Rensselaer Republican, Volume 24, Number 4, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 September 1891 — Page 3

SACRED SONG.

God’s Anthens—Music Is of Heavenly Creation. ''‘lnanimate Nature Is Full of God’s String and Wind Instruments. Dr. Talmage preached at the Brooklyn Tabernacle on the text, Genesis iv, 21. He said: Lamech had two boys, on’e a herds man ahd the other a musician. Jubal, the younger, was the first organ builder. He started the first so —that rolled from the wondrous instrument which has had so much to do with the worship of the ages. But what improvement has been made under the hands of organ builders, such as Bernhard, Sebastian Bach, George Hogarth, Joseph Booth and Thomas Robison, clear on down to George and Edward Jardine, of our own day. I do not wonder that when the first full organ that we read of as given, in 757. by an emperor in the East to a king of France sounded forth its full grandeur a woman fell Into a delirium from which her reason was never restored. The majesty of a great organ skillfully played is almost too much for human endurance, but how much the instrument has done in the reinforcement of divine service it will take all time and all eternity to celebrate. Last April when we dedicated this church to the service of the Almighty God our or-fan-was not moratlmn half done. It as now come so near completion that this morning I preach a sermon dedicatory of this mighty throne of sacred sound. It greets the eye as well as the ear. Behold this mountain of anthems! This forest of Hosannahs, It will, I believe, under the divine blessing, lead uncounted thousands into the kingdom. Its wedding marches, its thanksgiving anthems, its requiems will sound after all the voices that follow it today shall have sung their last song. To God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Ghost we deidcate it. There has been much discussion as to where music was born. I think that at the beginning, when the morning stars sang together and all the suns of God shouted for joy, that the earth heard the echo. The cloud on which the angels stood to celebrate the creation was the birthplace of song. Inanimate nature is full of God’s stringed and wind instruments. Silence itself—perfect silence—is only a musical rest in God’s great anthem of worship. Wind among the leaves, insects humming in the summer air, the rush of billow upon beach, the ocean far outsounding its everlasting psalm, the bobolink on the edge of the forest, : the quail whistling up from the ■grass,are music. On Blackwell’s island 1 heard, coming from a window of the lunatic asylum, a very sweet song. It was sung by one who had lost her reason, and I have come to believe that even the deranged and disordered elements of nature would make music to our ear if we only had acuteness enough to listen. I suppose that even the sounds, of nature that are discordant and repulsive make harmony in God’s ear. You know that you may come so near to an orchestra that the sounds are painful instead of pleasurable, > and I think we stand so near devastating storm and frightful whirlwind that we cannot hear that which makes to God’s ear and the ear of the spirits above us a music as complete as it is tremendous. The day of judgment, which will be a day of uproar and tumult. I suppose, will bring no dissonance to the ears of those Who can calmly listen; although it be as when some terous piece of music, he sometimes breaks = downthe instrument oh’ which he plays, so it may be on that last day that the grand march of God, played by the fingers of thun- * der, and earthquake, and conflagration, may break down the world upon which the music is executed. Not only is inanimate nature full of music, but God has created the human voice so that in the plainest throat and lungs there are fourteen direct muscels. which can make over 15,000 different sounds, and there are thirty indirect muscles which can make, it has been estimated, over 173.000,000 sounds! Now, I say, when God has so constructed the human voice, and when he has filled the whole earth with harmony, and when he recognizes in it the ancient temple, I have a right to come to the conclusion that God loved music. I propose this morning, in setting apart this organ for sacred music, to speak about sacred music: first showing you its importance, and then stating some of the obstacles to its advancement. I draw the first argument for the importance of sacred music from the fact that God commanded it. Through Paul He tells us to admonish one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs; and through David He cries out: ‘’Sing ye to God, all ye kingdoms of the earth. ” And there are hundreds of other passages I might name, providing that it is as much a man’s duty to sing as it is to pray. God not only asks for the human Voice but for instruments of music. He asks- for the cymball, and the harp, and the trumpet as well as the organ. And I suppose that, inthe last days of the church, the harp, the lute, the trumpet and all the instruments of music, whether they have been in the service of righteousices or sin, will be-brought by their masters and laid down at the feet of Christ, and then sound in the Church's triumph on her way from suffering to glory. “Praise ye the ■»' * ', t - ■■

