of old fashion; it is not a thing, sui generis, belonging to an age of the world, or an epoch of art, completed and passed away, like the church music of Palestrina (and we speak of Palestrina in music as we would of Raffaelle in painting, viz. as the representative of the perfection of an epoch of art), but it is only an early effort in a particular mode of art, which is still practised, and which, in its kind, has been gradually carried to greater perfection, without interruption, up to our own times. When we say, without interruption, we refer to the continental practice of the art; for, as has been observed, with ourselves there has been a break in its history since the days of Handel, and it is only now that we have been stirred up again to advance, that musicians have begun to think for themselves, and to feel that, in the very qualities and characteristics of the music of Purcell and his school, by which it was distinguished from the works of the ancient ecclesiastical composers, and by which it is generally considered to surpass them, great progress has been made. These characteristics arose, as we have said, out of the abandonment of the principle, that choral composition or melody, sung in unison by the whole choir, is the only legitimate music of the church, and the introduction of recitative, of airs for single voices, and of duets and trios, accompanied with instrumentation, not, as before, for the mere purpose of guiding and strengthening the voices, but as an essential element in the composition; looking now, we say, at these novelties in church music practised by Purcell (and his merits are to be found in these, and not in that which he had in common with the ancient school), it is impossible not to be sensible of the advancement of the art in the same kind of thing.

Our melodies, now-a-days, are smoother and more graceful; our instrumentation more perfect the union of orchestral effects with those of voices better understood; can we avoid, then, perceiving the crudeness of Purcell's melody, the poverty and thinness of his instrumentation, or, in short, can we help being aware of the kind of puerility and imperfection in his works, which is always attendant on an early stage of art ?* And, if there be no rule in church music but the prevailing musical fancy of the day; if, as Dr. Burney says,

* These remarks on Purcell's works (which, for want of space, are necessarily vague) may be liable to misconstruction; and therefore we anticipate a little to explain our meaning. Purcell, we conceive, stands midway between the ancient and purely ecclesiastical school, and the modern or dramatic; and, accordingly, labours under the disadvantage, inseparable from a state of transition, of inferiority to either. If we compare his choral compositions (such as they are) with those of the church writers of the sixteenth century, when this kind of art reached its highest state, we must admit them to be greatly inferior, not only in skill, but in solemnity and religious feeling. On the other hand, if we regard his works as attempts in the style of the oratorio, or sacred opera (which he was the first to import from Italy), and this is the real character of his works, they cannot for a moment bear comparison with the oratorios, and other sacred theatrical compositions, of Handel, who certainly reached a point of perfection which is not now likely to be surpassed, in this species of halfreligious, half-secular entertainment. Handel's music, however, whether for sacred or profane words, was but the opera music of his day, and intended for the theatre.

it is only for decency's sake that the church keeps a little in the wake of the theatre, can it be matter of surprise that many of our musicians, who are now awakening from their lethargy, should begin to discover that there is no reason why they should not, like Purcell and his predecessors, adapt the service of the church to the present state of musical taste?

At the same time, though symptoms of a desire among our organists to modernize the music of the church be very apparent, there are indications of another disposition in the musical world which, we are happy to think, must have a tendency to counteract this evil, and which give promise that the change which is now working its way will be for the better, and not for the worse. We allude chiefly to the revival of a taste for purely choral music, and the study and performance of the compositions of ancient writers, in which this taste can alone find its full gratification. Within the last year or two several societies have been formed for the cultivation of ancient choral music, sacred and secular, and we are persuaded that the taste, which is thus fostered and gratified, must speedily begin to exert its influence on church service, not merely with respect to its more careful performance, but to the choice of the music performed. The members of such societies cannot, while their ears are still giving echo to the majesty, the simplicity, and solemn sweetness, of the compositions of a Tallis, a Shephard, a Byrd, or an Orlando Gibbons, listen to the flippant effusions of Blow, Humphreys, or such like, without feeling that they have descended to a lower sphere.

Speaking artistically, we consider it a great point, that a relish is gaining ground for the dignified, skilful, and characteristic music of the sixteenth century, because, even though it be studied and enjoyed in a merely antiquarian spirit, its influence will serve, more than any other cause, to correct the false taste of modern composition. But, we trust, also, that, in this new disposition, there is the best groundwork for a reformation of the music of the church. It is not, however, by an ephemeral taste for old music alone that this much-needed and, in many quarters, much desired reform will be effected. There must be, at the same time, as in matters of higher import, a return to first principles; and it is with the view of discovering, if possible, or, at least, of suggesting, how we may discover safe and legitimate grounds on which to build the superstructure of a reformation, that we propose bringing under review the history of music in its relation to Christianity, and to consider the spirit in which the art was formerly exercised under the sanction of ecclesiastical authority.

113

CHAPTERS ON ARCHITECTURE.

No. I.

