THER

HERE are many households in England where it seems impossible to procure sacred music in any other way than by solo performances on the pianoforte. This is a great pity, for all have voices to cultivate if only they will set their minds and energies to work in the matter; and surely there are enough manuals now in the market, and enough help is given in our many periodicals for the young to enable every one to pursue at home a progressive course of private instruction.

Nevertheless, we frequently must take facts as we find them, and as we all like sacred music during the repose of a Sunday evening, we would prefer that our soul-laden praises should find an utterance through the medium of a pianoforte or harmonium rather than that the emotions of grateful and loving hearts should remain unexpressed. Ah! all the beauty and poetry of my early life, when I was as yet unused to the bustle

No. 1552.-JANUARY 26, 1884.

66

of manhood, seems centred round the table of our country cottage home, where Sunday after Sunday my dear mother, long since called to see Him face to face," used to lead our evening music. And I seem to see now how her very soul would burst forth in longings for that rest to which she was so early called. All her fears concerning a "title clear to mansions in the sky," used to be illustrated, as it were, by a soft and a humble manner and that self-distrust which all true Christians possess; but then immediately afterwards her voice would increase in volume and beauty, and she would triumphantly declare, "I know that my Redeemer liveth."

"The voices of my home! I hear them still!

They have been with me through the dreamy night! The blessed household voices, wont to fill

My heart's clear depths with unalloyed delight!

I hear them still, unchanged;-though some from earth Are music parted, and the tones of mirth

PRICE ONE PENNY.

Wild silvery tones, that rang through days more bright-
Have died in others, yet to me they come,
Singing of boyhood back-the voices of my home!"

None can measure the good that soul-music has done for me-how my spirit then was raised, and how the remembrance of that dear voice still cheers and comforts me when tired and worn by wearing work.

This blessed feast of memory forces the conclusion that from lack of sympathy of the right sort many parents neglect the provision of enjoyable Sunday evening music for their children. Every young man and young woman I believe enjoys, when it is rightly set about, a home service of song; therefore ought not we, especially those mothers and fathers whose children are growing up, to use our best talents in providing music of the right sort-that which, while it supplies the desired food, will also gratify the modern taste?

We know that there are many occasions of family gatherings when it is undesirable for many reasons to invite or persuade the company to sing, -indeed such singing is frequently impossible, unless there be found a good leader of the chorus in the gathering. When this is the case, however (and it is a pity that such a thing should over be), it is generally possible to find a willing pianist to take the place of the chorus and as it were to be their mouthpiece. But the pianoforte music should, on a Sabbath evening, be only that which is connected in the mind or memory of the hearers with words of a sacred character. Therefore we think that pieces written only for the pianoforte, such as Beethoven's glorious sonatas, are unsuitable, as being only the intangible expression of undefined thoughts. It is extremely tempting, no doubt, to a real lover and student of music, to indulge himself and the with a company beautiful composition, such as the sonatas above mentioned, but if our hearts on God's holy day are really His, and full of Him, we ought to praise Him only with sacred words, or with music that expresses the same subject-matter.

With this view of duty, then, let us endeavour to suggest to the notice of our readers some pianoforte music which has been found useful on similar occasions, and which certainly has been proved worthy by the musical Christian public of Eng

land.

The Oratorios are in themselves an inexhaustible mine of wealth for the selection of pianoforte solos. The accompaniments to the works of Handel, Mendelssohn, Bach, and others are all scored for the pianoforte, and in many cases the melodies are continued in the accompaniment as well as in the voice part, thus supplying simple players with beautiful and cheap sacred pieces for the instrument. Where the melody is not to be found in the accompaniment almost every performer could with a little practice beforehand study the part, and introduce the melody without any considerable difficulty. Think for a moment how many musical gems suitable as pianoforte solos are to be found in such oratorios as the Messiah, the Creation, Elijah, Hymn of Praise, St. Paul, Bach's St. Matthew, St. John, and the Christmas

Oratorio; why, these few works alone would supply material for twelve months' Sunday music. And when one thinks of the advantage in soul-culture to the individual in addition to the added attractions of home which such evenings would prove, it seems a marvel that many wellintentioned people-parents too with growing lads and young-women-should neglect so easy and so delightful a work.

Besides the ordinary compressed scores of the Oratorios above mentioned-pianoforte transcriptions of the following works are published by Novello and would be found most serviceable for Sunday evening use. We mention them, because, although the compositions are wellknown, the few pianoforte arrangements of them are not much used.

Mendelssohn's "Elijah."