Lord!” Praise Him with your voice, praise Him with string instruments and with organs. I draw another argument for the importance Of this exercise, from the impressiveness of this exercise. You know something of what secular music has achieved. You know it has made its impression on governments, upon laws, upon literature, upon whole generations. One inspiring national air is worth 30,000 men as a standing army. There comes a time in the battle when one bugle is worth a thousand muskets. I have to tell you<that no nation or church can afford to severely economize in music. Many of you are illustrations of what sacrted song can do. Through it you were brought into the kingdom of Jesus Christ. You stood out against the argument and the warning of the pulpit; but when in the sweet words of Isaac Watts, or Charles Wesley, or John Newton, or Toplady, the love of Jesus was sung to your soul, then you surrendered, as the armed castle, that could not, be taken by a host, lifts its window to iisten to a harp’s trill. There was a Scotch soldier dying ihNew Orleans,anda Scotdhminisrter came in to give him the.consolations of the Gospel. The man turned over on his pillow and said: "Don’t talk to me about religion.” Then the Scotch minister began to sing a familiar hymn of Scotland, that was composed bv David Dickenson, beginning with the words: “Oh, mother, dear, Jerusalem, when shall I come to thee?” He sang it to the tune of “Dundee, ’’ and-everybody in Scotland knows that; and as he began to sing the dying soldier turned over on his pillow and said to -the minister: “Where did you learn that?” “Why,” replied the minister, “my mother taught me that.” “So did mine,” said the dying Scotch soldier; and the very foundation of his heart was upturned, and then and there he yielded himself to Christ. In addition to the inspiring music of our day we have a glorious inheritance of church psalmody which has come down fragrant with the devotions of other generations—tunes no more worn out than they were when our great-grandfathers climbed up on them from the church pew to glory! But I must now speak of some obstacles in the way of advancement of this sacred music; and the first is that it has been impressed into the service of superstition. lam far from believing that music ought always to be positively religious. Refined art has opened places where, music has been secularized, and lawfully so. The drawing room, the musical club, the orchestra the concert, by the gratification of pure taste, and the production of harmless amusement and the improvement of talent, have become great forces in the advancement of our civilization. Music has as much right to laugh in Surrey Gardens as it has to pray in St. Paul. In the kingdom of nature we have the glad fifing of the wind as well as the long meter psalm of the thunder.

But while all this is so, every observer has noticed that this art, which God intended for the improvement of the ear, and the voice, and the head, and the heart, has often been impressed into the service of false religions. False religions have depended more upon the hymning of their congregations than upon the pulpit proclamation of their dogmas. Tartini, the musical composer, dreamed one night that Satan snatched from his hand an instrument and played upon it something very sweet —a dream that has often been fulfilled in our day, the voice and the instruments that ought to have been de voted to Christ, captured from the church and applied to purposes of superstition. Another obstacle has bsen an inordinate fear of criticism. The vast majority of people, singing in church never want anybody else to hear them sing. Everybody is waiting for somebody else to do his duty. If we all sang, then the inacuracies that are evident when only a few sing would not be heard at all; they would be drowned out. God only afeks you to do as well as you can, and then, if you get the wrong pitch, or keep wrong time, He will forgive any deficiency of the ear and imperfection of the voice. Angels will not laugh if you should lose your place in the musical scale, or come in at the close a bar behind. There are three schools of singing, I am told —the German school, the Italian school and the French school of singing. “Now I would like to add a fourth school, and that is the school of Christ. The voice of a contritebroken hearth although it . may not be able to stand human criticism, makes better music to God’s ear than the most artistic performance when the heart is wanting. I know it is easy to preach on this than it is to practice, but I sing for two reasons—first, because I like it, and next, because I want to encourage those who do not know how. I have but very little faculty in that direction, yet I am resolved to sing. God has commanded it, and I dare not be silent. He calls on the beasts, on the cattle, on the dragoons to praise Him, and we ought not to be behind the cattle and dragons. Another obstacle In the advancement of this art has been the erroneous notion that this part of the service could be conducted by delegation. Churches have said: “Oh what an easy time we shall have. This minister will do this preaching, the choir will do the singing and we will have nothing to do." And you know as well as I that there are a great multitude of churches all through thia land where the people are ex

