great and glorious gift be bestowed by the laying on of hands-and bestowed in just such measure as we need. Yea, He is so given, as we are divinely assured, blessed are they who have faith to receive Him! Let it be remembered that no human being professes, from himself, to bestow such a grace. Human hands are only the means and the medium, the power is of God. It can only be done in His name, and in dependence upon Him.

It is remarkable that when the apostles laid their hands on any the act was always preceded by prayer. When our Saviour did it, it was not so preceded. The reason is plain, and at once evident. Our Saviour had the power in himself the apostles had it by gift from God, for which they found it necessary to ask. Acts 3: 12.

So now the gift is through the hands of men, but not from them or by them. Yet in answer to prayer it is bestowed. We must look away from the feeble instrument, to Him who has ordained that through "the laying on of their hands all needed authority, power and grace should be freely given."

As it requires prayer on the part of those who give it, so also does it require preparedness on the part of those who receive it. Even when Jesus himself gave, it had to be received by faith. Even He could only do mighty works to those who believed.

When the apostles gave the gift of the Holy Ghost to those who believed at Samaria, there was one who was in the gall of bitterness and the bonds of iniquity desired it, and would have purchased it with money. He had no inward preparation for it-no faith, no prayerful spirit. To him they said: "Thou hast no part nor lot in this matter; for thine heart is not right in the sight of God." He received it not! Let no one, therefore, blame the ordinances if he fails to receive the gift.

Many of you, young readers of The Guardian, as well as he who writes, have received the laying on of hands. O how searching to us is the question: "Have ye received the Holy Ghost since ye believed?" Have we the power and the grace which fits us for our high and holy calling, as private members, or as officers in the church of Jesus Christ! If not, why? "Thine heart is not right in the sight of God." At our doors alone lies the fault.

O may there be devout, believing hearts to receive the grace! Let us earnestly pray to Him who has all the power, that in the blessing we may be now and for ever blest.

FAMILY LIKENESSES.-Southey, in a letter to Sir Egerton Brydges, says: "Did you ever observe how remarkably old age brings out family likenesses, which, having been kept, as it were, in abeyance, while the passions and business of the world engrossed the parties, come forth again in acts (as in infancy) the features settling into their primary characters before dissolution? I have seen some affecting instances of this; a brother and a sister, than whom no two persons in middle life could have been more unlike in countenance or in character, becoming like as twins at last. I now see my father's lineaments in the lookingglass, where they never used to appear.

CHOIR TROUBLES.

BY F. W. SHELTON.

IT cost me, indulgent reader, some considerable scruple and reflection before I could make up my mind to enter upon the following record, the like of which, I verily believe, is not to be found in those beautiful works, the "Vicar of Wakefield," or the "Poor Vicar." But I have concluded that by so doing, a good purpose might be subserved. who means well may hope for pardon if he errs.

He

This

In the one hundred and twenty-fifth year of the foundation of the parish, and in the thirty-fifth of the administration of the present Rector, or thereabout, a discord began in the organ-loft of a more grating character than that which on a former occasion had concerned the puffed-out cheeks of the probulgent Tubingen. The singing powers of this gentleman had not diminished with his age, and he still gloried in a guttural bass, which told on the seats whereupon the congregation sat. A great deal of new talent had been added to the choir. Moreover the little organ before which the youthful Miss Valeary used to bounce up and down as she pressed the pedals and the keys, had been replaced by one with gilded pipes more lofty and with stops more numerous. was played upon by an organist whose style was modern and elaborate, and his eccentricities called for occasional restriction and rebuke. His voluntaries affloresced into all the bloom and luxury of his charming genius, which literally disported in the waves of sound; and as it gave up its musical ghost, just when the opening sentences were about to be read, divers of the virtuosi would nod and smile, while one would perhaps whisper to another, with a recognizing look, "La Dame Blanche." The congregation of St. Bardolph's now prided themselves on their choir, and it was a common remark as they passed out, What excellent music we had to-day!" But, to tell you the plain truth, it was contemptibly poor music-unfit for the occasion-devoid of religious expression-fit only for the pomp of a village festivity-and inflated with vanity. When you heard the brass rings rattle over the iron rod to which the red curtain was attached, shutting up the choristers in the seclusion of their perched-up loft, then you might know that some grand exploits of vocalism were to come off. The sexton, who had been despatched in good season to the "sacristy," to obtain from the Rector the number of the psalm and hymn, having returned with a small slip of paper on which they were indicated in pencil, a great whispering and consultation having taken place which resulted in the selection of tunes. Mr. Tubingen placed the music book on the rack, and the bellows of the little-big organ were put in play. Never was a more brilliant sparkle and scintillation elicited from the windy bellows of a blacksmith's forge. The head and shoulders of the organist swayed up and down like those of a Chinese eater of the narcotic drug, in the accompaniment of an improvisation upon the keys, which made the whole congregation involuntarily twist their necks and look aloft, and at last with a

