Twelve Talks with our Girls.

No. III. "WELL-DOING."

BY MRS. DAWSON BURNS.

I AM very pleased, my dear girls, to hear you express a wish for a little more information respecting the remarkable work done by Mary Carpenter. One principle, among many, cannot fail to be gathered from her busy life-a principle that must lie at the basis of all self-improvement, and is an essential element in true activity-I refer to her economy of time. Tracing the steps of this noble woman from childhood to womanhood, and marking her philanthropic efforts, we look in vain for one idle moment. She accepted time as a gift from God; and, like a wise, conscientious steward, so used the blessed hours that, as they passed, they might bear a good report to Heaven.

Mary Carpenter's loss of her father in the spring of 1840 was a terrible grief, for her soul was knit to his in love for their fellow-men, and she had ever leaned on him for energetic sympathy in all her plans to do good. For a season she suffered extreme prostration, but soon buckled on the armour of work, solaced by this Divine truth, that to the real Christian there is no death. She fully realized that passage, "Are they not all ministering spirits sent forth to minister;" and she ever afterwards believed that the spirit of her father overshadowed and approved all the benefits she sought to effect.

From 1841 to 1846 her first great work began-forming a ragged school in Bristol. John Pound, a poor cobbler of Portsmouth, set the earliest example of gathering in ragged children and teaching them as he cobbled his shoes, and there had, in several other towns, Sunday ragged schools been formed. But Mary Carpenter's idea was for a day school, and she rented a room in a wretched court, and enticed in these poor lads whose very surroundings rendered them unfit for any ordinary common school. You must not imagine there were no difficulties. These stray waifs knew nothing of either cleanliness, order, discipline, truth or honesty. They were shoeless, shirtless, and often homeless, and must either starve or steal. Yet, mark the outcome! In 1848, 500 boys and girls had passed through this ragged school, which had been removed to larger premises, with play ground, bath rooms, and dining place. A Sunday and night school had been formed, and so altered and orderly were the boys that Her Majesty's Inspector declared he knew nothing like it. "It was the best directed effort to raise up self-acting beings." Miss Carpenter's attention had been painfully drawn to this factthat young criminals came out of prison more hardened in crime than when they were convicted, and she pondered how this serious evil could be averted. She wrote some very valuable essays setting forth her views as to the wisest plans for the reclamation of" juvenile offenders," hoping to elicit public sympathy and Government support; but, so tardily came either the one or the other, that she, by the kind help of her dear friend, Lady Noel Byron, opened two reformatory homes for boys and girls, called Kingswood and Red Lodge Homes, about four

miles from Bristol. Strong in faith, she believed that these children were often the victims of circumstances, and that true reformation would be easy under new surrounding, conducing to the training of the will, and influencing the affections. These new projects involved much labour, for, it must be remembered, that these were all added to the other claims on her time. We are told that, for economy's sake, she always walked one way-often both ways-to keep up a careful supervision of these homes; and what are her words?-how inspiring to others!" My highest delight is to kindle their young souls by mine.' "I glory in the thought that some angel spirits have been entertained among my ragged flock." After Miss Carpenter lost her mother, (her brothers and sisters being scattered far and wide,) she went to reside in a small cottage near the reformatory establishments, taking as an inmate a very poor girl ill of consumption. She says:- "I call myself 'House-mother,' and this poor dying girl has often wiped my tears, and soothed me after her own fashion." She also heard of a child left by a poor city missionary, and, acting on her loving impulses, made this little girl her adopted daughter, having the little cot placed in her own bedroom, and, ever afterwards, that orphan girl became bound up in the motherly heart of her benefactress.

I cannot now linger to tell you how widening were the prospects resulting from these first beneficent designs. Writing to a friend, Mary says:" Apart from my ragged school and Kingswood, there are four other homes, all requiring constant supervision, and, though I am often very tired, I get my supper, lie down, and thank God for His giving strength and sound sleep."

At sixty years of age her longing "to carry help to other sheep not of this fold" was gratified by her first visit to the dark regions of India. Miss Carpenter strongly believed that society requires that all its members should be educated, if a true knowledge of the Redeemer is to be acquired and felt. Miss Carpenter visited India four times during the next few years. She was readily listened to, and the light she shed there was as the dawn of a brighter day for all Hindu women.

