On doing so I recognized in them, to my surprise and delight, a sweet and tender melody. I was then told to set the music to "Haunted Ground" in Mrs. Hemans's Poems, but with the variation of changing "Haunted" to "Hallowed" in the last verse. Professor J. J. Watson has kindly arranged the accompaniment for the organ and piano, as on the next page. I have always considered this one of the most beautiful and interesting tests I have ever received. It certainly was not mind-reading. The letters as given had of course conveyed no sense to me, nor any idea of musical notes. In connection with the music thus given for the poem with its altered name, I presume that it is proper to reproduce the poem itself. HAUNTED GROUND. And slight, withal, may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weight which it would fling Aside forever--it may be a sound, A tone of music, summer eve, or spring, A flower--the wind--the ocean--which shall wound Striking the electric chain, wherewith we are darkly bound. --BYRON. [Music: THE HAUNTED GROUND. Arr. by J. JAY WATSON. ORGAN 1. Yes, it is haunted, this quiet scene, Fair as it looks, and all softly green; Yet fear thou not, for the spell is thrown, And the might of the shadow's on me alone. 2. Have I not, under these whisp'ring leaves, Woven such dreams as the young heart weaves? Shadows yet unto which life seem'd bound, And is it not--is it not haunted ground?] [Music: THE HAUNTED GROUND. Arr. by J. JAY WATSON. PIANO 1. Yes, it is haunted, this quiet scene, Fair as it looks, and all softly green; Yet fear thou not, for the spell is thrown, And the might of the shadow's on me alone. 2. Have I not, under these whisp'ring leaves, Woven such dreams as the young heart weaves? Shadows yet unto which life seem'd bound, And is it not--is it not haunted ground?] HAUNTED GROUND.--MRS. HEMANS. _Verse 3._ Have I not lived 'midst these lonely dells, And loved, and sorrowed, and heard farewells, And learn'd in my own deep soul to look, And tremble before that mysterious book? Have I not, under these whispering leaves, Woven such dreams as the young heart weaves? Shadows--yet unto which life seemed bound, And is it not--is it not haunted ground? Must I not hear what _thou_ hearest not, Troubling the air of this sunny spot? Is there not something to none but me Told by the rustling of every tree? Song hath been here--with its flow of thought, Love--with its passionate visions fraught; Death--breathing stillness and sadness round-- And is it not--is it not haunted ground?