pected to sing; the whole work iff* done by a delegation of four, six or ten persons and the audience is silent. In such a church in Syracuse an old elder persisted in singing, and so the choir appointed a committee to go and ask the ’Squire if he would not stop. You know that in a great multitude of churches the choir is expected to do all the singing and the great mass of the people are expected to be silent, and if you utter your voice you are interfering. There they stand, the four,' with opera-glasses dangling at their sides. “Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me,” with the same spirit that the night before, on the stage, they took their parts in “The Grand Duchess” or “Don Giovanni. ” My Christian friends, have we a right to delegate to others the discharge of this duty which God demands of us? Suppose that four wood-thrushes should propose to do all the singing some bright day when the woods are ringing with bird voices. It is decided that four woodthrushes shall do all the singing of the forest. Let all other voices keep silent. How beautifully the four warble. It is really fine music. But how long will you keep the forest still?

Why, Christ would come into that forest and look up as he looked through the olives, and He would wave His hand and say: “Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord;” and, keeping time with the stroke of innumerable wings, there would be 5,000 bird voices leaping into the harmony. Suppose this delegation of musical performers were tried in heaven; suppose that four choice spirits should try to do the s inging of the upper tern pie. Hush, now, thrones and dominions and principalities. David, be still, though you were the “sweet singer of Israel. ”Fault keep quiet, though you have come to that crown of rejoicin g. Richard Baxter! keep still, though this is the “Saints’ Everlasting Rest.” Four spirits how do all the singing. But how long would heaven bp quiet? How long? “Hallelujah!” would cry some glorified Methodist from under the altar. “Praise the Lord,” would sing the martyrs from among the thrones. “Thanks be unto God who givethus the victory!” a great multitude of redeemed spirits would cry. Myriads of voices coming into harmony, and the one hundred and forty and four thousand breaking forth into one acclamation. Stop that loud singing! Stop! Oh, no; they can not he'arme. You might as well try to drown the thunder of the sky, or beat back the roar of the sea. for every soul ir. heaven has resolved to do its own singing. Alas! that we should have tried on earth that which they can not doinheaven,andinsteadofjoining all our voices in the praise of the Most High God, delegating perhaps to unconsecrated men and women this most solemn and most delightful service.

We want to arouse all our families tb the duty of sacred song. We want each family in our congregation to be a singing school. ‘ Childish petulence, obduracy and intractability would be soothed if we had more singing in the household, and then our little ones would be prepared for the great congregation on the Sabbath day, their voices uniting with our voices in the praise of the Lord. After a shower there are scores of streams that come down the mountain side with voices rippling and silvery, pouring into one river and then rolling in united strength to the sea. So, I would have all the families of our church send forth the voice of prayer and praise, pouring it into the great tide of public worship that rolls on and on to empty into the great wide heart of Goa. Never can we have our church sing as it ought to until our families sing as they ought. There will be a great revolution on this subject in all our churches. God will come down in his spirit and arouse up the old hymns and tunes that have not been more than half awake since the time of our grandfathers. The silent pews in the church will breake forth in music, and when the conductor takes his place on the sabbath day, there will be a great host of voices rushing into harmony. My Christian friends, if we have no taste for this service on earth what shall we do in heaven, where they all sing, and sing forever.

"Box and Cox" in Iceland.

Speqking to me about his Icelandic tour last summer Mr. Hall Caine told mc’ the following amusing incident: Although Iceland is the home of the old sagas, yet, until within the last three years, a play has never been seen by the inhabitants. But three years ago, finding the long winter absolutely intolerable, shut in by ice and snow and the everlasting mountains, the inhabitants of Reikajavik resolved to attempt the drama. Of all plays on earth they chose “Box and Cox.” What would their weird, stern ancestors have said? “Box and Cox," however, “caught on." and in that land of Winter it was the only thing that was not a frost Night after night, week after week, it was played tb an ever enthusiastic audience, until at last a special law was passed in the houses of parliament forbidding its representation more than a certain and very limited number of times.—Pali Mall i "Is there a wheelright in the delegation P” asked one of the committee. ••Why?" asked another. "Because he would be the proper man to act as spokesman."

HIS MYSTERIOUS MODEL.

