diverts our attention from its practical defects as a material organ, to its more moral and characteristic traits-the very background of sound throwing these superior traits into so much higher relief. This applies most forcibly, of course, in the case of solo singing; but it applies, in its degree, to choir singing also. There are always various obstructions to the proper smoothness and flow of music, in the collected efforts of a number of human throats-always some jarrings, inequalities, collisions. There is always something or other, in a naked vocal performance which the ear has to try not to hear; or, if it does hear, to shove aside and regard as unheard; that is to say, it has, with some trouble to itself, to separate the accidental hindrances from the main course of the stream, and take in the musical characteristics, opposing a voluntary deafness to the unmusical ones. We are far from denying the great perfection at which vocal music may arrive, in favoured and select circles, where very picked and cultivated voices have been accustomed to practise together. The performance of glees and madrigals in private rooms may attain a point, at which the introduction of any instrumental accompaniment would rather interfere with accuracy and finish, and confuse the ear rather than console it. But we are speaking now of ordinary choirs-even good ordinary choirs-such as we hear in cathedrals and churches where music is not neglected. The best of them have their unevennesses, their weaknesses; they want some continuous auxiliary in the background: and an organ is most effective in this capacity; it has a remarkable power of smoothing over the defects, fusing and combining the different voices, and presenting them all as one mingled mass of sound to the ear; it is the great mollifier and harmonizer. We have never yet heard the church choir without an organ, that would not have sounded much better with.

What we maintain then is, that a substantial organ accompaniment does not interfere with our hearing the choir; that the peculiar organ roll does not come into collision with the voices of the singers, but rather sets them off. But now comes in the additional consideration, of the positive stimulus which the organ notes are to the choir. If the organ be a rival to the choir on the one hand, (a view, however, which as we have said we do not take of it,) it is a stimulant to it on the other: it raises and nerves the voices, and keeps them to their proper pitch. The voice is a most sympathetic thing; it requires company as much as the man himself does, something outside of it to lean upon. And although a number of voices singing together perform to a considerable extent this office to each other, still a continuous running accompaniment, which is never out, a pure note always

present to every ear, is a most important assistance. And it makes considerable difference with what force this guiding note strikes the ear of the choir. The ear catches a well-defined substantial organ note immediately, and communicates its accuracy immediately to the voice; but a gentle sleepy note it does not catch so readily, and runs a risk of getting flat in consequence. The ear-we speak of average ears,-requires to be spoken to decidedly, and a mere hint will not do; at least it is all the better for being firmly directed. Of course a loud, sharp, correct voice in a choir will answer this purpose, somewhat in the same way in which an instrument does; but in the first place, such a voice is not always to be got; and in the second place, if it is, a sharp leading voice is not the most agreeable guide of a choir. It is apt to be rather offensive than not. The prominence of one voice rather distracts the mind, and takes away from the general effect. It is one of the great advantages which an organ possesses for leading a choir, that it leads it without any obtruded personality.

The grounds of utility which we have so far appealed to in behalf of the organ, are ones which apply to all choirs in common, good or bad. But it is not to be forgotten that, in the natural order of things, a certain proportion of poor choirs are to be expected in our cathedrals and churches, and many of these very poor. And here an organ comes in opportunely indeed, and supplies in a way the widest gaps. It will be said, that this is quite wrong; that an organ should never be regarded as supplying the place of voices. We answer, it is very wrong that there should be bad choirs, but if there are bad choirs, it is not wrong that they should be made the best of. We would not be so rigid in our musical morals, as pertinaciously to insist on three or four poor voices being heard in all their miserable tenuity day after day, and month after month, simply on the view of not covering and disguising defects. If there is a good organ in the place, let the organ, we would say, play by all means, and make itself accommodating and friendly. The congregation in its capacity of audience, ought to be considered in these matters;-to recur to what we said above. It is better to hear rich sounds than poor ones, good notes than bad ones. If the notes of a fine instrument can be made to mingle with and carry off the thin wiry voices of a neglected choir, they are to be enjoyed with thankfulness. The organ is the cathedral visitants' friend. We feel deep gratitude to it. How often do we enter within sacred walls where the daily choral service is celebrated, and find the organ by far the principal and most attractive performer in the service. It is sad that it should be so; but it would be much sadder if there were no such performer at all.

Indeed this feature is a leading one about the organ; we mean, that it is such a splendidly practical instrument. It is never out of place, always suited to the occasion, always doing something which is wanted. In choral prosperity and adversity it comes in alike usefully; in the one the ally, in the other the succourer; the friend in need to the meagre choir, the welcome companion of the full one. It sympathizes with the grandest collection of voices, it aids the smallest. In continental cathedrals we have the Gregorian chant, in which fifty or a hundred deep voices join, accompanied by the full powers of the organ. Here nothing can be said against the organ. It cannot be said that it drowns the choir, for it does not do that; nor can it be said that it is a superfluous addition; for it is not that either: it plainly adds to the effect. It is unassailable then in its relation to a full choir. Again, it is equally unassailable in its relation to a bad choir; because a bad choir would be a positive infliction without it. In this way it fulfils the most different positions with unimpeachable efficiency and suitableness, and comes teres atque rotundus out of all attacks and questionings.

