are not advocating quickness positively here: for we do not regard quickness, as in itself advantageous, any more than slowness. We only are opposing the line of excluding it, the line of regarding it as in itself wrong. We say the question cannot be settled, à priori, in this way: it depends entirely on the nature of the thing to be sung or said, with what degree of quickness, and what degree of slowness, it is to be sung or said. With reference to the case in point, it stands to reason, we think, that the chant was not meant to be slow. Simple repetition seems of itself to suggest a certain despatch; for where all the steps in the series are alike, and none demands our attention more than another, there appears no reason for slowness; which should be used rather for emphasis and distinction. Quickness in such a case becomes no sign of a particular animus in the performers, as if they were intentionally hurrying it, but the official style of the chant itself: and what, as a mere humour of individual singers, would be most offensive, as the legal and formal characteristic of the particular service, is simply just and becoming. The question is, indeed, what constitutes overrapidity in chanting. Is it the mere curtailment of a vague à priori measure which we have in our heads, but can give no account of? or is it such rapidity as prevents one from understanding the sense of the words as they pass by us? The latter test is surely the natural one in the case. Now, it is certain that, with respect to the sense of the verses in the Psalms, ample opportunity is afforded for its apprehension, by a chanting time which would be called, by many, quick. We say, ample opportunity. Far be it from us for a moment to say, that such time would allow one to enter into all the depth of the sacred words, and imbibe all their fulness of meaning; but this no style of chanting whatever, let it be as lingering and slow as could be, will allow you to do. This is not what chanting is meant for. This is meditation: you may meditate on the same verse a minute, an hour: you may make it your daily subject of meditation for years, and not get to the bottom of it. But chanting is not meditation. Chanting is recitation. It is the recitation of verse after verse with such a decent quickness as allows you to apprehend, in an ordinary way, the meaning of the sacred words you recite. To accomplish this plain purpose, we say, slow chanting is not necessary; the additional length of time over each verse is, simply, not wanted. And not being wanted, it is even worse than a superfluity; it is an actual obstruction. For what is the mind to be doing when it has fairly apprehended the meaning of a verse, and the choir has not yet got half way through it? You say it should try to apprehend the meaning of the verse more deeply; but for this again it has not time enough; this

belongs to the department of meditation, and meditation is a longer process altogether. The truth is, when the mind has apprehended one verse, its natural course is to go on immediately to the next. If it is not permitted to do this, it is kept in a state of suspense till it is. And this is the general effect of an over-slow style of chanting. It imposes on the mind a mixed task, consisting half of simple apprehension, half of meditation, which cannot be done; a task which keeps it constantly halting, constantly baulked; feeling it has too little time, and too much, at once; half listless and half hurried; withal constantly tempted to wander ;-for, it must be remembered, that, in these interims which we speak of between the verses, when the mind has nothing to do, and is waiting for the next verse, to remain simply passive is not easy; the unemployed attention is apt to be drawn off to impertinent subjects, if such suggest themselves, as they often do.

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Over-slow chanting has a bad effect, moreover, upon the choir; in this way :-The quantity of time they have on their hands makes them lax and careless as to all beginning the verse together. Each knows that, however much behind-hand he may be, he will have abundance of time to get up to the rest before the end of the part; and each therefore gives himself no particular trouble to begin with the rest. The result is a great want of regularity. First one begins, then another, then another. By the time one has said, e. g. They have kept me in on every side,' another begins, They have kept me in,' and three or four follow in serie, They have kept me,'-They have kept me.' All, whichever time each starts, come to the end together; but the effect is a scrambling one. Whereas, if the time were quicker, each member of the choir would be obliged to pay more attention to the matter of time; and the chant would gain in distinctness and accuracy. We may remark, too, that, when the chanting has been very slow, we have heard choristers actually pronouncing one or more of the words twice over, simply because they have too much time for the few words before them, and do not know what to do with it. Now, this clearly shows something wrong, for such a repetition is against the first principles of the chant. And yet, in some of the shorter verses especially, what are the choristers to do, and how are they to be expected always equally to distribute four or five words over a long drawling line of organ notes. With a pardonable improvidence they consume all their words at once, and then finding they have none left, and not wishing to gape out the rest of the time, they repeat one or two words again. We mention this point-and we could mention others like it-for the sake of showing what a struggle against nature

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over-slow chanting is. Nature demands a certain degree of quickness; and all the additional time beyond is an artificial superfluity, which clogs and enfeebles the chant, rather than gives it depth or solemnity.

We have explained what we mean by quick chanting: that it is chanting which gives time for the fair apprehension of the sense of the words, and does not give more. And now we will only repeat, that the opinion which prevails in many quarters against quick chanting, appears to us a mistake; that quick time, by enforcing the attention of the choir, gives regularity, strength, and compactness to the chant; while slow time, by giving opportunity for lounging, introduces laxity, feebleness, and division into it.