He was the handsomest among the crowd that throiged the Artist’s Quarter. But who he was, or Where he came from, no one knew. He painted exqusite pictures which sold at sight. Wc soon grew to love the blonde giant, as one would a sweetheart. He was so kindly courteous, so truly a gentleman. He seldom smiled, and his eyes, of deepest violet, held always a woeful expression in their depths, That there was something strange about him, we realized from the first. At times he was the life of the party, and anon plunged into gloom from which nothing could arouse hinj. At such times he would lock himself in his studio, and no word or entreaty from any of us could call him forth till the lit passed. After these long seclusions he would come among us pale and enfeebled, and with an undefinable something about him which impressed us all, but to which none gave expression save the irrepressible Martineau. “Uh!” he said one day with a shiver, “you look as if you had been communing with the dead. ” The handsome race of Valette underwent a change as he replied, in his low, swttt voice: ‘‘Would communing with the dead leave its imprint upon a man’s face? “Unquestionably.” Valette sighed deeply, and turned away. In the course of the next six months there were to be three distinct art exhibitions, and nearly every occupant of the Quarter was engaged upon a picture which he fondly hoped would secure the prize, or at (east be hung. Such a rushing about for models, such a grumbling and fault-finding you never heard of. Valette, however, maintained his usual quiet, and when questioned as to his success in model hunting, ’ cured us that he had secured one in ■ every way satisfactory. Yet my | studio was squarely opposite his, and, watch as closely as I might, 1 neyer caught a glimpse of the Jmodel coming or going. My own picture was a court scene, where a young and lovely wife was pleading fqr the life of her husband, who had been sentenced to death. Everything was completed save the face of the pleader, and I was unable to find any model capable of assum ing the expression I was so desirous of securing. One day while lounging in Valette’s room I incidentally mentioned my difficulty. Lifting the lid of a great desk he handed me a square of canvas. “Will that be of any use?” was all he said. I uttered an involuntary cry of delight. The picture was painted with masterly skill, and represented a woman kneeling, with clasped hands and upturned face, at the foot of a breathcrowned cross. But the woman’s face made one give small head to the details of the picture. Suoh agonized entreaty, such almost hopeless despair in the dark eyes; my own involuntary filled with tears as I gazed. I saw Valette was regarding me closely, as I raised my eyes from the picture and caught the same look of hopeless sadness in his own beautiful eves ere he turned away. “You are welcome to make use of the face,” and he began painting as if nothing had happened. After that we grew to be close friends. Time sped on. One after another of our set finished their pictui ers and sent them in tb the committees. Some were raised to the seventh heaven by a speedy acceptance, while others were plunged into deepest despair by a rejection. I was one of the fortunate, and Valette informed me that all three of his were hung. He had not allowed even me to see them, and I was curiously anxious for the time to come when I could do so. I was early upon opening day, but as I examined picture after picture, I found nothing to especially interest me until I heard little Martineau’s voice exclaim: “Holy Mary! what a subject!” I quickly made my way to his side, and as I saw what he was gazing upon, I mentally echoed his words. _lt was a large picture of superb and gorgeous coloring. The background was a Inxuriant growth of tropical verdure. To the right the shining swells of the sea rolled in upon a beach "of “shimmering white sand., But the figure occupying the foreground subordinated all these. It was the nearly nude form of a superbly beautiful woman struggling in the folds of an immese serpent. One instantly comprehended the futility of the effort she was making but every sinew in one’s body tightened i n sympathy. Both white hands clutched at the monster’s throat, and the loathing horror upon her face told how she fully realized what must be her doom. Two folds of the gleaming body encircled her waist and limbs, ana the terrible head,'with distended jaws and” diamond bright eyes, gradually nearing her face. “Ughl Whatever possesses Valette to paint Such a picture? It is feo horridly realistic,” grumbled Martineau. “See, Webster, the woman’s face and form have already the hue ' of the dead.” It was so, and I shivered as I had in gazing upon a decaying corpse a few days before? I I did not ask my friend how he knew this was Valette’s picture, for there was no mark upon it. As I i gazed, the- conviction grew upon me

