Miscellaneous Writings of Mr. Bliss

THE following composition was written by Mr. Bliss when at -1. school, in 1859:

You are aware, mj old friends, that you live in an age of darkness and ignorance — an age in which temptation and depravities are becoming more and more numerous. You, too, live in a land of slavery — a land on which the frowns of a just condemnation shade with an uncommon darkness. The cry of the oppreissed and howl of the drunkard are ever to be heard on our mountains and in our valleys; deeds of sin are ever before us; the wicked struggle that sin may ever be predominant; and we live to endure the deep curse of slavery and poverty which was brought on by the sins of our fathers. These considerations seem to forbid that we should eyei attempt to elevate ourselves, our country, or succeeding generations by tl:e acquirement of knowledge.

We cannot but remember that ignorance is weakness; that an ignorant and depraved people will ever be slaves; and that on the ignorance of our youth depends the future slavery, the poverty, the misery, the contempt, and the disgrace of our despised country. Go on, then, with a contemptible ambition and dogged perseverance in the gully which leads to disgrace and dishonor. Press downward. Go and gather thorns from the marshes of ignorance; inhale of the foulness therein; drink deep of their stagnant pools and then join in the march of retrogradation. Become ignorant and depraved and you will be contemptible. Hate God and disobey Him, and continual unhappiness will be yours.

In the bound volumes of the Song Messenger, a monthly musical publication formerly issued by Root & Cady, now published by John Church & Co., are found several contributions from Mr. Bliss, written over the pseudonym of Pro Phundo Basso. Mr. Bliss was, at the time they were written, connected in a musical way with Root & Cady, and at their request contributed these pieces to make the paper more spicy and attractive by the vein of fun and good.

natored satire that runs through these compositions, A few specimens are given, that Mr. Bliss’ fun-loving and wit-creating characteristics may be appreciated.

A RBTROSPECTIGRAPH. At ye dose of ye Kormal Academie of Mu«lck, at JaneeviUe, mh dayo of 8th month, 1869.

I must confess almost of you.

And take ourselves to thee.
And then I want to be a while.

And then — well, let us see.

Gone is our Normal, past, expired —

The hand of mem’ry sweeps
Backward, still backward, there, I’m wired;

Hush, booby, ‘* why these weeps?”

WeVe had a good time, haven’t we?

And every one supposes
Of all the chorus, psalm or glee,

The biggest thing was” Moses.*’

As King of Egypt, I confess.

He’s taken some attention.
But as a Pennamite, I guess

That from this ere convention.

About the sweetest influence shed,
“Still gently o’er me stealin’,”
As once a broth«r poet said,
Is this kind, social feel in’.

And let’s not choke it down with cart.
Nor let the sweet flower perish,
‘But keep it blooming fresh and fair.
And friendly feelings cherish.

And when life’s croquet game is o’er

And all our arches past,
May we wild rovers rove no more.

But hit the port at last

Ah, beg your pardon; by your grace,

‘Twas also my intention,
If you would grant me time and spuce.

Some local points to mention
:J10 MEMOIK OF P. P. BLISS.

Three cheers for Janesville I propose.
Hip, hip — ah, that don’t bring it;

If Pd CO ant, one, two, three, I B*pose
You’d all jump up and sing it.

Such lovely ladies, model men.
What verse shall sound your praises?

Such soothing sidewalks (I), then again
Such beautiful bouquetses.

Joy be with Janesville, so say I,

And so say all of us,
May thine aquatic fowls hang high.

Thy singers sing no wuss.

And now, good bye, Janes villians, all.
We take our leave informal;

May no sad tho’ts your hearts appal
At mem’ry of our Normal.

I cannot stop till I declare
That no field hand or farmer

In music’s realm can we compare
With our Prof. H. R. Palmer.

And though the singers bloom at mom,
At noon his larynx withers.

While here for weeks, fatigue we scorn.
And scale him all to slithers.

In every heart some seeds of truth
Strong root have daily taken.

And oft the sweetest songs of youth
Will thoughts of Root awaken.

We came to learn the laws of song.
And now we go as sudden.

And won’t we keep, thro’ all life long,
Kind thoughts of W. Ludden?

And yet around the faculty
My muse immured still lingers.

To celebrate the praise of he

Who teacheth “wiggling fingers.”

A model teacher, too, is he,

Nor doth waste words nor wrath use

A man and a musician see
In W. S. B. Mathews.

Then my friend Titcoinb — friend? Yes, sir

Becaase of genus liomo,
He*s more than homOf he is «ir,

They say he’s found a chromo.

