidly, "I could gather the grass myself-it is so very hot across the park."

"Well, you can try if you like; but you cannot reach it, I know."

This proved to be the case; and Ann was sent off again to the mansion; and, this time bringing back a proper pair of gloves, the grass was gathered, and carried to Mr. Raymond, who, during the time this affair of the gloves occupied,

had been apparently busily engaged with a book.

Mr. Raymond had not forgotten the art, and in a few minutes the grass he wove began to assume something of a solid form; but, though he explained as he went on, in his clearest and most intelligible manner, Ann, heated and tired, was at first too ill at ease to profit by the instruction. By degrees, however, she regained her usual state; and her instructor patiently repeating what he had said, and allowing her to try herself, she acquired the knowledge of this ingenious art, with which she was much pleased.

When Ann had amused herself for some time with weaving the grass, she reminded Mr. Raymond of his promise of telling her the names of some of the grass tribe.

"With pleasure I will do so," replied he. "I will point out to you some of those that are most dissimilar; but some are so much alike that it requires a knowledge of the science of botany to be able to distinguish them."

"I wish I understood botany," exclaimed Ann.

"And so do I," said Clifton.

"I think, sir," said Ann, "you told me that the grass you have been weaving is not well adapted for the purpose. Is it not like the sort the American Indians use?"

"I can show you a print of the kind used by them," said Mr. Raymond, "and then you will see the difference. I brought a work on grasses with me to Abbeylands." Then, turning to Clifton, he said, "There is a book lying on the desk in my room fetch it for me, if you please."

Clifton rose reluctantly to obey his tutor's command, and, casting a lingering look on the cool spot which he left, and at Ann, who was sitting beside Mr. Raymond enjoying his conversation, he set off, and crept slowly along under the shade of the trees that bordered the river; but he was soon obliged to quit their grateful shelter and brave the heat of the sun; for his way lay directly across a part of the park where there were only occasional clumps of oaks. As the young heir paced along, the state of his feelings did not tend to soothe him. He was indignant at being ordered to go on an errand for Ann. Then he was astonished that Mr. Raymond had not considered how intense the heat of the sun was at that time of day, and that he had not remembered the distance they were from the mansion. Besides, he did not know that, though Mr. Raymond was his tutor, he had any right to order him about. As regarded his lessons, he must obey him he knew; but there he was inclined to think his tutor's right of command stopped. He did not like it; and the thought even crossed his mind whether he should not tell him so.

Thus, chafing in mind and body, the task was accomplished: Clifton reached the mansion, entered Mr. Raymond's room, found the book, as directed, on the desk, brought it away, and delivered it to his tutor.

Mr. Raymond received the volume from the hands of his pupil without looking at him, his attention being apparently absorbed by some grasses that he was searching among, as Ann held them to him. Ann's eyes were fixed on the same objects.

"Tell me the name of this," said Mr. Raymond, drawing forth one of the grasses. The little girl did as desired. "Right," said Mr. Raymond. "You will not forget it again. And now here is the book; let us see what prints it contains." He opened the book, turned over two or three leaves; looked at the back, closed it again, and said, "This is the wrong volume; there are only two: the one I want must be on the book-shelves. Take this back, Clifton; be so good as to place it again en the desk, and bring me the other."

Clifton stared with astonishment, and reddened with displeasure; but his emotions were lost upon Mr. Raymond; for that gentleman had risen from his seat, and was examining the bark of a tree near at hand.

66

Really, sir-indeed, sir!" stammered Clifton. "Indeed, I cannot"

"You understand where you are to find the book?" said Mr. Raymond, turning round with the most inflexible expression of countenance.

66 Yes," answered Clifton, "I know that; butbut"

"Well, then," said Mr. Raymond, "why do you not fetch it?"

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"O dear, sir," exclaimed Clifton, his passion just ready to vent in tears; "I have been once -why cannot Ann go? SheHe was stopped short by encountering a look from his tutor such as he was glad to escape from, even at the expense of another journey to the mansion, and he set off to do as he was desired.

"Bring the book yourself," said Mr. Raymond to his pupil as he moved off; "do not send it-it contains prints I wish to show you and talk to you about, as well as Ann."

A second time, under the heat of a burning sun, the young heir of Abbeylands crossed and re-crossed the park, impelled by the orders of one whom he dared not disobey, and against whose authority he felt it would be useless to rebel.

"Right this time; thank you. Now we shall see what we want," said Mr. Raymond, as he received the other volume: "sit down."

But Clifton had rushed behind the seat, and thrown himself on the grass, overcome more by his mental than his bodily feelings; for he was neither sickly nor effeminate; and, had it been for his own pleasure, he would have braved even more heat and fatigue without murmuring.

Ann, who had been away a few moments to gather a flower, the beauty of which had attracted her notice, came running up, and seeing Clifton a little way off lying on the ground, feared he was ill; but Mr. Raymond, with a smile, assured her that nothing was the matter with her brother, and, telling her to seat herself beside him, said he would show her the print of the grass used by the Indians for making their drinking vessels. When this print and others were duly admired and talked about, Mr. Raymond said, "I wish to call your attention and that of your brother, not only to the wonderful variety of the vegetable world, but to the different nature of the soil which has been adapted for every species of plant, from the magnificent banana which drops its root-growing branches over acres of the richest ground to the minutest moss that draws its nourishment from the most barren rocks. There is a

short introduction which bears upon this subject in this volume, which I will read, and enlarge upon as I go along. Come, Clifton," continued he, directing his voice towards the spot where his pupil was lying, we are going to talk of something interesting, and I want you to be of the party.'

