little was singing and intoning then introduced into our churches at home, that the subject is dismissed with a short note, commencing-" Very little need be said about a wonderful sort of recitative, in which it appears that some clergymen have lately thought it their duty to utter the service.". "Plain song," with which it was identified, was appointed only for "quires and places where they sing." Since the year 1843 this unauthorized practice of singing and intoning has been allowed to spread through several hundred parish churches. ... POETRY AND ITS USES. Elijah the Prophet: an Epic Poem. By G. Washington Moon, Author of "The Dean's English." London: Hatchard & Co. WHY is modern poetry so much less valued than ancient? Is it that it is in all cases inferior? or does it turn upon such an assumption as that propounded by the late Lord Macaulay, that good poetry is the product of a semi-barbarous age, and that it loses its spirit in a people when they arrive at a higher state of civilization? This is an opinion which we should be very unwilling to endorse, though we deny not that there may be in it a measure of truth. We should say, that the taste for poetry declines, in the general public, with the advance of civilization, rather than that the spirit of true poetry burns with less ardour in those who possess the "gift divine." It is not that there are fewer poets born into the world, but there are fewer admirers of poetry. Almost every - Certain it is, from whatever cause it may arise, that poetry is at a discount in the present day. Though every educated person has read the ancient masters of the art, hardly any one cares to read a modern production; unless, indeed, it happens to be the work of a man who has a name, which always mightily imposes upon the credulous public. Without this, publishers will all tell you, "It will not pay." Poetry, in fact, has become as unpopular as patience is uncommon. one turns over the leaf unread, when his eye falls upon anything in verse, without taking the trouble to ascertain whether it be good, or good for nothing. Why? Because it requires greater attention than plain prose to understand it, and to appreciate it properly. No reading demands more quiet exercise of thought, more patient dwelling upon, than poetry, for it to make its impression upon the mind. We live in a bustling, fast-going age, when, whatever men have to get over, they are intent upon getting over quickly. Hence even the prose of our day is of an inferior order to the prose of former times. Its forcibleness of expression, its compactness, its stateliness and beauty, are gone; and we have in its stead a loose, slipshod, easy-going style of prose, such as is to be found in the multitudinous magazines and periodicals that flow forth now from the press, to dilute the spirit of thought with the water of weakness. This is the kind of reading that is most in favour, because this requires neither the patience of reflection to understand, nor the patience of careful observation to discover, those latent touches of the master-hand which give to any work the perfection of beauty. It is by no means sufficiently considered how much the perfection of good prose depends upon familiarity with the best forms of poetry. The influence of the one upon the other is very much like the influence of the sun upon vegetable nature, giving both strength to the stem and beauty to the flower. All our best writers of prose have been, in early life at least, great readers of poetry. Every one who aims to write in a style in any degree above the level of dull and pointless commonplace, should keep up his converse with our best poets. Indeed, we would strongly advise any one who cares at all about the style in which he writes, never to read either inferior prose or inferior poetry. Let him throw it aside at once, if he comes upon it; for it will inevitably have its effect in lowering his own powers of thought, his own forms of expression, and with it his own tone of mind. For this reason we deeply deprecate the style of many of the hymns which we meet with in the collections used in our churches, where we are made so familiar with them; for what are many of them but the most dreary doggrel, drawled out in dragging lines, filled with the most prosy and commonplace expressions, to the total degradation of their sacred subjects. It is wholly unnecessary to introduce such, since there is an abundance of good hymns to be found, written in a chaste yet elevated style, with the spirit as well as the forms of true poetry in them. We ought to seek in this way to elevate our people, as well as in all other ways. There is a moral principle involved in it, as much as there is in well laid-out beds of flowers for the people to behold, or in the order and goodly garniture of a house. If the teachers of religion would but consider this, they would be more careful about the style in which Piety should express itself, and would provide only such hymns for the use of their congregations as should elevate, not vulgarize, their conceptions of Divine things; remembering that far more of religious sentiment, if not of religious doctrine, is imbibed from hymns than from Articles, and that in hymns it most commonly seeks to express itself-hymns being, so to speak, the Cardiphonia of Christianity. The chief objectors to poetry as an element of reading, we regret to say, are to be found among the sober professors of religion. Because the power of writing it has been too often abused, and made an instrument of the devil to scatter the firebrands of passion and the poisoned arrows of malice among mankind, by men of high poetic endowment, they have allowed themselves to regard poetry as a dangerous thing, that ought to be avoided rather than cultivated; or they look upon it, even when it is harmless, as mere trifling, and not sufficiently serious for serious minds. Viewing it as the sport of youthful fancy, and as belonging more especially to the spring-time of life, they flatter themselves that they exhibit the soberness of a matured and manly understanding by despising it, and passing it by as unworthy of their attention; though, in truth, it has, as we hope presently to show, its moral and religious uses, with their beneficial effects, for every season of man's earthly existence. Such persons must surely forget that there ever existed such an approved author as the "Sweet Psalmist of Israel," and that the prophecies of Isaiah are, in point of fact, a poetical Gospel. On this point we may quote here the words of one of our modern poets: "Poetry is itself a thing of God; He made His prophets poets, and the more We feel of poesy do we become Like God in love and power-under-makers."