All sorts of dispositions here

We’ve had, though now dispersing,

And as we go, I think ’tis clear,
We’ve all had first rate Nourse-ing.

And now I’m done, you think ’tis time;

Good bye — we’re off to-morrow;
May life be smoother than my rhyme.

And more of heaven’s light borrow.

A LAYE.

Wouldst have renown, dost thirst for fame
High honors wouldst thou see?

Seekst wealthe, withal, and for thy name
Large popularitie?

Harkee. I know a handiwaye

Of which I’ll blaze to thee;
My charges? Naught 1 I’ll sing my laye

Qratuitouslie.

Highway e to honor,” is ye name

“And immortalitie,”
But of ye plan I dare not claime
Originalitie.

While he his conscience sore must hurt

Whate’er his calling be.
Who doth to wealthe and fame assert

Insensibilitie.

Do this, and thus thy aims conceal,

So noted thou shalt be,
Nor word nor look shall e’er reveal

Thine ingenuitie.

First: Love thyself all things aboTe,
So loved thou shalt be.

And joy at finding in thy love
Compatibilitie.

Next: Praise thyself, thyself may bless.

Thyself continuallie;
So shall thy sweet self-praise possess

Immutabilitie.

And yet two simple souls, I praye, ’
Might ‘scape ye rules scot free — Ye mindeful list’ner to my laye,

And eke Pbo Phukdo B.

DMembcr, 1800.

HIS COURTSHIPPE.

Written by himself with ye fall and willinge consent of his lawful and beloved Miranda

(In ye tone of A.)

‘Twas on a sun full morning,

All in ye month of May,
When all ye birds and lambkins

Did skippe and eke did playe;
A songfull youth did saunter

With hearte so glad and gave,
Adown a trodden cow-path.

Yclept ye “Milkey Waye”
(Which youth itt was Pro Phundo

Maybe ‘twere good to saye).
His tunef ull voice lamenting

Of “faithfull ole dogg Traye,”
Whose gentle, kinde attentions

Nor age nor grieffe could swaye.

Bewhiles ye kine bereaved

Most mournfully did braye,
All for ye youthf ull calflings

Ye butcherman did slaye:
Full many a cock a-crowing

With many a piping jay.
To greete ye gladsome morning

Did cheerfully essaye.

Likewise to joine Pro Phundo

And swell his roundelaye;
Ye gorgeous sun aslantwise

Did send his kindest raje;
Beglimmering on je milk paile

Of Miss Miranda Gray.

Pro Phundo’s hearte did kindle

As it were kiln-dried haye
Upon a bar post leaning

(Long since gone to decaye).
Ye question there he popped.

Nor risked to delay,
Whiles Miss Miranda blithely

Drew forth ye foaming spraye;
Nor fright nor fitt of fainting

Did she at this betraye,
Bat gentlemaidly courage

And valour did displaye.
Consented hence Pro Phundo

Pro Phundo is to-daye

ZIZZI jm. 1 •!

Come, all ye sad and single.

Who listen to my laye,
Attende unto my counsell

And eke ye same obeye.
From sweete and solid comfortf

Prythee no longer straye;
From foolish a£fectation

Turn heartily awaye.
Be honest in your courtshippe,

And frank also, I praye.

When to an honest damsell
An honest youth doth paye

His honest hearte’s affection.
Why should she answer “Naye?”

“Begone I “her tonge a telling,
Whiles all her hearte says ‘* staye I”

Pro Phundo and Miranda,

May all be blest as they, zin:

Jaanarjf 1870.

HOW INTO MUSTC.

Miranda says — wLitch makes itt
I’d better write and tell

Why into musick I did go,
And w?iere and ?iow, as well.

No doubt to me you’ve noticed of

His is ye longest life.
And eke his head doth lie most soft

Who most doth please his wyfe.

So list, give ear« attende while I

My narrative unfold;
So shall my head reposef all lie..

For doing as I’m tolde.

Why I’m in musick?” oh, my eye

I can no elearlier see.
Than I could guess ye reason why

Miranda married me I

Where f ‘neath ye tunef ull hemlocks dear
That roll their anthems grand

O’er Pennsylvania’s northern tier — Miranda’s native land.

Elk Run first taught me melodie.
While angling through its dales.

Its saw-mills gave my rhythm to me
Its sun-fish gave me scciUi,

Ye f riskie fox staccato taught.

Ye screech owl tremolo;
Ye mill wheels mszzo forte brought.

Ye dam fortimmo.

Ye scythe whet and ye cross cut’s ring

Ye ox cart’s tenore creake
Did to my hearte a musick sing

That words can never speake.