full choral blast from tenor, bass, and treble, the magical effect was complete. There were, no doubt, many present who came expressly to "hear the music," and the knowledge of this fact inspired the artists with a desire to do themselves justice. It is true some of the old people did not like the concatenation of sounds. These, however, were considered behind the age, and the opinion of such as worthy of small respect in the onward "march of improvement." They were swept away in their slender opposition by the force of public opinion, if not by a whirlwind of sound. At any rate, Death was fast removing them, one by one, while their deaf ears were becoming sealed to such annoyance. It was to the great surprise of the Rector that the choir one day struck upon the Te Deum, which he had been hitherto accustomed to read, and through various turns, and windings, and repetitions, they discoursed upon it for a full half hour. It was, however, the last time that they so distinguished themselves before the musical world. There was no piece of cathedral composition which the choir at St. Bardolph's did not consider themselves competent to perform, and had they been allowed their own way, would have sung the sermon, and made more out of the Amen than any other part. Mr. Hivox had indeed composed something original out of the theme of an Awmen, full fifteen minutes long, and we are sure that when it was finished no hearer of sound judgment but would have instinctly ejaculated with his whole heart, Awmen! But the triumph of all the voices was in some of the fugue tunes, in which they emulated to interrupt and outstrip each other, as in the one hundred and thirty-third psalm:

"True love is like that precious oil
Which poured on Aaron's head,
Ran down his beard, and o'er his robes
Its costly moisture shed."

In the prodigious effort of this performance the ear-splitting combination of the several voices hardly bore a resemblance to that oily current poured on Aaron's head, and which—

"Ran down his beard and o'er his head

It was this very composition, similarly performed, that the late Bishop

Seabury on one of his visitations was asked his opinion, and his reply was that he had paid no attention to the music; but that his sympathies were so much excited for poor Aaron that he was afraid that he would not have a hair left. A most appropriate and humorous reply on the part of the good bishop. And this, it must be remembered, was at a time when the "divine Cecilia came" to these benighted realms. A. taste for the vocal art began to be fostered in the western world, and especially in the parts adjacent to the Long Island Sound, and various books on sacred music were put forth by professors of renown, and the science had just begun to repudiate a nasal twang. Is it to be wondered that when a clergyman sometimes in the performance of his duty must needs become maestro to keep the big-chested gentry of singers in order, that they should lend the compass of their voices to swell the cry of unpopularity which may be raised against him? If he would court favor, let him court the music of the progent bass, have no sympathy for the beard of Aaron, and throw his own voice from the chancel-end into the overpowering Hallelujah-chorus. If the church has no organ, then let him defer to the opinion of the bassoon, and dance attendance on the jigging airs of the profane fiddle. So there shall be one discord less.

was.

