great congregation, ’—the man’s tune,—but at therevival
of Anglican theology, this was clean gone and no vestige
of it remained. In the psalter of Archbishop Parker
Talys says, in the notes to his tunes, “the meane is for
the people when they will sing alone; the other parts
put for greater choirs, or for such as will sing or play
them privately.” Thus when the man’s tune became
overlaid by parts working above the melody and the
practice of music gradually dying out, as it did in the
time of the great civil war, people at length came to
recognize the upper part as the ostensible air, and the
tune was lost to the male register. Then the old
favourite tunes had their melodies transposed, of which
such tunes as St. Davids, Winchester, and scores of others,
are examples ; and, towards the early part of the Georgian
eva, these melodies became the exclusive property of
charity children, who, perched up in high boxes abutting
on the roofs of churches, poured out with that nasal
twang so distracting to all who boasted “an ear to hear,”
and, by an accommodating figure of speech, were credited
with “doing the singing” for the congregation, just as
“the parson and clerk” were imagined to “ read” for the
people. This loss of the man’s tune has néver yet, and
perhaps never will be recovered, for the trebles have firm
hold of the melody. Hence the antiquarian musical phrase
that accompanied the early days of the Oxford revival,
could not keep its place beside the theological literature
that movement resuscitated, and the Tudor and nine-
teenth century musical practice and theory of melody
were so totally at variance, that the hymn tunes and
other music of the former era, were comparative failures
when re-introduced in the latter.

As time progressed the second change came with it.
The “libraries” were complete, and the sterling books
of Anglican orthodox faith had nearly all been reprinted.
Then succeeded themedizval period. Books of all kinds, so
long as they were the productions of authors in the
“dark ages,” poured from the press. Anglican theology
was at a discount and Anglican Church music shared its
fate. The Pre-Raphaelites, in the sister art, led the van.
Barbarism rode triumphant, and the English Church was
flooded for a time by an influx of Gregorian music. This
barbarous stuff was put forth as being the quintessence of
Church music, notwithstanding its theory being founded
on those heathen Greek scales so learnedly treated of by
Dr. Wallis, more than three quarters ofa century ago, in an
early volume of the “Transactions of the Royal Society,”
and so imperfectly comprehended by the Gregorianizers.
Still even these have had their crumb of comfort, for in a
recent number of The Guardian, a young lady, seeking
a situation as governess, glibly enumerates her specialities,
and concludes by modestly asserting her “perfectly
understanding Gregorian music,” a cool ayowal that our
English Palestrina himself, with all his vast erudition on
the subject, would hesitate to make. However, despite
the feminine Gregorian authority, Greek modes, square
notes, a four-lined staff, two tetrachords for a scale, flat
sevenths for leading notes, and its vaunted “ severity,”
we question whether it has the true vitality of progress
or even permanence.

The third era has recently commenced. Of course
an Anglican divine, such as Collier, who declares that
“Religious harmony should be moving, but noble withal;

| grave, solemn, and seraphic; fit for a martyr to play and
an angel to hear,” is simply pooh-poohed. The new era

HYMN TUNES.

273
folks in their detestation ofall that appertains to cathedrals
or their musie,—our national school of art,—do not care
a rush about singing praises “with the understanding.”
They go in for “development” both in theology and
music, and are champions of what they are pleased to call
“hearty” services, where lungs and rapidity carry the
day. As in doctrine, the “development” party appear to
be trying how far it is possible to push “innovations,”
so, in musical matters, they are out-Heroding Herod.
“Severity,” has no longer a charm for them, the strain
has been too great, and, like all converts, they have em-
braced the opposite extreme. Bent on laxity, preferring
their own sweet licence to any law, they have turned
round and copied their older dissenting brethren who, on
the avowed principle that “the devil ought not to have
all the best tunes,” adapted to their hymns every avail-
able musical phrase, whether it came from church,
chapel, concert-room, or theatre. Now, with the “ inno-
vators,” nothing comes amiss. Ancient with the ancients ;
Gregorian with the medievalists; semi-Anglican with
churchmen; secular with dissenters; nothing is too good,
or too bad, for impressment. For years this advanced
party, the very “severe,” school of Church music-
mongers, were loud in condemnation of the use of triple
times, not knowing the old principle that three in one is
the acme of perfection. Indeed so far did this doctrine
obtain with Church musicians that canons were frequently
composed so that they might be written in the form of a
triangle, and in more than one instance, which could
be named from illuminations, the Three Persons of the
ever Blessed Trinity, have labels proceeding from their
mouths on which are the several musical feet necessary
to make acanon. As late as the time of Queen Hliza-
beth, Elway Bevin, a standard Church composer, printed
a book of canons, in triple measure, declaring that to be
“the only perfect time which is in harmonical unity with
the doctrine of three co-existent persons,’—the Blessed
Trinity in Unity. Whether the “developing” section have
suddenly woke up to see this mystic symbolism or no,
the fact is patent that they are now as madly wedded
to the most compound triple measures as they were op-
posed to them during their “severe,” state of transition
under modern Gregorianism. Shakespeare ridiculed the
practice of those who mixed up sacred and secular rhythms
by “singing psalms to hornpipes,” but what with the
pace and jauntiness of many of the new era people's hymn
tunes, Shakespeare’s hornpipes would now be slow mea-
sure,—long eights to the pound.

There can be no doubt that music exerts a wondrous
and mysteriously potent Christian influence. Not only
have all the great musicians been born in the Christian
era, and within the sphere of the Christian Church, but
their mightiest efforts have been evoked by Christian
themes and dedicated to spiritual ends. It was a great
mistake in the old Puritans to attempt to banish organs
and “curious singing,’ on the ground of being only
“ proper for Popish dens,” because, in so doing, they were
divesting their praise and prayer of the most beautiful
and edifying portion of Christian worship. And, on the
other hand, those who exhibit the very antithesis to
Puritanism, frequently set whole parishes in ferment
because they will not temper their zeal with discretion,
sobriety, or decorum, but, seizing upon the one pretext
of “heartiness,” yell like savages, and call it “making
melody in their hearts.”

OO

i nl lL On

VOL. IX. N.S.— NO. LIII.

Jt