Thus all things musick brought to me.

Whitch still to me doth cling,
Whitch same, I argue, easilie

Did me to musick bring.

WHAT FOR? 21*

Vfknmrj, 1830.

How into musick I did go

I’ll lastlie saye to thee.
And of my scantie ways I know

Tbou’lt laugh right merrilie.

In *59 resolved I

Tu “go itt” though so young,
So started out with — purpose high — “Old Fannie” and ye “pung.”

O’er Bamptown hills and Litchfield’s heights

By Susquehanna’s shore,
( taught, by tallow candle’s light.

Myself, if no one more.

In schoolhouse, church and tavern halle
Ye “sing in’ skule” was founde;

But once a week on each I’d call.
And so I “boarded ‘round.”

Two dollars by a night received

My every waunt supplied,
Miranda (may I be believed)

Was also satisfied.

Through snowdrift, mud and rain I’d ride.

By turnpike, gulfe or ferrie,
Miranda moastlie by my side.

And we were happy — verrie.

Such lots of friends and worlds of f una
Would more than fill this letter,

ril stop and write another one,
Miranda says I’d better.

WHAT FOR?

Why do you sing? Say? can you tell?

Speak, Tenor, Base, Soprano I
Why all this fuss of “scale” and “swell” —

This “mezzo” and “piano?”

Why waste at” Normals time and strength-Say nothing of the money —

To talk of “power, pitch and length?”
It seems to me so funny.

Just here 1 want to stop and laugh
To see Don Quix dismounted.

When asked the spaces of the staffs*
Don’t answer till you’ve counted.

Then think of taking lessons, too —

A notion universal — And some, with nothing else to do.

Frequent the choir rehearsal t

Alas, this wanton waste of breath
Doth rouse my indignation,

And loudly — so my judgment saith — Demands investigation.

“Why do yoo sing?” Here comes Lo Dea
With voice of mimic thunder;
He always flats on fourth space G,
But that’s a minor blunder.

“Haw, haw I old boy, who wouldn’t sing?

My treat; come on,” he thundered;
“Two thousand from the minstrel ring.

For chorister twelve hundred.”

* Why do you,” ah, who comes? — let’s
Walk in. Professor Blowhardt;
They say you sing the tenor B.
Be seated; you need no card.

You say you’ve left the St. Paul choir.

I’ve heard the tale completer;
They couldn’t raise your sal’ry higher

Unless they robbed poor Peter.

Why do” — Miss Hisee is it you? — You want a what? position?
But fifteen hundred won’t quite do
For such a fine musician?

O, yes you’ll advertise, I see,
With lengthy explanation —

No odds, you say, what liturgy
Or what denomination.

Anfust, 1870.

THE REVERIE. -21?

Why! Bless 1x17 soul, here’s Prima Don

Signora Al To Etta!
With diamond brooch and broad chignon.

And says” Write me a letter

To introduce me in St. L

To Mr. Blank’s committee;
They say they’ll pay their quartet well;

I’m tired of this dull city.”

Jesus loves me, loves me well — ‘Twas my little daughter, Nell,
Out beneath the cherry tree
Singing quite extempore.

“Darling, come.” I call her twice.
But the bird-like, childish voice
Caroled still the sweet refrain.
So my calling was in vain.

Then I went and joined her there,
Kissed her cheeks and stroked her hair
* Darling,” said I,” Can you tell

Why you sing?” Then little Nell

Baised her witching hazel eyes
With a look of sweet surprise,
“Cause I love to,” answered she;
“Papa, come and sing with me.”

THE REVERIE.

‘Twas night. Above South Bend the silvery stars
Shone softly; and the dust that all day long
Kept drifting heap on heap, until the streets
Like turbid rivers rapid rolling seemed
And on the sidewalk gathered ankle deep;
And in the parlor, dining-room and hall
Flew freely, penetrating everywhere
In copious showers, begriming hands and face
In rich abundance, and in clouds profuse
Eyes, ears, hair, teeth beclouding, was at rest.

On the veranda, where the cooling breeze,
Bweet-scented as hj water lilies, rose,
Alone in somber silence, thus I mused:

The Normal’s ended; and how brief it seems;
Begun — half done — and, ere we knew it — gone.
And with it what?

(Some ‘skeeters,’ I am sure.)

How rich and wise we came; and though our friends.
The teachers and the dear South Benders say
All right — good bje! — we leave, alas I how poor.
And so lament — (oh, bother, dogs, be still:)

Down in the country we were first — here last;
There king of toadies; here a toad ‘mong kings.
And what a fall was there, my countrymen.
When all our princely ornaments did turn
To warts unseemly.