Spohr's

Handel's

"Hear my Prayer." "Hymn of Praise."

"St. Paul."

"Last Judgment" (airs from).
"Messiah."

There are pianoforte arrangements also of Gounod's "There is a green Hill," and favourite movements from Sir Julius Benedict's "St. Peter," as also separate pianoforte pieces from the Oratorios, such as "O Rest in the Lord," "If with all your hearts," and "Lift thine eyes," which may be had at a low price.

Messrs. Boosey and Co. publish a few (a very few) sacred readings for the pianoforte, but they all are transcriptions from works the words of which are in Latin. "Eight sacred airs," arranged for beginners on the pianoforte, might be worth mentioning, however, as "Sound the loud Timbrel," "Angels ever bright and fair," "Jerusalem the Golden," etc., are to be found in the shilling book.

Should sacred music for the Harmonium be wanted, we can safely recommend "The Harmonium Album" by Curwen, and the "Voluntaries for the Harmonium," by J. W. Elliott.

Anthems and some of the lovely English Hymns from our rich and unrivalled hymnology, are worth listening to, even though they be only given on the pianoforte; though surely many might be found willing-indeed how could they resist the temptation-to join in the singing of Abide with me," "Sun of my soul," and such like hymns, favourites alike to young and old! Indeed there is much truth in what the author of the "Epic of Hades," says of vocal music

66

"The sound of music that is born of human breath, Comes straighter from the soul than any strain The hand alone can make."

The writer of this paper was last autumn staying at a boarding house in the Isle of Wight, on a visit to a friend, and every week-day some delightful trip or scheme for amusement was devised, but on the Sunday evening after service one would have thought, from the lugubrious faces in the drawing-room, that some dreadful trouble had seized upon one and all, for there round the walls of the room, were about thirty miserable people with nothing to do. Some, indeed, were pretending to read from books they

indolently held, till at last one young girl, unable to bear such a mournful condition of things any longer, entreated a lady, the only pianist of the company, to play some sacred solo from one of the oratorios, and she kindly, though from lack of memory she could not bring the solo to the right close, started "Waft her angels." But this came to an end very soon, and then ensued another painful lull. At last some one boldly proposed that we should all sing a few hymns to the pianist's accompaniment. This was most warmly responded to by us all, and everyone disappeared to return immediately with their hymn books. And what a delightful evening we had! Everyone of the household, old ladies so deaf that they could scarcely catch a sound, girls from school, and young men, champion bicyclists-all had their own favourite hymns that they would be "so glad to have—

"As for some dear familiar strain,
Untired we ask and ask again,
Ever in its melodious store

Finding a spell unheard before."

"Our Blest Redeemer," ""I heard the voice of Jesus say," "Jesu, lover of my soul," and many others were sung with such reverent enjoyment and earnestness that time flew, and everyone with great surprise found that it was high time to retire from what had at first threatened to be a most doleful evening. But we did not separate without a thanksgiving, kindly offered by a minister, one of the company, to God for the joy of the intercourse with Him which we had all experienced during the singing of His praises. We left that room feeling that we had derived great benefit from "Sunday evening music," and with the intention, week by week, of renewing the same pleasure.

When at home, in addition to the usual hymns, the following solos and duets would prove very welcome if sung with a full appreciation of the words:

"He shall feed His flock like a shepherd, and He shall gather the lambs with His arm and carry them in His bosom, and gently lead those that are with young. Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and He will give you rest. Take His yoke upon you, and learn of Him, for He is meek and lowly of heart, and ye shall find rest to your souls."-Handel's Messiah. Contralto voice, succeeded by a soprano.

"My song shall alway be Thy mercy, singing Thy praise, Thou only God. My tongue shall ever speak the goodness Thou hast done unto me."-Mendelssohn's Hymn of Praise. Duet for soprano and tenor.

"O rest in the Lord, wait patiently for Him, and He shall give thee thy heart's desires. Commit thy way unto Him, and trust in Him, and fret not thyself because of evil doers."-Mendelssohn's Elijah solo, for contralto voice.

"Then shall the righteous shine forth as the sun in their heavenly Father's realm. Joy on their heads shall be for everlasting, and all sorrow and mourning shall flee away." -Mendelssohn's Elijah, solo for tenor voice.

"What though trials wait me here, Though afflictions prove severe;

Christ endured what I must bear,
If His grace my strength sustain,
Welcome sorrow, shame and pain.
Peace shall flow from every loss,
Endless glory from the Cross.

Christ the Lord, by heavenly hosts adored,
From the realms of glory came,

Endured the cross, despised the shame.
When I suffer shame or loss,

Then I'll think on Jesu's cross."

