beneficium, sed illam quae postulat Quamvis ergo immediate non possit offerri pro non baptizatis, quia ipsi capaces non sunt hujus sacrificii, poterit offerri pro baptizato, qui postulat, tanquam beneficium proprium, illud quod non baptizato confertur."

That is, as I understand the words applied to our case, the priest may say: "I will offer up the Mass for the intention you ask me."

There is yet a question which we do not discuss, but which we simply ask: Can a priest licitly make the intention of applying the Indulgence of a Privileged Altar to the soul of a deceased Protestant presumed to be in Purgatory, and in whose behalf he says Mass? If not, would such an application be valid? Or can any of the faithful apply Indulgences to the soul of such a one? To my mind there are reasons pro et contra, but not having sufficient grasp of the matter in all its bearings, I am unable to decide.

I will conclude by narrating an incident relevant to our question, and which is within my own personal knowledge. Some now twenty years ago a lady addressed a priest in a Church, somewhere in England, thus: "Sir, I am a Protestant; but would you kindly say Mass for my deceased Protestant mother, who was always a good pious woman ? at the same time she offered a honorarium for the Mass. The priest acceded to her desire. Twice again, after short intervals, she made a like request. On the third occasion the priest said: "It is strange that you, a Protestant, should have such faith in Holy Mass. Surely you ought to be a Catholic." After some further conversation she consented to come to him for instruction,--and he had soon the happiness of receiving her into the Church. A person of some means, she lived several years until death, a very self-denying and devout life, devoting her money largely to works of charity and piety, especially alms-giving to the poor, and bequeathed a considerable sum to her parish priest for Masses for her own soul.

THOMAS LIVIUS, C.SS.R.

IN

162]

PLAIN CHANT FOR "INCURABLES."

(AN UNDELIVERED LECTURE.)

N addressing the following remarks to as numerous and influential a body as the Incurables of this country, I feel more than the ordinary responsibility of a Lecturer on Plain Chant. For, first, I am reminded by the venerable faces before me, that some of my remarks will not improbably apply, or seem to apply, to those whose age and exalted station shield them from the ordinary impertinences of youthful lecturers, and whose virtues and talents I prize as much as I regret their musical shortcomings; while beyond these aged leaders I see the vast crowd of middle-aged and junior clergy-the latest recruits to the ranks of the Incurables, strong in voice, and invincible in their ignorance of its use, the "fortiter peccantes," whose wrath I well may fear to rouse, and whose fellowship, in all but the matter of this lecture, I am so proud to claim. Such an audience might expect from me language carefully cleared of everything savouring of intemperate zeal, or unchastened criticism. But, Gentlemen, I am not going to mince matters. The case is too desperate to allow of namby-pamby treatment. Many of you have, during your long and honoured lives, been the sorrow of every lover of chant in your neighbourhood. You have, some of you, to account for half a century of choral offices, ruined by your well-meant efforts. You have gone through those offices, unshaken in your own self-confidence, unwarned by the frowns and hints of your afflicted brethren; and it is time, now, that you should hear the truth.

And you, Gentlemen, of younger years and lustier lungs, what you have already done is pledge and promise of what you yet may do. You joined, in College, the ranks of the Incurables, and have served in those ranks with distinction ever since. The Ite, Missa est of your diaconate was your declaration of war against all the decencies of sacred chant. At the altar your "Preface" and "Pater Noster" have been-" optimi pessima perditio”—a subject of hilarity in the holy place, and of an amused rehearsal

1 I wish here to enter my protest against the establishment in any College of a class of " Incurables." Experience has shown me that there are very few voices that will not attune themselves, after a bit, to the inging around them. Segregating weak voices and faulty ears into one class is the sure way to make them incurable.

cutside, in which you sometimes have not blushed to join. In the choir your youth and power tell with greatest effect, in demolishing office after office, and, above all, in beating from off the field the champions of reverent psalmody and tutored and intelligent song. He knows nothing, Gentlemen, of ecclesiastical chant, who affects to despise your power. Youth and strength are on your side, and "big battalions." You have scored too many victories in the past not to be hopeful for the future. Your "hostia

rociferationis" has not been rejected so far: shall it be rejected now-and by a handful of Cecilians? Never! I hear you answer: and, Gentlemen, perhaps you right. The mighty song of the Incurables will, in our time, never be ended. Can it be mended?

are

That brings me to the very important question: Is there any good in my lecturing Incurables? At a suburban watering place, not unfamed, by the way, for wit, appeared once, over the door of a newly-erected hospital, the strange device: "Convalescent home for Incurables." In a few days, amid the laughter of the neighbourhood, the device was painted out again. But why? Must indeed the scroll, "Hope enters not here," make an Inferno of every Incurable's home? Cannot the patient hope to get better without expecting to get well? I think he can. It is, Gentlemen, because I think Incurables need not of necessity be Unbearables, that I have ventured on this lecture-lesson. I do not hope to cure you; but I can care you, and you may improve a little in my hands, and be somewhat less of a cross to those who regard you, and whom you regard. At any rate, I am honest with you: yours will not be the cry:---

"O would some power the giftie gie us

To see ourselves as others see us!"

