the pale of the kirk-and there is a kind of freemasonry among ministers.

Mr. Macbriar sometimes dined at Inveruven, but not oftener than the laird could decently help; and Mrs. Gordon could seldom be troubled with Mrs. Macbriar's company. I believe it was chiefly on account of this that Miss Tulloch went so much to the manse. That young woman in a quiet, secret kind of way, was always putting herself in opposition to Mrs. Gordon-at least so it seemed to me when I had been long enough in the family to observe things-liking the people she disliked, and expressing opinions contrary to what she held. There was evidently a smouldering heart-burning between them, though it never broke out into actual

flame.

Miss Tulloch's position in the family was for long a puzzle to me. She had no particular charge that I could see, except that she made the tea, and both Mr. and Mrs. Gordon would occasionally send messages by her to the upper servants. She could be no lady's companion, for Mrs. Gordon would not have kept about her a person she so evidently disliked. She never appeared when there was company; and this, in addition to some other slights put upon her, excited my wonder, for she had early taken an opportunity of informing me that she was a near relation of the laird's. But at last Mr. Macbriar gave me some information which made it all plain. She was a full niece of Mr. Gordon's, though the family never openly acknowledged the relationship. Mr. Gordon's only sister had been somewhat spoiled and headstrong; moreover, she showed herself not over-nice for a young lady of family, for she made a runaway match with her father's own ploughmanthere was a home-farm at Inveruven. The man,

no doubt, thought he was making his fortune; but the discovery of his daughter's folly threw the old laird into a perfect frenzy, and he disowned her from that hour, commanding that her name should never be mentioned in his presence. A sum of money, however, was given to them on condition of their leaving the country immediately, and the ill-matched pair went to America, and it was said that the fellow used her miserably ill.

He was

Years afterwards, when the old laird, whose resentment had never abated, was gathered to his fathers, she made her way back to Scotland-a widow, with one lassie bairn. From that time to her death she never ceased persecuting the present laird, her brother, with begging letters. afraid she would come to Inveruven, and he supplied her with money, but he would never see her. She was a thorn in his side for years, being never out of difficulties-her experience of poverty having failed to teach her good management. At her earnest entreaty, when on her deathbed, he was prevailed upon to visit her; and he was then so moved by the change in her appearance-when he had last seen her she was a gay, dashing young lady, and he a schoolboy-that he was induced to promise he would befriend her daughter, Miss Tulloch. She was at that time a young woman of eighteen, and not altogether uneducated, though not capable of earning her bread by teaching or anything of that kind. He did not know how to dispose of her; so his heart being opened at the time, as I have said, he brought her home after the funeral to his young wife.

And there she has been ever since," added Mr. Macbriar, "though it does not need a sharp eye to

see that neither the laird nor Mrs. Gordon have much goodwill to the burden. And indeed it is whispered that her living in the family has been more than once a cause of difference between them. They cannot free themselves of her, however—and between you and me, Mr. Morrison, there's rather a cross grain in the young woman herself. But I must warn you to make no allusion to the relationshipthe family don't like it spoken of; and the least said the soonest mended,' Mr. Morrison, you understand."

This communication put me on my guard, and I was careful to say nothing about Miss Tulloch, especially to the children, that reported to their parents might create suspicions that I had got an inkling of this painful family story. The children did not like her, though she tried to ingratiate herself them, and little Missy would struggle to get down if she took her up on her knee. I had a prejudice against her myself, I must confess, though I was sorry for her after learning her story. But she was certainly sly and designing, much given to tale-bearing, and she had an unhappy knack of fomenting quarrels among the children and servants.

It was as clear as daylight to me that her presence in the house was distasteful to both Mr. and Mrs. Gordon, and that they were displeased with her underhand ways of proclaiming her relationship to them. I dare say no visitor even of a few days left the house without learning in some way from Miss Tulloch how nearly connected she was to the laird. If she did not see the ladies, she could see their maids. I do not understand what was her object in this, for such conduct seemed against her own interests; I can only attribute it to an unusually vain disposition and to great imprudence of character.

I learned this from Mrs. Anderson, who did not know how to act in the matter, being afraid of injuring Miss Tulloch by mentioning it to Mrs. Gordon, and yet wishing to put a stop to the gossip in the servants' hall: she thought I might be able to advise her. I could only recommend her to hint a caution to the young lady herself, which coming from an old family servant in Mrs. Anderson's position, I felt could scarcely be resented-for I was most unwilling to be mixed up with the tittle-tattle of the household. I wondered that the laird did not board his niece somewhere at a distance from his family; but of course he had his reasons for not doing so. It would have cost him money for one thing, and great folks as well as their inferiors have often not much of it to spare.