And now to go back to the organ. The modern expansion and development of the organ, we said, unfitted it in some respects for those practical functions, which it ought to discharge, as an accompanying instrument. The above remarks about chanting will show what we had in view, when we made that criticism. The composition of the modern organ rather tends to encourage the slow and feeble style of chanting. For what is the accompaniment which it gives the chant? A soft, mellifluous, fluty one, interspersed with a brilliant undulating one. The choir organ, which gives the regular accompaniment, is too soft and fluty to brace, in tone, and sustain properly the voices of the choir. It gives a composition of sound most beautiful, rich, and sweet, in itself, but not stimulating, not awakening to the choir. We ourselves have the privilege of attending a choral service, where the organist, though a most accomplished musician, has sometimes to strike a sharp treble note on the great organ, simply to keep his boys' voices up, and prevent them getting flat. But there must be something wrong where this has to be done. The choir organ then seems to convict itself, and confess its own insufficiency. There is something which it plainly ought to do, and does not do. And what is the remedy used to supply this defect in the choir organ? The swell. The mellifluous smooth flow of the choir organ is found, after a time, too sleepy and tame; and the organist has naturally recourse to the agreeable and sparkling roughness of the swell, to enliven and invigorate the chant. But the swell is not in itself an accompaniment suitable and proper to chanting. It is the nature of the chant to be even and regular; but the swell is the very contrary of this, always rising and falling. It gives a new character to the chant, and changing it from its stern uniformity, invests it with a variety of effect which belongs to an ordinary piece of music. Moreover, the swell requires time for performing its movements; those gradual ascents and descents

of sound require time. Here is the defect.

The use of the swell tends to lengthen the time of the chant: the latter has to accommodate itself to the organ's movements, and gains a good deal of richness and beauty at the expense of its own proper character. We say, then, that the swell is not in itself suitable to the chant; though, we confess, in defect of other more regular stimulants, we are not sorry to hear it. The regular choir organ accompaniment, however, were it somewhat rougher and sharper, would invigorate the chant without delaying it.

What we would suggest, then, as a desideratum in the modern organ, is the introduction of some modified roughness and sharpness into the composition of that compartment of it which is technically called the choir organ, and which is the regular accompanier of the chant. It may be said that there is often a reedstop in it, which the organist might use now, if he thought fit. But an ordinary sharp reed-stop introduced into a body of soft fluty sound does not mix well with it; nor perhaps would any mere addition answer, except the character of the other stops in the compartment were altered too to meet it. The question is, whether the choir organ, as a whole, as now composed, performs as able a part in our service as it should do; and whether alterations might not be made in it with a special view to rendering it more efficient as an accompanier, especially to the chant. For we have no hesitation in putting the chant thus prominently forward, being, both in point of length and general associations, so important a part of our service. Nor should we hesitate to say, that supposing an alteration in organs would improve the chant, that single reason would be quite a sufficient one for an alteration. We will hazard the remark, that we should like to see our organs with some of the qualities of the continental organs in this respect. Much inferior, as instruments, to our own, the organs we commonly hear in churches abroad have qualities which make them more efficient as accompaniers of the choir, than ours. There is an agreeable roughness and sharpness in them; a sort of modified, tempered trumpet-effect is not uncommon; an effect which is stimulating and awakening, without being heavy and overwhelming; and which is admirably in keeping with the chant. And one remark by the way here. If we are ever to have Gregorian chants with effect in our churches, some such alteration as we have mentioned our organs must have. Our present choir organ is very unsuited for the Gregorian chant. It gives it just as it should not be given-smooth and flowing; whereas it should be brisk and rough. The chant thus falls either altogether heavy and flat upon our ear; or, (if through good

management, it should avoid this extreme,) at any rate, divested of that strong and decided character which is proper to it; and which alone can make it popularly appreciated. For every thing has its own style; if it is not given in that style, it is not done justice too-it has not a fair chance: people do not really hear the genuine Gregorian itself.

We have hazarded these few rough remarks on the use of the organ in general, and on some particular features in the composition of the modern organ. It can do no disservice to the cause of church music to have such hints thrown out. If any of our organ artists, who may chance to come across them, thinks there is any thing in them, he will not be displeased with us; and if he thinks there is nothing in the remarks themselves, he may still regard them as the vague expression of some real want or other, which the writer felt but could not explain properly. The organ builder of the present day will be the last person, we are sure, to maintain that the organ has now arrived at its maximum of perfection and efficiency. Nothing can be more probable, than that in the improvement and expansion of the instrument as such, its functions as an accompanying instrument should have been in some measure overlooked. People cannot attend to all things at once; an improvement in one direction is very apt to interfere with a use in another; and the course of development does not always leave a proper equilibrium.