("to hear ourselves as others hear us," would not be rhyme!) You may see and hear yourselves as you are seen and heard by others: that, at least. If you hear me to the end, you may also learn something that may make the censure of those "others" less severe; and, above all, warned now of your failing, you will, as is expected by those who know your ecclesiastical zeal and virtue, turn more than a passing glance at that portion of the divine ministration in which you have so much room for amendment, and so much need for reparation.

Now, Gentlemen, I am not going to insult you with Do, Re, Mi, Fa. That would show a want of respect and

consideration for your Incurable coudition. Besides, to let you into a state secret, far the majority of those who would scout the company of Incurables know nothing, or next to nothing, of Do, Re, Mi, Fa! You just try, the next time one of these singers taunts you, as is their wont, with your ignorance. Just throw Do, Re, Mi, Fa, at him, and I think he will very probably let you alone. HalfI believe I might say much more than half-of our accredited clerical chanters cannot as much as read the simplest Gregorian piece put before them. They sing "by ear," and the notes come in as reminders more or less vague; but they no more read them than a child could be said to read, who had learned the words of "The Minstrel Boy,' and could show the corresponding lines on the printed page. I should not, Gentlemen, care to confess what I believe to be the percentage of "musical" priests in this country who could spell out a single phrase of Gregorian which they had never heard. And the smallness of that number is all the more surprising when you know that in one half hour a man with an ordinary ear and ordinary intelligence could learn enough theory to enable him to read Gregorian notation for his lifetime. He will not know all about “modes" and "tones”—that would take a few more half-hours; but he will have learned enough to read, with absolute certainty of being right, any piece in all the missals and vesperals in Christendom. Were you not Incurables, Gentlemen, I could teach you that much in less than half-an-hour. But as I cannot so teach you, I offer you this comfort in your ignorance, that you are not a whit worse off in this matter of Do, Re, Mi, Fa, than most of your curable brethren.

Now, Gentlemen, we come to the practical part of this short lecture. I am trying, you see, to build your musical edifice on the foundations of humility, and I know you have taken in good part what I have said, with honest plainness, about the evil you have done and may yet do. Cease to do that evil, and learn now to do well. What can you do well? Incurables cannot sing well; but they can read well. The words of the Church's Liturgy are more than the music to which they are set. Whatever goes, the words must not go verba mea non transibunt. And hear, Incurables, with glad hearts, the first great rule of ecclesiastical song: Sing as you read. If you read the sacred words with reverence and intelligence, so that their grace and power are not lost on

those that hear you-if you read thus you need not trouble much about the singing: you are welcome to join in any psalmody that I may have in charge. Some of you do so read; and I have heard, amid the confusion of striving and contentious voices, your voice, my venerable friend, alone clear, and reverent, and intelligiblealone seeming to lay more store by the words of the Spirit of God than by the lustiness of your lungs. You are, old Incurable though you be, teaching those loud and fast-tongued brethren the first lesson of ecclesiastical chant: Sing as you read. Mass begins, and you chosen for your dignity, be it confessed, and not for your voice, are the celebrant. You read at the missal-..

"Dies írae, dies illa,

Solvet saeclum in favilla,

Teste David cum Sibylla."

Well may you wonder to hear how very differently these words are sung in the choir

"Dies irae, dies illá-a a,

Solvet saeclúm in favillá-a-a,

Teste David cum Sibylla-a-a."

But,

Your turn comes at the "Preface." The many "singers" are silent after thunderous responses, and the voice of the Incurable alone is heard. You don't much mind which "Preface" is open-the words are all you look at: your notes will be the same whatever is before you. oh, what a comfort to hear you! Every word distinctly enunciated, not an accent misplaced; every phrase given without dislocation, and with the meanings left untouched by your poor wandering notes: criticism silent, and piety at last awakened! We wait for the " Pater Noster;" again what notes you sing are not and never were in any missal in this world; but the words you read go home to hearts as notes never could; and the only part of that "Pater Noster" that I would not care to hear again is the choir's "Sed libera nos a malo."

You have heard, Gentlemen, no doubt, in the vague way in which men hear news in which they consider they have no interest, that a move is being made for the revival and practice of Plain Chant. One practical evidence of that movement is this, that you have been asked to part with your old copy of the "Exequiae," and to get the new handsome edition just given to the Irish clergy by the President of Maynooth. Now, in what does the new surpass the old, and why should I ask you, as I earnestly do,