that it was, and as I at length tare myself away I re-eahed Martineau’swords, “Whatever possessed Valette to paint such hotrid things?” X returned every day to gaze upon it, and it indeed seemed as if decay had fastened upon the rqunded limbs and beautiful face, so perfectly was the hue of death depicted. I said nothing to Valette upon the subject, > however, but waited with impatience for the opening of the next month’s exhibit. This time it did not need Martineau to point out Valette’s work, though as before there was no mark by which to identify it. A wide stretch of angry, tossing sea, extending on all sides to a dull sodden sky, n® living object visible, but in the foreground the floating forpa of a woman, her dead face, with half closed eyes, gleaming ghastly white through the semi-gloom. Her delie ate, rounded limbs were half visible through the enshrouding waters, and they wore the same terrible hue of death we had shuddered over in the former picture. The coloring of every feature of the scene was so life-like, the outlines so perfect, that one could almost hear the swish of the waves, and catch the undulating motion of the dead. I went away more dissatisfied than ever. Who was Valette’s model? and how had he caught the hue of death which others found so impossible to master? At last the grand exhibition opened and I only paused to give a self-con-gratulatory nod as I saw „what an advantageous light had been given my own picture, in hurrying on to find Valette’s masterpiece. Worse and worse. Ugh! I shudder at the remembrance even at this late date, but among all that immense collection of pictures, there was none before which the crowd so persistently lingered. It was a second sea scene. Under, a glaring tropical sky, where sun gleamed like a ball of fire, floated a raft, upon a sea whose waves were copper hued and scorching. Upon the-raft were three human forms. One, a woman so grandly proportioned, so wondrously beautiful, that you distinctively envied djjath her possession. She clasped a babe lovingly to her bare breast, as if the mother love had sought even in death to prolong the feeble life. The other form was that of a man, as superbly formed and proportioned as that of the woman. Death had claimed them all, as was proved by their glassy eyes and upturned faces, helpless under the burning sun. Here again was the grayish pallor, horridly Suggestive of decay. As I gazed facinated by the very horror of the scene, a messenger put a note in my hand. It was from Valette, urging me to come to him at once, as he was ill. I instantly left the building, nor paused until I stood by his bedside. A Sister of Charity and an old graybeard of a doctor were in attendance. It was Roman fever, and would likely prove fatal was the verdict. Valette bore the sentence bravely, and then requested to be left alone with me. “I shall be delirious in a moment,” he said, grasping my hand eagerly, “so you must talk fast. Behind yon curtain you will find a large box of which this is the key,” pushing one into my hand; “take one look at its contents, and then see it laid in consecrated ground. When I am dead lay me beside it. Keep my secret—promise—promise. ” The last words came gaspingly, and ere I could reply he sank into unconsciousness.

I hastily recalled the attendants, then, with a pitying glance at the doomed num, lilted the curtain behind whibn I had never been, notwithstanding my intimacy with Valette: There was nothing remarkable in sight, save the box of which he had spoken. It was large, and stood upright against the wall, where the afternoon light streamed full upon it. Inserting the key in the lock, I quickly swung open the door. A cry of horror had near escaped me as its contents were thus revealed. Its sides were padded, and lined with white satin and costly lace. In the centre, in a kneeling posture, was the half nud® form of a dead woman. The original of all his horrible pictures I skw at once, for here were the superb limbs and wondrous beauty. Here was the model, about whom we had made so many conjectures.

The embalmer’s work had been skilfully done, but an unmistakable charnel house odor came to my nostrils, and I hastened to close and lock the door, destined never to be re-opened. __ I lost no time in seeing the fearful thing underground, although it was not accomplished without some risk, unlimited lying, and a generous use of gold. I then devoted myself to Valett’s care, and had the satisfaction of seeing him recover. Slowly, it is true, and with many relapses* but one day, six months latter, we sailed away from Rome together. In a long voyage around the world he recovered health and spirits, and the love he gave me fully repaid me for all the sacrifices I had made in order to be with him. ject of his model was mentioned between us, but one day, in the wilds of a Brazilian forest, he fold me a strange story of wrong-doing and sorrow. He had loved the beautiful woman whose form I had laid away, but she was the wife of another. In life he could not possess her,but when death laid his icy hand upon her, he had stolen her body away, and lived in its presence for months, half mad, and wholly heart-broken. He shuddered at the remembrance j oi those fearful months, wondering

■now, in his sanity, how he could evet have been possessed of such morbid madness, and he has never* since looked upon those terrible pictures.

