The above remarks apply as well to choir as to congregational singing. Let us suppose now that the mere primal foundation--the mechanical execution--be respectably good; that the congregation or choir have been taught to sing in tune; that all be harmonious and properly balanced; in short, that the auditory nerves be spared any very severe shock--and what then will we ordinarily find? A few good old church melodies, almost lost amid a dreary maze of the most recent droning platitudes, or a multitude of worldly acquaintances, negro minstrelsy, ancient love ditties, bar room roundelays, passionate scenes from favorite operas, with snatches from instrumental symphonies, concertos, or what not! Music, as I have said, is even more subtile in its power of expression than speech, and the _new words_, which we may perhaps not even hear, can never banish from our minds the _old impressions_ associated with the melody. The ears may even be cognizant of the holy sentiments intended to be conveyed, but the mind's eye will see Sambo, 'First upon the heel top, then upon the toe;' the love-lorn dame weeping her false lover, 'Ah, no, she never blamed him, never;' a roystering set of good fellows clinking glasses, 'We won't go home till morning;' Lucia imploring mercy from her hard-hearted brother and selfish suitor; Norma confiding her little ones to the keeping of her rival; or perhaps the full orchestra at the last 'philharmonic,' supplying the missing notes, the beginning and the end of some noble idea, now vainly struggling with the difficulties and incongruities of its new position, its maimed members mourning their incompleteness, its tortured spirit longing for the body given by the original creator. Are we Christians then so poor that we must go begging and stealing shreds and patches from our more fortunate secular brethren? Has music deserted us to dwell solely in the camps of the gypsying world? If so, there must be some fault among ourselves, for music is a pure gift from God, the only _earthly_ pleasure _promised_ us in heaven. Such imputation would indeed be a libel upon the almost infinite variety in the character of music, and its power of consecration to the very loftiest ends. Ah! there we fear is the rub. _The character of music!_ _That_ seems to have been forgotten. If all these melodies be adapted to their original aims, can they be suited to new ones so different? Is there really in musical form, rhythm, melody, and harmony, no capacity for any real expression? Will the same tune do as well for a dance as for a prayer, for a moonlight serenade as for an imploration of Divine mercy?