51

Bach's St. Matthew Passion, solo for bass voice.

But the above are only drops in an ocean of sacred works set by pious composers. When Haydn composed his Creation, he was continually on his knees asking for a blessing on his work; and when Clara Novello, one of the finest of English sopranos, was asked how it was that she so well succeeded in thrilling her audience when singing the solos in Handel's Messiah, she replied, "Because I feel the words so."

While indicating a few subjects suitable for Sunday evening music, I especially wish to point out how particularly well fitted is Dr. Stainer's new work-St. Mary Magdalene-for such a purpose. Eight or even fewer voices could sing it through in about an hour, and would be amply repaid by finding in it scholarly and refined music of the highest order. There is a beautiful solo entitled "Woe is me," supposed to be sung by Mary Magdalene (soprano), and for a contralto voice the following words have been beautifully

set:

"Happy art thou, Magdalena,

Happy in thy woes and fears, Thou shalt rise again serener

From the torrent of thy tears.

"Dread not thou the world's harsh voices,
Scorn of men and foolish pride,
Lo! the Lord of Love rejoices
Seeing thee His feet beside.

"Fain would thousands, Magdalena,

Take the place which now is thine; Work thy lowly work and meaner By the feet of Love Divine."

In singing hymns, simple though they be, we should always render them with as much, if not more, care as in performing secular songs. We should also sing in a reverent manner, especially when mentioning the name of the Deity; and we must be careful not to drag the music, to make too long a stress at the ends of lines where the sense does not compel it-also we must cultivate an absence of self when leading the playing or singing, for Ruskin has truly said that the harp of the minstrel is untruly touched if his own glory is all that it records.

This might equally of course be said of secular music but we all feel that it especially applies to the rendering of a sacred subject, for sacred music is the highest form of all art-because it arises from the noblest emotions of our nature, because it is the most satisfying to the longing soul, and, when the words we use are from the inspired Book, because it is especially blessed of God.

CHARLES PETERS.

Still, a good many minor arrangements had to be made, and the two hours proved by no means too long a time for all that needed to be done. Mrs. Burrell had scarcely finished a final light dusting of the room, when a cab stopped at the side door, through which lodgers went in and out. Mrs. Burrell was speedily there, wearing the agreeable manner which she rarely failed to put on towards strangers. It was a pity that she did not oftener wear the same manner in her own little home-circle.

The cab bore upon its roof a goodly amount of luggage. Mrs. Mordaunt entered the house first, with a quiet step and graceful bearing. Every trace of the nervous agitation, so visible two hours earlier, had vanished. Close behind her came a delicate small-limbed child, bearing a birdcage swathed in brown paper, and having a face of rare sweetness. Mrs. Burrell involuntarily exclaimed, "My! what a pretty creature," and the wonderfully soft dark eyes were lifted to hers, with an expression which seemed to signify grave rebuke. Mrs. Burrell was for the moment struck dumb. Bertha, standing behind, found herself absolutely startled and thrilled by the sight of that little fair face, with its peach

bloom tinting and its broad serene brow. Her lonely heart went out with a sudden bound, and clung to the vision of childish loveliness.

66

Mother, shall I go upstairs and see our room, while you have the boxes brought in?" were Rhona's first words, uttered in a voice which rivalled Mrs. Mordaunt's for sweetness.

"Yes, certainly, darling. Someone will show you the way."

"Bertha can go," said Mrs. Burrell.

The child gave her a glance, and then went slowly up the first flight, clasping her burden tightly, and declining proffered assistance.

"No, I do everything myself for Fay," she said, in her serious voice. "Is that the room? Mother described the house to me, as we came, so I thought I should know. Please open the door, because my hands are full. O what a nice cosy room! and such a bright fire!"

Rhona deposited the cage on a table, and looked round with flushing cheeks. "So nice!" she repeated. "And a bookcase for our books!"

Then she walked to the window, and was silent. A small court-yard lay below, and a high blank wall rose opposite. Rhona sighed twice

NUMBER THREE, heavily, as if with a feeling of oppression, and turned away.

"But I like the room itself," she said. "It seems cosy. Mother will be able to rest here. There isn't any noise."

"It is always quiet at the back of the house," said Bertha.

"I am glad of that. Mother does feel the noise so much. Please, will you help me get the brown paper off my cage?"

Bertha obeyed, looking once or twice at the child's fading colour. Rhona began by helping her, but left off suddenly, and sat down on a chair close to the table, leaning an elbow on it, and resting her broad full forehead on one of her little hands, while the dark eyes watched Bertha's movements earnestly.