Ah, what sickening grief.
When Maestro Bassini said. Not so;
And down to ‘Zca, i-a * with saddened heart
Ingloriously we tumbled;

or when he
Who touched the keys, and at his bidding gushed
With limpid, liquid sound the * silver spring,’
Our fort(e) demolished with his magic * touch,’
And then, like Master Mason as he was,
On firm foundation taught us how to build
More lasting structure;

or when G. F. R.
Urbanely smiled and drew with cruel skill
The lever of our teaching safety valve.
And all the gas of self-esteem escaped.
And with a chill of disappointment sore
We saw the bubble of our fame collapse;
Or when a voice from Boston said * lum tum I ’
And we were silent, or ’ achieved ’ cried,
* A new created world,’ right on the tick.’”

What wonder we go home disconsolate.

And fail to see wherein the ‘vantage lies

Of tending Normals thus? Bui there’s the bell

Notre Dame — ’tis midnight — 1 retire,

Miranda long in sleep serene hath lain,

Sweetly unconscious of my whereabouts;

Softly my downy couch I seek and so

To wonted labor, teachers hence repair.

Though humbled, earnest; though in weakness strong.

Boast not, but labor patiently; anon

The glory cometh.

Bear in mind,
The empty hogshead makes the loader noise;
And brass may glimmer e’en where gold is dim.
The shallow brook may down the rivers roll,
And you — Whist, Hush I

Miranda waketh;
I may * quit/

September, 1870.

CANST THOU IMAGINE?

Well, there,

I declare 1
I can’t sing or write a ptean
Fit to sound the praise of Leon,

Mid this humming.

Fiddling, drumming.
Though a pleasant street to be on.

There, hark I

Yes, it’s Clark-Fife, guitar, triangle, flute,
Organ, — anything to suit, —

Pipe and horn.

Night and morn,
Rumpty tumpty, hootty toot.

Hey, boys.

What a noise I
Ah, I wonder what ihat air is.
Wonder if they know what care is!

Ho, ho, ho 1

See the show — “Who can beat that?” Rome or Paris T

CaDBt thou imagine a beautif al day
And a long wagon-box half fall o’ bay
A-rolling afar o*er the mountains away,
Containing a dozen of singers so gay?

Canst thou imagine a beautif al tree,
A-spreading its branches so fair and so fXf9e»
A-saying to you and a-singing to me — “Evergreen, evergreen mayst thou be?”

Canst thou imagine a beautiful bird,
A-singing the sweetest song you ever heard?
Listen thou, listen thou, catch every word.
So should this bosom by this song be stirred.

Canst thou imagine a beautiful stream,
A-babbling, a-babbling along like a dream.
Like life’s low lullaby doth it not seem?
Here we uncheck, thus, and water our team.

(A large snake is seen in the water; the off horse starts up suddenly, a carpet bag falls out behind, etc, etc.)

‘Twas night —

Clad in white,
I was sleeping — sleeping some f
For Miranda was — yes — dumb;

But she woke

Me and spoke — The Turks I The Turks I They com(b)! they com(b) I”

“Then there was hurrying to and fro,”
And I am very much afraid
I ne’er again on earth shall know
Another just such serenade I

The Leon farmers and their farms — The floral beauties of the vales,
Its daughters, daisies — matchless chamui
I can’t describe — my pencil fails.

Sing? Yes,

More or less.

But it isn’t my intention

HOW SHOULD CHILDEEN SIKO?

To describe our Grand Convention
In this letter.
Though a better

Is beyond my comprehension.
Vo, 2 Clark street, Leon, New York, October, 1870.

RoiOB, Pa., May 23, 1870.
Mr. Editor:

Is it pretty to sibg in the cars?

We drew out a thousand miles of music from the “Prize” last week, coming from Cbicago. There was also an opposition quartet, led by a Buffalo editor, accompanied by spotted pasteboards and a wicker demijohn. Supported by some ministerial and musical friends, we opened on them such batteries as “The Armor of Light,” “Immanuel’s Land,” “There’s a Light in the Valley,” etc., which soon compelled them to beat an ignominious retreat, taking their demijohn, but leaving a visible odor of poor tobacco and worse whisky.

But didn’t we have a pleasant children’s meeting last night, introducing the “Prize “as a prize to the delighted Sunday School? and didn’t we enjoy their hearty hand-shakings and their boisterous “Thank you, sirs?” And didn’t we pick up the bouquets that were thrown for “Remembered,” etc., if it was Sunday night?