In the new construction of a more ambitious choir at St. Bardolph's there was one acknowledged element of discord of which it was hard to get rid of. This was a matter which had long taxed the ingenuity of the members; but as it was of an exceedingly delicate nature there was no individual found with sufficient tact or boldness to suggest a plan, or, if so, to carry it into execution. The fact is, that Miss Valeary would continue to sing, and Miss Valeary was no longer what she once She was now an ancient maid, with all the characteristics of the lone and melancholy order to which she was attached. Her once plump throat had become sadly shrivelled, for the chin and throat, as well as the brow itself, bear the marks of medieval time with such distinctness that no deep-cut tomb-stone can tell a truer tale. So had her voice insensibly deteriorated from a somewhat brisk and sparkling shrillness to a lamentable screech. Still the little lady, from the force of habit, when Sunday came was punctual at her post, and though conscious that she sang not with her former ease, yet in the goodness of heart she exerted herself more strenuously than ever. And she did in truth and sincerity believe that she was no unimportant element of that choir, of which she had been a member for so many years. That her assistance was no longer desired was a thought which had never come to her in dreams. That it was even indispensable was what she innocently believed. Hence she was always present at rehearsals, and actually screeched from a sense of duty, when if she had consulted her own desires she would have long since retired from so conspicuous and invidious a post. But although the task had been at first disagreeable, and in the modesty of her nature she had shrunk from its performance, she had gradually trained herself to perform it. She did not hear the remarks which were made because she had recently become a little deaf; and she did not see the winks and sly glances in the choir, when she ventured upon the higher notes of the gamut, because she had begun to wear glasses and her eyes were a little dim. The other vocalists were profoundly vexed

to have the effect of their execution marred. At last, as no one would volunteer to act alone, they resolved to share the responsibility, and actually appointed a committee of three to wait upon Miss Valeary. She was practicing on an old piano when they arrived, and she rose to meet them with a chirping cheerfulness. In order to pave the way to the disagreeable business, and introduce the subject of music, they asked her to play, and Miss Valeary performed an antique piece, called in antique Latin, Dolce Domum. Then she inquired whether the choir had selected any new chaunts for the festival of Christmas.

"It was on some such subject that we called," said the big-chested Mr. Tubingen.

"Indeed!" said the narrow-chested Miss Valeary, her eyes sparkling with animation, and swinging her reticule as she turned upon the bench and looked into the abashed faces of the formidable trio. They all hemmed and hawed like the choral file in a gallery when the leader has struck his pitch fork on the blunt end.

"I have heard our last Sunday's performance highly praised," said she. "Yes," said Mr. Tubingen, interrogatively.

"Indeed I have. I have been practising a new chaunt composed by the organist of St. John's, in the city, which has been much admired. If you like, we will try it."

"We hope that Miss Valeary will not be offended," said Mr. Tubingen. "Oh, no," said Mr. Decorus, the tenor.

"We have all frequently remarked that no one in the congregation feels a deeper interest in the music than Miss Valeary," said Mr. Hivox, the alto.

The little lady looked a little disconcerted, and cast a sharp, penetrating glance upon the delegation.

"We are fully aware that you will do any thing for the interest of the church," said Mr. Tubingen.

"We have not entertained the least doubt of that," said Mr. Decorus. "Most undoubtedly," remarked Mr. Hivox.

"To be sure, I will," added Miss Valeary.

"It has been a matter of remark," proceeded Mr. Tubingen, "well it has only lately-well, yes I may say, not for a length of time-but only recently it has been, no doubt, it has been-I think I may say mainly I don't know-I kind of think".

"People have got to be so very fastidjus," said Mr. Decorus. "And so very critical," added Mr. Hivox.

"Indeed!" said Miss Valeary.

"Yes," replied Mr. Tubingen. "Yes," said Mr. Decorus.

"Yes," said Mr. Hivox.

"Gentlemen, you need not be afraid to say what you wish," remarked the scrutinizing lady, who had by this time become aware of the confusion of the trio.

"We knowed that you would not be offended," said the gallant Mr. Tubingen, squeezing with his big paw the little hand of the little lady, which was full of rings.

"How you hurt me," said the offended Miss Valeary.

"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Tubingen.