"Please don't be too quick. Fay is so easily frightened," she said, in a low voice.

"I think you are tired, Miss Rhona," Bertha

said.

66

"Yes,-oh, very," Rhona answered, with another long breath. This has been such a dreadful day. I can't bear to see mother worried."

Then without changing her position, but with a look of interest, she added,-" Are you the landlady's daughter?" Bertha shook her head. "Then you must be the niece. Mother said there were two. Have you lived here always? Is the landlady kind to you? Have you any father or mother?"

Bertha made another negative motion. "Mother died last summer, and father years ago, and I have nobody else belonging to me," she said huskily. "I have only been here six months.

It isn't home."

Rhona's eyes were full in a moment, not overflowing, but brimming with unshed sympathetic tears. "I am so sorry,-oh, so sorry," she said, laying her little hands on Bertha's arm. "My own dear papa died too, and that is why we are in such trouble. We used to live with him in Italy, and it was so lovely. But God took my own papa away, and then we had to come to England. He took your mother too, didn't He? I think it must be almost worse for you than for me, because I have darling mother still."

Bertha was strangely comforted by the child's pity. All these past months she had been nursing her grief, struggling on in uncomplaining sorrow, knowing herself to be unwelcome under her aunt's roof, yet having no other home. Mrs. Burrell clearly disliked her, and from Hope she met with little more than indifference. Under a simple sense of duty, Bertha had striven persistently to do her best; but joy and lovingkindness seemed to have faded out of her life. Now, suddenly, a little sunbeam had fallen across her way.

"So mother and I can both feel for you,-oh, so much," continued Rhona, a checked sob rising in her throat; and then, with a look of pain, she put her little hand to her brow. "I can't bear to see anybody unhappy; it makes me ache so here," she added pitifully. "Poor Bertha! I dare say it was just as bad for you to come away from your home to Mrs. Burrell's, as it was for us to leave dear Italy. I don't mean

exactly 'bad.' Mother and I couldn't complain, because God's will is always right. But we were very, very sorry, and that is not wrong, for the Lord Jesus was sorry, and He wept. Mother did cry so dreadfully at first, and then I always liked to think about His tears. I knew He could understand it all so well. Some people

don't seem able to understand at all."

"And you don't like London, Miss Rhona?" asked Bertha.

"No," said Rhona sadly. "Not yet. Perhaps some day I shall, but everything is so different now. If only we could have gone on living in Italy, and if mother need not work! Only that isn't God's will; and mother says we must be willing, we must not want to choose for ourselves. When that feeling comes of wanting Italy so much, it must be temptation; don't you think so?"

"I don't know," faltered Bertha. Mrs. Burrell might be wanting her all this time, and she knew it; yet she stood as if fascinated, drinking in every word.

"O yes, you do. Everything is a temptation that makes us want to have things different from God's will," said the child, with a curious flash of her eyes. "He loves us so much, and He always knows what is best. How can we know? We just have to be patient now. But by-andbye,-oh, won't it be different!” "By-and-bye, when you are grown up, Miss Rhona?"

66

6

Oh, I did not mean that at all. I meant something quite different. I meant the great wonderful by-and-bye,' when mother and I shall see my own papa again, and the Lord Jesus will be our King for ever. And we shall be with Him then," added the child, in tones of awestruck realisation, while her lips were grave, and her eyes shone. Don't you know? Don't you remember? Thine eyes shall see the King in His beauty'? Don't you think very often about that time when you are sad?"

Bertha was positively pale and trembling with undefined feelings.

She said, "No, Miss Rhona, I don't." Rhona looked earnestly at her before speaking. Then there was a low "Poor Bertha! It is much worse for you than for us.' Bertha involuntarily asked "Why?"

"I think I'll tell you another time," said Rhona gently. "I am so tired now, and Fay wants his seed; and they are bringing up the boxes. But I am glad we have come here. I do like you so much."

Mrs. Burrell's voice was audible outside, containing some smothered indignation. "Bertha ! What are you after? Just come and help, will you, and be quick.”

The child's weary eyes gave a flash of halfcomical meaning. "I should think Mrs. Burrell was cross sometimes," she said softly. you nice Bertha-don't stop."

66

• But go,

When

Fay had to wait longer for his seed. There was a bustle in the room for some minutes, boxes being carried in and placed here or there. the business was accomplished, they found that Rhona had coiled herself up in the corner of the hard sofa, and was sound asleep. One little