“New life I breathe while on the sea,”
Or in my country home; “
And “a farmer’s life is the life for me,”
But “there’s no place like” — Rome.

And if I had time,
I’d tell you in rhyme

The farmer’s dolce joys;
But such a song
Would be so long

That — ho, here come the boys
With an extra hoe.
And away we go

To the field to plant the com;
How I love the flowers,

And the blast of the dinner horn.

HOW SHOULD CHILDREN SING?

All agree that children $h<yuld sing. The time for discussing that question ceased when music, as a science, began to be taught in our common schools; when piano and organ became as common in household furniture as book-case and bureau, and when instruction book and sheet music came to be as familiar to oar boys and girls as spelling-book and newspaper.

All know that children love to sing. Next after the adoption of a resolution that the birds “can and are hereby authorized to warble,” may come the question of granting the children — God’s own bright birds of Paradise — permission to express tJieir delights in song. All thoughtful, observing people admit the power of children’s songs. We may question the introduction into Sunday Schools of object- teaching, of blackboard exercises, or of the library books; but we must have singing books. A Sunday School may prosper in a dark basement room, with low walls and poor ventilation, but music is indispensable. You may have a flower garden without a fountain, a parlor without pictures, or a summer day without the sunshine; but do not expect a wide-awake, stirring, effective Sunday School — a school that shall enjoy a healthful popularity, and be in the highest sense successful, without Sunday School singing — the “Sunshine of Songs.”

Therefore, we are not here to meet the question, “Shall the children sing?” but to suggest WHAT, and now. Singing is emotional utterance. Singing “earnestly,” “heartily,” “lustily,” as Wesley directs, is one thing, and a good one; making a loud, harsh, discordant sound is quite another and different, exercise.

While all that really deserves the name of music is usually regulated by the law of musical form, it does not follow that all emotional utterance is siuging. All music is sound; but all sounds are not music.

What shall the children sing? Unquestionably we cannot be too careful to guard against putting a cup of poisoned song to their youthful lips, and yet I cannot sympathize with those who would have only doctrinal, didactic, dogmatic songs, or rather sermons. If a child really sings, he must not only fully understand, but love the meaning of the words employed.

We must not expect the infant class or ten-year-olds to appreciate and enjoy as we do that which we call the best, in sentiment or in song. Remember, ‘* milk for babes, strong meat for men.” Make the diflference apparent; strive to lead them to a higher musical taste and nobler spiritual enjoyments, but do let the children sing of birds as well as of burdens; of beauty as well as of duty; of earth pleasures as well as of heavenly treasures; of temporal employments as well as of spiritual enjoyments. Let song develop feeling, while it never fails to direct and purify the affections.

I well remember a loving, large- eyed lad who in the day-school could scarcely sing the old song of A B C D E F G, but that the tears would fall and mark the time. The lad knew not why he wept, but the faithful Christian teacher turned this mighty motive power to heavenly purposes, and gave thest’ outflowing sympathies wholesome food. So the love of song grew and pre. vailed; so the channel of the affections widened, and so the lad, though taller grown stands here to plead for song.

Thank God for simple school-day song,

Sconi not the childish lay;
The feeble spark of love-light fanned

May end lu heavenly day.

in order to sing properly and profitably, the time must be entirely given to and the attention wholly fixed upon the exercise. No slamming of doors, no communication among officers, no walking, talking nor parade of visitors should be allowed to disturb. We might as well walk or talk during a prose I)rayer (I did not say prosy) as to thus disturb a prayer in verse. I would as soon think of speaking to a brother while praying as while singing.

Then it seems to me the leader of children’s singing needs often to say. “Not too loud.” Earnestness is not always best manifested by loudness. Noise is not always power. Besides, more voices are injured by forced, screamy sounds than, perhaps, by all other evil means combined. “Like pastor, like people; “so, like choristers, like choir. If the leader be careless in style, intonation, pronunciation, etc., those led will very likely be even more so. ‘* Good singing” means, first, sweet, pleasant tones, true intonation, distinct articulation, etc. Earnestness, vigor, life, spirit, «tc., come afterwards, and depend upon the first. Mr. 0. Blackman, teacher of music in the high and primary schools of Chicago, and author of “Graded Singers,” for juvenile instruction, says that the Sunday hour in some of the mission schools nearly counteracts all the week’s work, by this terrible practice of screaming.

In teaching children new songs, is, perhaps, the greatest care necessary. Let the chorister sing over two or three times, in easy, pleasant, correct manner, lines and stanzas of the hymn, thus giving good examples, which in music as in morals, are much more powerful than precepts; especially if precept and example differ.