We have made these remarks partly because we have observed lately in some quarters a tendency to be afraid of the organ, as if it were an obstacle in the way of sound church music; and it were the higher and correcter part to do without it; as if its use were a sort of concession to the carnal, as opposed to the Christian and spiritual, ear. We do not see the exact justice of such a view. If the general principle is sound, that an instrument may aid in the praises of God; and if an organ is an instrument of solemn, magnificent, and ecclesiastical character, why should it be correct to do without it? To do so were a gratuitous surrender of a plain advantage. Nor do we see the reason for that particular jealousy of its powers, when we have got it, or why we should be afraid of it being heard. It ought to be heard. It was made the instrument which it is, in order that it might be. There is a limit certainly to its functions, and we ought not to drown voices, and stun ears. But as we have said, a good substantial organ accompaniment does not prevent the voices from being heard, but rather supports and stimulates them. On the contrary, a thin organ accompaniment does not support the voices properly, and is disappointing in itself. If a feeble instrument is feeble, there is no disappointment; because we expect it to be so. But if a grand instrument is feeble, there is; because we expect it to speak out. If it does not, the ear has the sensation of something being missing; a sensation of curtness and imperfection. It desiderates something which is its due, and of which it seems to be stinted; it is hungry and discontented. Let all instruments, then, which sound the praises

of God, whether human throats or organ tubes, do their duty, and be effective in their several places.

We have taken the liberty, for which we hope the scientific musician will not judge us, of making, as ordinary hearers of church music, a few passing observations on the use of the organ in general. And now, in conclusion, we will venture on one or two points of detail, connected with the present character of our church organs.

The remark is a very safe one, then, that organs have undergone a considerable change in their composition of late years. The modern organ is a much freer and more expressive instrument than the old one. The swell has expanded and become more and more of a feature in it: and the full, steady, even flow which one used to associate with the organ, as its peculiar characteristic, is intermixed now with varied, ardent, aspiring movements. If the organist now begins a voluntary in the old fashioned style, and gives us the deep quiet diapasons, he only does so by way of a modest prelude; he is soon in a higher region of pipes; he is at the brilliant swell, ascending and descending, up in the clouds and down again, and borne along on ethereal waves of sound. The organ now sends out a succession of thrilling notes, as a rocket sends out sparks; there is a fiery briskness in its movements; and the ear is penetrated with exceedingly sharp sweet aculei of sound.

Now we do not grudge the organ its expansion and development; for it is the nature of instruments as of institutions, to develop nor have we any doubt that the modern organ is a much more perfect instrument than the old one. In particular, we would not say a word against the swell, which is unquestionably a great addition to it. But while the organ has been improved and developed as an instrument, and is a much more perfect one than it was, to hear played by itself; as an instrument for accompaniment, there are, we think, defects in the modern organ; and the laudable zeal for the development of the instrument as such, has rather put out of sight some of its practical uses, as connected with the choir. We have no criticism to offer on the great organ, or on the swell; but the choir organ, which is of course the one principally used in connexion with the choir, and gives the regular accompaniment in the chant, does not seem to be all that it should be. We should say that it desiderated some elements of sharpness and roughness in its composition. There is a roughness which is easily dissociated from any painful quality of sound, a modified roughness, nay even a sort of harshness which is most agreeably stimulative to the ear, and keeps it lively and awake; just as mustard and other sharp grains are said to invigorate the

stomach. We should say that the choir organ, of the modern instrument, was too smooth, gentle, and mellifluous for the full purposes of an accompaniment. It does not keep the ears of the choir sufficiently alive, and sustain their voices as it should do; it does not brace and inspirit them. The consequence is, that the voices of the choir often tend to flatness. Nor is this all: there are general features in our style of chanting (for it is with reference to the chant principally that we are speaking now) which we may notice in connexion with this subject.

There is, then, it must be confessed, a general tendency to sleepiness, listlessness, and drawling in our established mode of chanting. We have no hesitation in asserting our opinion that it is, as a general rule, too slow. It will be said that it is more reverential to be slow than to be quick; but this is a fallacious assertion, although a plausible one. An arguer, indeed, for a quicker style of chanting and against a slower one, is necessarily at a disadvantage in this respect: slowness is generally associated with awe and solemnity in our ideas; quickness, on the contrary, with volatility and carelessness. On the strength of this general association some repose in slowness as if it were the one infallible token of religious feeling; and so long as that one feature is preserved, and the prayers are read slowly, and the psalm sung slowly, feel absolute security and confidence that all is religiously as it should be. Now it is the most difficult thing to convince persons, in the case of any favourite maxim, which has a certain amount of truth in it, that it can be at all defective. If it cannot be wholly contravened, it will, in spite of every argument, remain in their minds as wholly true. It is therefore, not in the hope of doing any good, so much as for the simple sake of saying what is true, that we do here enunciate the proposition, that reverence and irreverence respectively are not shown by slowness absolutely, or quickness absolutely; but by proper slowness and improper quickness. Quickness is not in itself a sign of volatility or carelessness; on the contrary, on many natural occasions it is a sign of intensity and earnestness. For example, a person who was in danger of being burnt, would not show his deep sense of his situation by a slow and measured appeal to his fellow-creatures for assistance: he would call out quick. And joy produces quick expression, as fear does. And so does grief too; its expressions are quick sometimes, as they are sometimes slow. We are not going to apply these instances to the performance of the church service; but merely bring them forward as evidences upon the abstract question. Here are cases, and there are numberless others, in which earnest and deep feeling expresses itself quickly. Then quickness is not in itself a sign of volatility. Mind, we