It would appear as if the prevailing variety of religious opinions. had infected modern church architecture, for we find new churches presenting strange mixtures of style, yet almost all of them uniting in one peculiarity, viz. that of being places for preaching instead of houses of prayer. This is the very characteristic of dissent; but it has till lately been too prevalent in the Church itself. The inconsistencies which this spirit have given rise to are many. A handsome altar has been called superstitious; a well-cushioned pew, in which men could recline luxuriously and criticise the sermon, has been deemed a necessary a splendid sounding-board has been praised; an ancient lectern decried as popish. A dissenter might decorate his conventicle with a cross without subjecting himself to remark; a Churchman was called a Romanist if he repaired the broken cross on his chancel.

Happily a more catholic spirit has begun to show itself. The zeal of ancient days is fast kindling throughout the land. Men are beginning to build churches with the pious liberality of those primitive times, when a desire to honour God was the first consideration, and personal luxury and proud independence gave place to virtuous selfdenial and orderly obedience. Such a spirit must be hailed with gladness by all those who look to the maintenance of the Anglican Church in that unity and order which are the chief safeguards against novelty and strange doctrines, and to the preservation of that loyalty and obedience which are the checks of licentiousness and insubordination. A few remarks on church-building, with some examples in illustration, which is all we shall attempt in the present paper, may not be without use in assisting to promote the reviving study of church architecture.

Although Burke does not allow that proportion constitutes beauty, he did not undervalue it, nor deny that it is necessary in order to a perfect work. He does not, however, appear to have considered it especially with reference to ecclesiastical buildings. "When a room," he says, "appears in its original nakedness, bare walls and a plain ceiling, let its proportions be ever so excellent, it pleases very little; a cold approbation is the utmost we can reach; a much worse-proportioned room, with elegant mouldings and fine festoons, glasses and other merely ornamental furniture, will make the imagination revolt against the reason; it will please much more than the naked proportions of the first room which the understanding has so much approved as admirably fitted for its purposes. Now with those who view churches as mere rooms, the same feelings will probably arise, and thus architects have been enabled to palm off the worst designs by introducing detached ornaments in conspicuous situations, as a bad

inn is recommended by a gaudy sign. But admitting, as Burke would do, that much of awe and reverence should attach to a religious building, and that amplitude of space and a lofty vault tend, fromı their sublimity, to produce such feelings; it may be conceded that, in raising a modern church, it is better to trust to the relative proportions of an ancient building than to disregard them altogether, especially in an age in which reverential feeling is generally the last of all the motives which induce men to build churches, and seldom the first which impels them to frequent them.

By way of illustrating this theory, suppose the nave of an ancient abbey, whose walls and arches remain entire, but from whose capitals and windows the tracery has perished away, were roofed afresh with oak or dark-coloured wood, in the plainest manner, the pavement relaid, and the apertures of the windows reglazed; there can scarcely be a doubt but the effect of the building would be good. We should behold the original without its ornamental details, and these are lost sight of on a first survey. Who, for example, would dwell on its rich monumental architecture, on first entering St. Peter's, or regard the heraldic shields, and count the flowers on the columns, in traversing for the first time the naves of Lincoln or York. This theory of proportion refers mainly to the width of the aisles, the height of the pillars, and the space of the arches; for the same rule will not always hold with regard to the windows, which in many instances were made large for the purpose of being filled with stained glass; and the same sized aperture glazed with plain quarries would often shed too much light, as is observable in the nave of Salisbury.

The following section is given as an example of one of the finest specimens of late Gothic which we possess:

THE CHURCH OF THE HOLY TRINITY, OR HIGH CHURCH, AT

The dimensions of the building here given are sufficiently correct to serve as guides. In using it as a model, it is proposed to alter the windows by reducing their size; to omit the carved work on the capital of the pillars, retaining the mouldings. In the clerestory and side aisles, it is proposed to insert windows of one light, (see frontispiece, No. 1, 2,) the proportions of which, though not common in England, are very general on the continent. It is proposed

that the body of the new church should consist of six arches on each side, of the above dimensions, which would make the building about 102 feet long. This, from its height, even without a tower, would form an imposing structure. The spring of the roof is small, being only 3 or 4 feet inside. Such a building would hold a large number of people. Calculating the whole area at 2211 square yards, deducting 66 square yards for the space occupied by the pillars, and allowing 200 square yards for the altar rails, reading-desk, pulpit, and font, a space of 2000 square yards would remain, being room for 2000 people, allowing one square yard for each individual, which arrangement would insure open seats, as occupying the least space. If this should be considered as too crowded, the area would easily hold 1700 people.

The estimate of such a building could only be given by a professed architect; but if built, as is the case with a great part of the original work, of dark red brick,with the windows, pillars, and arches of stone, and the interior walls pointed so neatly as to require no plaster, but merely a single wash of the same tint with the stone work, and a plain roof of foreign timber varnished, and open seats of the same; it would not, it is believed, be found much more expensive than some of those gewgaw buildings with which the face of the country is deformed, and it would have the merit of being a true copy in its scale and dimensions.