May not the Sunday School meet once a week, say on Thursday or Friday evening, and practice their music? Now, don’t frown and say, “impractica’ble,” unless you have tried and found it so. Usually young people are glad enough to be called together; and cannot a ‘’ singing meeting “be made interesting and profitable? Engage some earnest lady or gentleman leader at a fair salary; if convenient, have a piano or organ to accompany; invite the choir of the church to assist, and singing meetings will “pay.” Invariably question the children as’ to the meaning of the difficult and unusual words of the song, so that first of all they may be able to sing with the head — that is, “with the understanding.” I have a painful recollection of some ridiculous misconceptions of such words as “Prone to wander,” which I thought meant a long-legged fowl wandering in a swamp! “Fearless I’ll launch away,” was simply a mispronunciation of lunch away. Nor do 1 like to admit that my comprehension was unusually dull; in proof of which, let me mention the case of a little imaginative listener — he sings among the angels now, and can understand their song better, 1 am sure — who came home from Sunday School one day praising the St5ng, but wondering at the request, “Let me die in a harness-shop!” You smile at the mistake; but is it not a serious neglect not to give the dear children more light? One of the greatest evils of fashionable singing is the in. articulate delivery of words.

Adaptation of songs to the lesson, especially that of the closing piece, is very important, though often disregarded by superintendents and choristers. How much more effective a lesson when “harrowed in “by an appropriate song; and, on the other hand, how often have we seen the impression of a lesson almost completely removed by the unfortunate introduction of some inappropriate rattle-te-bang song, because the children could” make it go” well, or visitors were present, and the school must be made to ‘* show off.”

A great need in all Sunday-school work Is aineerity. Nowhere is hypocrisy so wofully apparent, so generally tolerated, and so powerfully taught, as in singing. What else can we expect when children see the church members turning leaves or idly gazing about the room while singing “Nearer, my God to Thee,” or witness a solo or quartet display the words, “Jesus, Lover of my Soul,” to the tune “When the Swallows Homeward Fly?” Not to speak of a singing master who, if he be not otherwise intemperate, stands before them with tobacco-stained teeth, or with smoke-tainted breath, singing the sweet, pure songs of Zion.

Above all things, then, sing and thereby teach others to wig feelingly, with the spirit. Show your sincerity in song worship, and the children will learn to be sincere. In a word, if you would have them sing sweetly, earnestly and devotlonally, sing thus before them; for in nothing are children more apt at imitation than in singing.

Sing not alone with Up and voice,
Bat with the heart and eoul rejoice;
Then they that hear will join thy praise,
And real, heartfelt songs shall raise.
April, 187S.

THE POWER OF SONG.

Sunday School worker, do you appreciate the power of song?

Think how readily children catch the meaning of & hymn, and how lasting may be its influence. Remember how many have been led to the cleansing Fountain through the instrumentality of song, when argument and entreaty lilave failed. Cannot you, yourself, remember now songs that you heard in childhood? More, can you not recall the very voice and manner in which they were sung? While the sermons — ably written, well delivered sermons, with their flights of oratory and tender appeal — where are they? Their very texts forgotten I Their flashing brilliancy lost in the dark sea of forgetf ulness, at least so far as you are concerned. Not so the song. Many of us can remember the tunes and hymns sung in church last Sunday. How many can repeat the text from which the sermon was published?

Fellow-singer, are you not guilty of under-estimating our talents, while we may be over-estimating our rights? Bury not the God-given talent, but with all thy powers serve the Master. “Sing unto the Lord, then, all ye people, both young men and maidens, old men, and children;” and let us remember, when we stand up in the congregation to sing, that we are either singing to the Lord.

or (is it possible?) taking His name in vain 1 Praising, or playing the hypocrite 1 Worshiping or mocking!

Sing on, then, oh children, teachers, Christians 1 and may there be not a few who hear, and learn to love the story of the cross, by singing it. Sing on, fellow traveler, and may there meet you in the “Better Land” many a redeemed soul washed and made white, to whose mortal ear your voice is familiar, and who will give thanks eternally for being led thither by the sanctified influence of your song.

June, 1873.

TO YOUNG WRITERS OF MUSIC.

EASY DIRECTIONS.

1. Write much. All old masters wrote much; otherwise they would nevei have obtained what you and I so much desire — immortality. For instance, what would one page of Shakespeare’s “Paradise as you like it,” have amounted to? Or, read a single paragraph of Mark Twain’s “Impudence Abroad,” and BtopI No, my dear young friend, with the voluminous Beethoven, tho prodigious Mozart and the everlasting Wagner for your illustrious examples — voritey write, write!!