66

"I cannot come," faintly murmured Clifton. "Why cannot you?" demanded Mr. Raymond, in a tone of the most perfect unconcern.

"Why?" said Clifton, his surprise at his tutor's want of comprehension getting the better of his fatigue, and even of his respect, and causing him to speak out, "Why, have not you sent me twice across the park and back again, under a sun hot enough to kill a dog?"

"I did not suppose," returned Mr. Raymond, "that you considered the heat oppressive, as you sent your sister backwards and forwards twice to the mansion, on very frivolous pretences."

There was an entire silence for a few moments; Mr. Raymond's observation struck home to the mind of the inconsiderate youth.

"If," resumed Mr. Raymond after a time, "I had heard you say to your sister that, though you knew that she is ever ready to oblige you, you considered the day too oppressive for her to fetch your gloves, it would have served to put me in mind that you also might find the heat unpleasant, and I should not have sent you for the books. As it was, I could not think you, a stout boy, would find any difficulty in accomplishing what you had commanded a little delicate girl to do. You are very anxious, my young friend, that every one should be attentive to you, and considerate of your feelings. In moderation, there is no harm in this; and, trust me, the best way of attaining what you desire is to be kind and obliging to others, and never to exact of them more than you would be willing to give in return."

Ann, who had not been spoiled by bad education, and who possessed a sensitive mind and feeling heart, was pained that her brother should have appeared in an unamiable light before Mr. Raymond, and, wishing to make the best of his conduct, said, "I did not mind going-at least after a little while I did not mind it."

Mr. Raymond smiled kindly upon the goodnatured little girl, and, noticing her flower, which, in the agitation of her feelings, she had been pulling to pieces, asked if she would like to learn the names of the different parts. "It would be a first lesson in botany," said he, "the science you want to acquire."

Aun was delighted at the proposal, and Mr. Raymond proceeded to tell her what parts of the flower were called petals, what stamens, what pistils, what the nectary, or honey-cup, &c., all which she quickly learned. "There is something else I must tell you," said he, "about this particular flower, which is, that it is of the order called cruciform, from the petals or flower-leaves being in the form of a cross. Look at this, which is still entire: the petals two and two grow directly opposite each other. It is also useful to learn that not one of this tribe is known to be deleterious; therefore, my little friend, should you ever be cast away on a desert island, you may use for food any cruciform plant you may chance to meet with."

Ann laughed, and said she hoped that would never be the case, at the same time she was glad to know the fact; and Mr. Raymond further informed her that all plants of the cabbage tribe are of the cruciform order, also cole-seed, turnip, and many other plants useful as food for man and beast.

During the time that Ann was thus pleasantly occupied, a change had been taking place in the feelings of her brother: his irritation and anger had passed off, and, becoming calm, he directed his attention to what Mr. Raymond was talking about, and learned that he was giving his sister a lesson in botany, a science the knowledge of which he had often envied Welby, from perceiving the amusement that it afforded him. He would have liked to have profited by the same instruction; but a mixed feeling of shame and wounded pride retained him where he was, till just as the lesson was drawing to a conclusion, when he summoned courage to rise and take a seat on the bench beside his tutor; and, after a little while, he said,

"I wish, sir, you would have the goodness to teach me botany."

Mr. Raymond answered his pupil good-naturedly; but said, "You should have come before: I cannot give the lesson over again: I must go in now, as I have letters to write. The best way will be for your sister to repeat to you all I have told her; it will benefit you both; it will fix the lesson in her mind at the same time that she imparts her knowledge to you."

Clifton looked very black, and seemed inclined to decline the instruction, if it was to be gained in this way. He did not like learning of his sister; and the thought of Ann teaching appeared to him "quite ridiculous."

Mr. Raymond perceived the workings of his pupil's mind, and, taking out his watch, said, "I find I can spare five minutes. I will be present at the first lesson. Now, Ann, begin.”

Again did Clifton feel the pressure of that influence from which he could not escape, neither could he evade; and he found himself listening to, and repeating after Ann, all that she herself had learned from Mr. Raymond. When Ann had finished, Mr. Raymond commended her for the correctness and clear manner in which she had imparted her instruction; adding, with a smile, that he could not have done better himself.

The little party then returned to the mansion; Mr. Raymond promising Ann on the way that, if nothing occurred to prevent it, he would give her another lesson in botany on the morrow, and also that he would continue to do so every day while he remained at Abbeylands, and added, "You must be your brother's instructor, imparting your daily lesson to him afterwards."

In thus making Ann teach Edgar, Mr. Raymond desired to bring the brother and sister more together, in order that feelings of sympathy and affection on the part of his pupil might be called forth. The plan was a good one; but it was not in a day, or a week, or a year, that faults like Clifton's could be corrected. Of this his tutor was well aware; and he was not, therefore, surprised that Ann with flushed cheeks, and Clifton with an angry brow, frequently came to him to settle disputes that had arisen between

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