On June the 14th, 1877, dear Mary Carpenter laid down her implements of labour, and, during that night's sleep, "entered into the rest which remaineth for the people of God," leaving to the world an abiding legacy, in the example of one whose heart and mind were blended in a consecrating union.

I have, my dear girls, only, as it were, supplied you with the crumbs from a rich banquet-just sharpened your desires for a closer study of this beautiful character. She was from girlhood to old age a constant labourer for England's neglected children. Working in season and out of season, breaking down every barrier, carrying out her own wise suggestions with such a loving power that order came out of confusion and "light out of darkness."

Let us look reverently at such a life-not merely to admire, but to imitate. We cannot all do like Mary Carpenter, but we can all drink in her spirit. The sorrows and ills of humanity are heard of still in our land, and to each one of us it is given some portion of this misery to remove. May it be said of us, as most emphatically it could be said of Mary Carpenter, "She hath done what she could."

The Place of Music in the Worship of the

Church.

II. PRESENT DAY QUESTIONS.

BUT we must now turn to the present and practical side of the subject, and enquire, "What place should music have in the worship of the Church?"

Here we must pause, and settle one or two definitions. What is the Church? Strictly speaking, it is the assembly of believers in Christ. In the present connection, however, it will, doubtless, be more convenient to extend its application to those meeting for Christian worship, whether they have made a profession of their faith or not.

In fact, the occasions on which the Church, as such, meets under circumstances which would render possible the singing of hymns specially suitable to them as believers-members of the one body, and therefore members one of another-are comparatively rare, and we may well question whether they are frequent enough. In the olden time they who feared the Lord spake often one to another on their hopes and fears, their difficulties and aspirations, and we are assured that their communion was not unheeded by Him who records and remembers those who think upon His name. For meetings of this kind there can be nothing more helpful than the singing of those beautiful hymns in which sanctified imagination and culture have interpreted the longings of the redeemed soul after the unseen and eternal.

In the same way as we take the term "Church" in a wider and more general sense, so I think must we understand "worship." This is exactly defined as "the act of paying Divine homage to the Supreme Being." A great part, however, of that which takes place in our religious assemblies is not of this nature. Too often the sermon comes in for more than a fair share of attention. The reading of the Scriptures, hymns and prayers are part of a programme to be gone through before the chief business of the meeting is arrived at, and, when this is disposed of, a verse and the benediction conclude what is not inaptly termed a "service." Then, many of the hymns are not expressive of worship. In the older hymn-books, many were of a didactic and doctrinal character, while in our own Hymnal are songs of invitation and warning to the sinner and calls to Christian work. Nor would we have these omitted. They are all necessary, each in its own place and at its own time. And we shall probably not do wrong if we understand worship to mean all the public engagements of the sanctuary.

Then, what is "music ?" We may call it a succession or combination of sweet sounds, so modulated as to please the ear. Canon Farrar calls it "the Divine prerogative of human and angelic beings;" and that "Nature furnishes only the rude elements of it-the uncut diamonds, as it were, of sound. We may say that the winds of God make music under the blue dome of His temple not made with the hands. * * * * We may say that the sea makes music, now in ripples that flash upon the sands, and now in the burst of its stormy billows. But the music is not in these outer things; when they sound to us like music it is because we are making 'melody of them in our

98

THE PLACE OF MUSIC

hearts." Under this definition, it will be necessary that we enquire the place, not only of vocal, but also of instrumental music in the worship of the Church. To ask whether music should have a place at all in such worship is scarcely necessary. As far as I can learn, no Christian community except the Society of Friends refuses to music a place of more or less importance in its meetings. The apostolic injunction to him that is merry-"Let him sing psalms," has been taken to be of more than personal application; and we find the Church universal "speaking to one another and to themselves in psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in their hearts to the Lord."

The question, however, as to whether instrumental aid should be invoked in producing a concord of sweet sounds has often been productive of anything but concord in the Church. Animated-not to say angry-discussions of the subject have taken place in the synods of the Presbyterian Church, and the controversy is not yet finally disposed of. In most other denominations, they seem to have come to the sensible conclusion to let each community please itself in the matter. It is so with us. But we may well try to define as nearly as we can what place instrumental music should have.