3. Think well of your own. Nothing can be more unnatural in a young author, writer, poet, etc., than lack of appreciation. I speak with much earnestness on this point; for, depend upon it, your reputation at home and abroad, nine times out of ten, will be no “freak of fortune” bestowed by fairy hands, or thrown gratuitously at your feet by an indulgent public, but will begin and end with yourself.

Think of the youthful Mendelssohn rehearsing snatches of his “Creation” before the crowned heads of England and the Sandwich Islands! Think of the immortal Nero playfully stabbing his youthful associates, so that be might gain the first prize in thorough bass and madrigal I Think of Mephistopheles, etc., ad lib,

3. Live and die poor. Here a great many fail. ‘Tis so hard to continually and eflFectually turn a deaf ear to the seductive wiles of earthly riches. Alas! how many buds of poesy are choked by sordid thoughts of filthy lucre! How many sweet singers have been gagged by Mammon’s golden chain 1 How many Fra Diavolos have been lured from zenith of the lofty art by the ignis /(Uuus of earth’s glittering gems I How many a poor singing-master do you know, who is likely soon to retire and die in affluence!

Remember Edgar A. Poe, who, in spite of “marble bust,” his “velvet sofa” and “purple lining,” was poor as a raven. Remember poor John Howard Paine who wrote some sweet verses about home and birds, etc., and then died without one. Remember Rossini, Parepa, etc.; be careful to live poor and die poor.

4. Go West! Doubtless upon this, more than anything else, depends your future greatness. By all means follow the star of empire! What would Christopher Columbus have known of fame to-day if he had sailed North from

Genoa (or even East), inHtead of West? Where would the May Flower have landed, had she pointed otherwise than West? Remember, oh, my young Verdis, Handels, Goethes, Chancers, Coopers, etc. — remember the great Yo Semite. Remember the great undeveloped future. Remember Brigham Young. Remember the Modocs, and go West. June, 1873

IT PAID.

I refer to our vacation. Spiritually, physically and financially, it was a success. Here is the record.

One week visiting at Portage, New York, amid scores of relatives and the scenery of the Genesee River, the wildest in creation (the scenery, not the relatives). One week working on the farm, “the dear old farm,” in Rome, Pennsylvania, and my arm is lame yet. One week convention in Rome and it was joyous (new). One week in Towanda, Pennsylvania, likewise joyful (first time). One week in Chester, Vermont, at State Sunday School Convention, “Brilliant with Bliss and Sunshine I” (Original.)

Firstly, then, it paid spiritually. Any man’s heart will be rested by going home and looking again into the loving faces of his mother and sisters. A singing man will be much cheered by taking his own new book and going back to bis “own native land” for a convention. But how my soul feasted on the Sunday School praise- meetings, Bible readings, etc., and the wonderful sympathy of the Vermont State Convention. C. M. Wyman, whose name is so precious to many who will read this, used to teach music in Chester, and hia brother, remarkably like him, was in the Convention. Do you wonder that I enjoyed making mention of his intense Christian character and musical fervor t Do you blame me for asking Vermont to send us more such men? Do you suppose I could then and there sing his own “Immanuel’s Land” unmoved? Surely, voice and skill are much, but soul and character more.

Secondly, it paid physically. All singing men are not constitutionally lifters. Therefore the variety of digging potatoes for one’s own breakfast, of splitting kindlings, shaking apple trees, engineering wheelbarrows, etc., to say nothing of moving pianos, transferring baggage and carrying valises, babies, etc., has been found useful. Depend upon it, my dear fellow-sitter, the thinking machine will not ‘’ produce” unless some attention be paid to the furnace, boiler, pipes etc. Don’t crowd. You’re on time I What’s the hurry?

Lastly, (and leastly, if we only could see t), it paid financially. Of course the expense was, like many a musical man’s expense, greatly in excess of receipts, but money is worth only what it will bring, and we doubt if ever the money expended would have brought us more satisfaction. Somehow the “panic” didn’t seem to reach Vermont, as they paid and over-paid us, and no CjoUection / I go to Clinton, Missouri, next week, and I hope it will pay.

Musically and truly,

P. P. B.

PRAISE MEETINGS.

The terms “praise meeting,” “service of song,” “praise service,” etc., have of late become quite common in connection with religious gatherings. What is the best manner of conducting a praise meeting?