-(Bailey.) If a taste for poetry is not to be cultivated in religious minds, how can we expect to see hymns and spiritual songs of a superior order produced? Is religion to be relegated to the lowest region of thought, and to the most commonplace forms of expression? Surely this is not the way to sustain it in the respect of educated people. Who can deny that Cowper's and Heber's hymns have exercised an elevating as well as a sound religious influence upon the present generation? Why, then, are we to stop here? Why is poetry to become an interdicted department in a Periodical like our own? Let it not be forgotten that some of the finest pieces of sacred poetry in the English language appeared first originally in our pages. We allude to those from the pen of Sir Robert Grant, and of a former Editor, Mr. Wilks. That other like pieces may be forthcoming, we must open the door of opportunity. We know too well the danger of opening the door too widely, and admitting the whole multitude of pretenders in this line, who imagine that, because they can put words into rhyme, they can write poetry. It is not organ-grinders we want, or mere musical boxes, that can play only a set number of tunes. And yet, to obtain good verse, we must be content to take some that is ordinary. No persons are so easily discouraged as true poets; because their own sense of excellence is so high, that they are apt to be dissatisfied with productions in which others would see real genius, and to keep them back from very shame. Poetry must be encouraged, if prose is to maintain its vigour, its dignity, its elevation, and not be left to crawl on the ground. As we have already intimated, good prose owes its choicest forms of expression, its force, and its power of making abiding impressions, to its more polished sister, Poetry. If it had no higher use than this, this ought to keep it from being despised. What, indeed, is the writing of commonplace prose, as compared with the writing of good poetry-may we hazard such a comparison without offence?-but the laying of bricks, as compared with the chiselling of a beautiful statue, full of expressive life, out of a rough block of marble. The one is a work of manual labour only, while the other is a work of art. A poet must study to compress his ideas into the fewest and most forcible words, full of pith and point. The ordinary prose which men in general write, through their not cultivating an acquaintance with poetry, as John Foster has well remarked, "resembles a plain, handsome brick wall, smooth, regular, flat-nothing stands out, nothing strikes." Can anything be more dull, and heavy, and stupid than the featureless uniformity of most of our English houses and streets, with their square masses of brick and their everlasting sameness? Such is an apt representation of our prevailing style of prose. A better style of building, even in brick, is coming into use, especially in churches, by the intermixture of bricks of varying colours, arranged in artistic forms, which gives both relief and beauty to the edifice; and this is just the character which good prose takes when it condescends to be indebted to poetry for variety in its materials. It is more of the Gothic style we want, in writing as well as in architecture, if we are to be relieved from dull wearisome reading. A march, as everyone knows, is much less tiring than a walk; and a man can go much farther keeping measured step with the thunder tread of an army, than he can in an irregular straggle. Just so the mind, leaning on the measured intervals of verse and rhyme, is sustained in longer attention by the regular relief and pauses which it thus receives, while the sentiment expressed is impressed on the mind with incomparably greater emphasis and force. For instance, how much more forcible is the sentiment, "There is no better time for a man to die than when he falls a sacrifice for the good of humanity," when put into poetry thus: No one could read this verse, and then sit down to embody the same sentiment in his prose, without expressing it with the more force, as thus,-"The noblest time for a man to die, is when he can die a sacrifice for his fellow-man." What is true of poetry, in the way of affording relief to the reader, is true, in a measure, of well arranged prose. The rhythm of it, its antithesis, its measured and corresponding clauses, all make it much more pleasant to read than looser and more straggling forms of expression. Every man's nature (unless, as Shakespeare says, he is fit for treason) is set to some tune,-keyed to some measure. And though he cannot strike out the tune himself, the poet can, and give expression, to his great relief and delight, to what the other feels, but cannot express. No subject is too common, none too matter of fact, for poetry to invest it with moving life, and with colours not its own, or rather not seen by ordinary eyes. Who would see any poetry in steam, or in railroads, or in what would be termed other like "prosy things?" Yet, how an American poet sings of the power of steam : "Harness me down with iron bands; Be sure of your curb and rein; For I scorn the power of your puny As the tempest scorns a chain. hands How I laughed as I lay, concealed from sight At the childish boasts of human might, And the pride of human power." He then goes on to describe, in the most graphic style, (we wish we had space to quote the whole poem,) the various wonders of power which steam accomplishes. Take again that most mechanical and prosaic thing, a railroad, and see what another American poet makes of it: how majestically he makes it march along, instinct with inspiration, as a thing of life, a very Elijah, a flaming prophet of God,-as he describes it thus: "Thou great proclaimer to the outward eye Of what the Spirit too would seek to tell, The flinty rocks thine onward march obey, |