Now I take it that music may be useful in two ways. First, it may be helpful in inspiring devotional feeling, "soothing the savage breast," calming the ruffled spirit, and decoying the mind away from present care and trouble to the sunny land of song, real though unseen, where envy and hate and greed have no place, and our hearts keep time and tune with Christ, who is the music of the world. It may trumpet forth the call to high and noble resolve, firing the Christian's courage, and thrilling him to new and vigorous life. The area of its influence, however, must be limited to those who have a sufficient musical education to analyse the sweet sounds, and catch the meaning of the composer. These are not very numerous in our churches generally, and I should, therefore, allot to instrumental music a small and insignificant place in Church worship. But it has its place. The soft voluntary on the organ before service has always seemed to me a fitting introduction to the solemn worship of the sanctuary, and as its last cadence fell, and the final note, soft yet deep, faded away, the words of the prophet most fitly expressed the thought of the heart--"The Lord is in His holy temple: let all the earth keep silence before Him."

On the other hand, I have found it difficult to suppress a prejudice against the loud pealing of the organ or other instrument at the conclusion of the service. This seems calculated to divert the mind from the solemn subjects which have been engaging its attention, often destroying the impressions the truth has created, and affording no real enjoyment except to those who, through love of music, retain their seats and listen.

Closely allied with mere instrumental music is the singing of solos or anthems by the trained singer or choir. It is not difficult to imagine music of this kind stimulating the devotional instincts, especially if that part of the congregation who were merely listeners were fully acquainted with the words sung. But I should view the general introduction of music of this character with much distrust. In no other part of the service, perhaps, would there be so much fear lest that which had been devised as an act of worship should degenerate into a mere performance and display of artistic skill.

IN THE WORSHIP OF THE CHURCH.

99

But there is a second way in which music may be regarded. It is of the greatest service as a vehicle, if I may use the word, of conveying in concord pleasing to the ear the common aspirations of the band of worshippers towards the divine and spiritual. This I do not hesitate to assign as above all others its true place and proper function.

And in this sphere its application to the various circumstances and tastes of our churches is almost without limit. We are, none of us, prepared, I dare say, to go so far as to ask for a full choral service; but are there not many amongst us who would like to see our singing varied by the introduction of an anthem, wherein we might sing, in the very words of Holy Writ, the ascriptions of praise and breathing out of the soul to God with which many parts of the Bible abound? In similar manner, the chanting of the Psalms may be made a most enjoyable exercise, clothing the words with a new and a deeper meaning, and winging them for their upward flight to Him whose glory they proclaim, and whose aid they invoke.

Some cautious souls may fear lest this should lead to formalism, and to a return to some of the evils of the Church's worship which were abandoned by our Puritan forefathers for a simpler and purer service. But it may well be questioned whether much of the singing of our ordinary hymns to well-worn tunes is not too much tainted with this very spirit.

On a review of the whole question, we shall, I think, conclude that music has had, has to-day, and will have in all time, a place of the highest importance in our religious worship. Some one has said that if only he had the making of the people's ballads, he cared little who made their laws. There is no way in which truth of any kind can be taught more readily than when it is wedded with suitable music; and this is pre-eminently true of religious truth, which appeals to the emotional and spiritual part of our nature, where music holds its sway. Many of us will agree with the remark of a friend of mine a few weeks ago, who, in recalling the pleasurable evenings spent in bye-gone years in connection with a musical society, and in the study of some of the works of the great masters, said it was "just like Heaven." This is certainly what we want to feel in the worship of the Church, and if music will help us to get it, we will accord to music a large and prominent place. But it must come, not as master, but as servant. Our singing, whether of hymn, or anthem, or chant, must be such as every member of the church or congregation can be reasonably expected to join in. Let us cultivate by all means the musical skill of the people, and, as they become capable of appreciating and joining in that which is more difficult, provide for their needs. The conditions which should be insisted on in carrying out the musical part of our services are, that there shall be no mere display, the singing shall be true worship, the instrumental shall be everywhere and always subsidiary to the vocal music, and the tunes so well within the range of the skill of the worshippers that, while they "make a joyful noise" with the lip, there shall be welling up from the heart a fountain of "melody unto the Lord.”

This must be our aim; it will be little wonder if, in our imperfect and incomplete existence, we fall short of the mark. In this, as in all else, we are carried on the stream of eternal hope to the "happy land— far, far away."