First: Etveiy meeting for God’s worship should be a praise meeting. We always have much for which we should offer praise. “In everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.” “The joy of the Lord is your strength,” and “whoso offereth praise glorifieth Me.”

Many a good sermon has been blown away for want of a hearty hymn to harrow it in. Many and many a poor prayer-meeting has dragged its slow length along for want of the lubrication of a cheerful praise-spirit manifested in 43pme soulful song.

A special ‘* praise meeting,” like any other, can’t be worth anything and cost nothing. Preparation and percussion are the two p’s requisite. Give, a meeting-house, with a common-sense platform, a cabinet organ, and one book of hymns and tunes to each individual present, good light and perfect ventila tion, and lie is indeed a heavy minister who can manage to have a dull, uninteresting, unprofitable service. Preparation may extend to arrangement of hymns selected beforehand, as didactic, descriptive, devotional, etc., and tunes as chanting, cantabile, choral, etc., authorship and incidents of hymns and tunes, date of composition, etc.; Bible texts volunteered from the audience, on praise, containing the word “praise,” or, whom should we praise? why? when? where? how? etc., with prayers full of purpose, are among the necessary preparations. Percussion in my next Detroit, October 22. 1874

“How did it go oflf?” is as frequently and as properly asked of a praise meeting or any other religious or musical meeting, as of a cannon.

One very important thing is promptness. Don’t wait for anybody, or anything. First, ask a blessing. “My soul, wait thou only upon God; for my expectation is from Him; “then a familiar hymn and tune which all causing. “Ariel,” “Shining Shore,” “Rock of Ages,” or “Sweet Hour of Prayer,” will be a good “send off.” Urge every one to sing as well as may be, but be very careful that no one or two or four sing so well as to separate themselves from the rest. When the sun rises, stars disappear. One who sings a little too well may discourage a dozen. Stimulate the desire to sing rather than urge singing as a duty

*’ Why is ye always a whistlin’, Jem? “asked a laboring man of his fellow. “I whistles to make myself happy,” said he. “What for do you?” *’ I has to whistle ‘cause I is happy * .was the reply. How many poor Christians we’ve seen singing to make themselves happy; how few have to sing because they are happy. Good singinj,; may produce good feeling, but better have the heart right, then arood singing, true praise, will be

The CbrlstlAn*8 vital breath
The Christianas native air.

Don’t criticise too severelj. Many matters of time, tone, etc., will regulate themselves, or, at least, be most improved by being well let alone. And generally, those who sing at all think they sing pretty well; so don’t waste time and breath by scolding. If your congregation had a chance to sing oftener, they would sing better.

The best way to learn to sing is to sing. Make due allowance for the modesty of such singers as that good old deacon who said he knew his Toice was rough and heavy, so in order to not make any discord he always tried to keep a little behind the rest I

Occasional Scripture texts, illustrations, prayers, etc., will add greatly to the interest of a praise meeting. Finally, adjourn just before the meeting is out The best time to stop is just when you feel most like going on. So I stop. December, 1874.

1. E. THAT IS MIRANDA.

[Of course I write it; but it*B about her.y

On reading something like this from a letter received from her old fellow in New York. She don’t know that I read it; but while she was getting the baby to sleep, I peeped into her desk, and as the letter lay there in the further corner, in plain sight, under some old scrap-books and things, my eye very naturally fell on the following sweet and touching extract:

And now my own dear Mirandy, i sympathize for yon. If yon canH stand it any longer fly — i will meat yon. How can yon iiidare that base one? i pity yon i pity yon. 1£.K. t.,

After reading that and some more, I felt inspired, and sat right down on th€ spur of the occasion, and wrote the following beautiful philippic:

Pity that blackbird singing on that thorn bush,
Pity that thorn bash that that blackbird sings on.
Pity Pro Phnndo and the tears he would shed — Don’t pity me, sir.

Pity that terrier that has a wharf rat canght.
Pity that wharf rat that a terrier has caught.
Pity yourself and your own poor wife, bat
Don*t pity me, sir.

We’re awful poor, bat still we’re middling happy,
We’re not to blame for living in Chicago;
Some folks may think Pro Phnndo is a bore, bat
Don’t pity me, sir.

J. jr. THAT IS MIBANDA. 229

I am content to board and wash and dam him,
I am not growing poor by living with him,
I am not, by a long shot, “Mlrandy”~-
Don*t pity me, dr.

And ten more Bimilar stanzas, when mj feelings overwent me, and I laid my hea i down on my penwiper, and, in the ecstasy so iamiliar to all poets soon f e 1 asleep.

YOUBS AND OtHBRS
March, 1874.