bidden the peasant early to his rest-the cottage door was closed-the honest were wrapt in wholesome slumber, and the nightly depredator had not yet come forth on his errand of mischief. I paused a moment to consider the mercy of Him who watches over the unguarded pillow of the one, and forbears the punishment due to the deeds of the other, when a sound, as of distant music, came upon my ear. Walking a little forward, I perceived that it proceeded from a house, yet at some distance, that stood between me and the town. The notes, as far as I could distinguish them, were soft and plaintive, and in the silence of such a night, there seemed to me something in them almost celestial. My feelings at that moment told me music was the gift of heaven, and therefore must have been given for our good; and rapidly my mind ran over the various uses that have been made of it.

In every age and every country, music has been made the emblem of whatever is most lovely and enchanting; and whether the tales that are told us of its influence be truth or fiction, they equally prove the general perception of its power over the feelings and affections of humanity. From the coarse whistle of the ploughboy riding homeward on the fore-horse of his team, to the loud peal of the organ amid the chorus of some hundred voices, music seems to be the most natural language of the happy, the spontaneous solace of the sad. With every idea of things

beautiful, pure, and delightful, music has been associated; but we never mix it with the images of things base, vicious, and disgraceful. No heathen savage ever pictured to himself a future heaven, but he placed music among the first of its delights; and in those bright prospects of eternal bliss, so often opened to us in the Holy Scriptures, music is always made a part, real or emblematical, of our promised enjoyment.

A power so universal in its influence on our feelings, so naturally combined with whatever is good aud fair, and honoured with so much notice in the commands and promises of God, must surely be a gift from heaven, for the use of which we are responsible. Given, as we must suppose it, to our first parents in Paradise, it was there the language of gratitude and joy. The first use of music upon earth, perhaps, was to sound forth the praises of the Creator; and certainly it is the only one of our talents of the continuance and purpose of which hereafter any mention has been made. Surely, then, it is a gift too sacred to be used as an instrument of folly and impiety. It is not my purpose here to disclose the worst uses to which it has been perverted -may my readers long and ever continue strangers to them.

My loitering steps now brought me near to the window whence the delightful sounds had issued.

I heard them still, and could distinguish voices mingled in natural and simple harmony. Imagination supplying what I did not hear, I fancied it the language of piety going forth from glad and grateful hearts, and stealing through the silence of the night to find gracious acceptance at the throne of mercy : and now my propensity to know more than was intended for my observation became strong within me-ascending a mound directly opposite to the inviting window, I set myself to see what might be passing within.

The room was dressed with flowers, and gaily lighted, shining with many a fair and happy countenance. There was not a brow amongst them that seemed to bear the weight of twenty years, and some not half that number. The little group were variously occupied. Some were examining the wild flowers, or turning over the shells and pebbles that had been gathered in their morning walk-others were spreading forth prints and drawings for the amusement of their friends. Of the younger, some were deeply intent on the intricate puzzle; of the elder, one was placed at the piano, while another tuned the harp, and the leaves of the music-book were rapidly turned over in search of the selected song.

My active fancy now found ample business. There was so much innocence in the employments,

and so much pleasure in the countenances of the young assembly, that all seemed in unison with my previous feelings. I imagined it some happy birthday night, which the inmates of the mansion had assembled their friends to celebrate. I looked on each countenance separately, and saw not on one a frown of ill humour or a shade of sorrow. Here then at least, I whispered to myself, is the use of music not perverted. Some child beloved has completed another of her early years, and the hearts of those who love her are glad and grateful. Strains of moral feeling, perhaps of cheerful piety, are going forth from hearts as yet untainted with the follies and the fashions of the world; from lips that no unholy jest, no thoughtless impiety as yet has stained. The music began: the air was plaintive. If it had not the sublimity of our best sacred music, it was feeling, chaste, and beautiful. I'descended quickly from the mound, and placed myself near enough to the window indistinctly to catch the words. But my dreams of grateful devotion and moral purity, how were they dissipated, when the first words I distinguished were an impassioned address to a heathen god, beginning "Dieu d'Amour," and going on with a great deal about "Les Astres," "Les Parques," and other objects of a pagan's worship. My pleasure was passed; but curiosity retained me on the spot, and I waited patiently another and another song. The second was Italian, the sweetest language of music, and

the most perverted. The best I could hope here, was that performers and audience were alike ignorant of the nonsense, not to say indelicacy, of the words they were singing. At last I distinguished the accents of our native tongue, and something of a better hope revived-for now the young performers at least must know the meaning of their words. I heard the name of Godthe Christian's God! and listened with redoubled earnestness: though, in truth, there seemed something of profanation in the mixture; but, alas! it was more in accordance than I thought. That sacred name was used but as an expression of earnestness on subjects with which the thought of Him could not possibly combine. How I wished I were at that moment on the mound, to see if a blush did not suffuse the cheeks of the singer, as she uttered a name she could not be accustomed to profane. Or can it be, that the lips of innocence may sing without thought, or feeling, words they dare not speak-sentiments they would blush to feel-breathe out a mockery of prayer under cover a foreign language, and make sport of names, at the mention of which, angels in heaven bow their heads with reverence! The best that can be said is, that they think no wrong, and in the enjoyment of the music, give no heed to the meaning of the words: but that is not the less a danger, to which we are insensible; and custom has gone