THINGS WORTH KNOWING.

To remove grass stains from children’s clothing, wash it out,“while fresh, with alcohol. Damp salt will remove the discoloration of cups and saucers caused by tea and careless washing. To clean willow furniture use sail and water. Apply with a nail brush and scrub thoroughly. A strong solution of alum,to which has been added a little glycerine and vinegar, is a cure for mosquito bites. To keep nickel silver ornaments and mounts bright, rub them with woolon clothes that have been saturated in spirits of amonio. . Salt as a tooth powder is better than almost anything else that can be bought. It keeps the teeth brilliantly white, the gums hard and rosy. For making a useful and simple ointment for sunburn, nothing has been found to suit most skins bettes than the old fashioned preparation o| rose water and glycerine. Preparations may vary, but it is safest to use three parts of rose water to one of glycerine. To keep apples, select the best fruit, wipe it perfectly dry with a fine cloth; then take a jar of suitable size, the inside of which is thoroughly coated with cement, and having placed a layer of the fruit (pears may be kept in this way also), being careful to not allow of the fruit touching; add another layer of sand’ then fruit and so on until the jar is filled. Ovet the upper layer of fruit spread a thick strata of sand, and press this lightly down with the hahds. In this manner choice fruit may be hept for almost any length of time, if the jar be placed in a situation free from moisture. Another way is to take fine sawdust (preferably that made by a circular saw from well seasoned hardwood) and place a thick layer of this on the bottom of a barrel. Then place a layer of apples, not close together or near the staves of the barrel. Put the sawdust liberally over and around, and proceed until a bushel and a half or less are packed in each barrel. Keep in a cool, dry place. To dye feathers proceed as follows for the different colors: Black—lmmerse for two or three days in a bath at first of hot logwood, eight parts, and copperas or acetate of iron, one part. Blue—ln a vat of indigo. Brown —Use any brown dye suitable for silk or wool Brimson—A mordant of alum, followed by a hot bath of Brazil wood, afterward by a weak dye of cudbear. Pink or rose—With safflower or lemon juice. Plum —With a red dye, followed by an alkaline bath. Red —A mordant of alum, followed by a bath of Brazil wood. Yellow —A mordant of alum, followed by a bath in tumeric of weld. Green—Take of verdigris and verditer, each one ounce; gum water, one pint; mix them well and mix the feathers (they having first been soaked in hot water) with the mixture. Purple—Use lake and indigo. Carnation —Vermilion and smalt. _ Thin gum or starch water should be used in dyeing feathers.

Between Two Force.

A man who got on a Myrtle ave., surface car in Brooklyn at Fulton ferry the other day had gone only two squares when he got up and talea the conductor to stop, says Quad in the New York Evening Id. The oar stopped, but he resumed his seat and the conductor rang the bell to go ahead. In about five minutes the performance was repeated, and then it was seen that the passenger was in that condition known as sprung. When he stood up for the third time the conductor asked: “Is this where you want to get off?” “Yesh.” “All right, then.” “No, I guesh I won’t git off,” said the man as he reseated himself. Two squares further on he stood up and signaled for the fourth time. “See here!” said the conductor as he went forward, “what kind of a game are you playing?” “Noz any game,” thickly replied the man. “Do you want to get off?” “Yesh.” ~‘ - “Well, here you go.” “No. I guesh I won’t git off!” ‘ ‘What’s the matter with you, anyhow?” “Shee here!” whispered the man in confidence and trying to hug the conductor at the same time. “When I think of home I git up an’ stop 'ei car. Then when I think of my wist I waive my hand for car to go on again! You shee? Plain as day. J waive—car go on. Let 'er go!” The conductor carried him to th< city line and left him lying in th< shade. - ; -•

An Arizona Judge,

At a county election in Arizonai well known worthless fellow was put up in fun for election as judge. H» was made gloriously drunk early ii the cay, and his opponent anticipa ted an easy victory, but when th< votes were counted it was found that the drunken candidate had swept tin field. Everyone had been voting foi him for fun, and the fun turned out to the good fortune of the drunkard When ne learned of his election h» got drunker than ever, and stayed s< all the time he was judge.