Some people, among whom was the minister, considered her well favoured. She had indeed a bouncing, buxom figure, and a florid complexion; but I could see no beauty in her. I often contrasted her in my mind with Jeanie Carruthers, for though Jeanie's face was not one to arrest the eye, its gentleness and composure and modesty made it beautiful to me. Miss Tulloch, I jealouse, took after her mother in her looks-maybe in her disposition also, for she was fond of romping and men's company. She even threw herself in my way when she could, and at last almost drove me from visiting the manse by waylaying me there. I had once to convoy her home from it. We met Mrs. Gordon unexpectedly in the plantation, and she looked so strangely at us as we came cleeking on-the young woman had taken my arm on pretext of weariness, though she looked at all times like one who could do a hard day's work—

that I was sure something was in her thoughts, and I was vexed at it. And doubtless she told the laird what she had seen-indeed, I had afterwards good reason to know that she did.

I eschewed Miss Tulloch as much as I could with manners after this; but it was not easy to do, for she was a forward young person, thinking of herself always as the laird's niece, never as John Tulloch the ploughman's daughter, and she was very slow at the uptake. If I had not been conscious that there was nothing about me to please a woman's eye, I might really have fancied that she had a notion of me. To be sure I was almost the only unmarried man in the position of a gentleman that came in her way. Postage was so dear in those days that my mother and I could not interchange letters as often as we wished. I sometimes got a letter from Mr. Meggat, whose friendship was not diminished by time or distance, and also from dear old Adam; but Archie's were always to his mother, who gave me the gist of them in hers-reserving the letters for my homecoming.

I wearied for the holidays to arrive. The family invariably spent the Christmas season with Mrs. Gordon's relations in England; and at that time I was to have the play.

MUSICAL DISCORDS.

MUSIC professes to teach how to resolve all dis

cords except, unfortunately, those which will occasionally spring up between the zealous upholders of rival systems of musical instruction. Those who take an interest in the popular cultivation of music are aware that for some time a fierce controversy has raged regarding the comparative merits of the fixed or the movable DO; the question has even been introduced into parliament, and cabinet ministers have risen in their place to expound to the House their views on sol-fa. The question may be considered, therefore, as one of general interest, and without entering too minutely into technical details, we shall endeavour to present the reader with a brief view of the controversy which has been convulsing the musical

world.

There are, as beginners know from experience, mainly two difficulties to be encountered in the study of vocal music-the knowledge of musical pitch and the knowledge of the relationship of notes to the key. These will be made clear by an illustration.

At a Sunday-school or prayer-meeting some one undertakes to raise the hymn-tune. All goes on tolerably well for the first line, but in the second line, where some high note occurs, it is found that the tune has been begun so high that the note is quite beyond the reach of the voice; or, vice versa, the tune has been begun so low that, after a few bars have been groaned out, every one stops, and the singer, sadly disconcerted, has to begin again. Now this misadventure arose from ignorance of pitch; with a better knowledge of pitch the unfortunate cone

fusion of a failure.

Or, again, take this illustration: a singer is presented with a piece of vocal music written in a key with three sharps or four flats, and, after a few attempts to sing it, breaks down and abandons the effort; yet when the same tune is presented in the key of C, without any sharps or flats, the singer gets through

it without difficulty. Now here the cause of failure was want of appreciation of what may be called "key-relationship;" for the intervals in the key of four flats were precisely the same as in the natural key without any flats, only the singer, perplexed by the apparent complication of the flats, failed to perceive this.

Now these are the two main difficulties that have to be overcome by those who are learning to sing; and the efforts of musicians have, in every age, been directed to the discovery of the best system for teaching singers to appreciate the pitch of notes and their relationship to the key-note. It is precisely on their merits in this respect that the rival systems found their claims to public recognition. Mr. Hullah employs in his system what is called the fixed DO, that is to say, he calls the note on the fourth space of the treble staff Do, whatever may be the key of the piece of music in which it occurs. If the music be written in the natural key without any sharps or flats, then this Do is the key-note; if the music be in the key of one sharp, then Do is the fourth of the scale; if in the key of one flat, it is the fifth of the scale, and so on; but on Hullah's system it is always called Do, and it is sung always to one pitch. Thus beginners learn to associate the note with one definite sound, and though it is not very general to find persons with such a nice musical ear that they can with perfect exactness retain this pitch in their memory and sing it when required, yet most persons taught on this system should be able to hit the pitch within very narrow limits, and thus avoid the danger of starting a tune utterly out of its true pitch.

So far Mr. Hullah has succeeded in overcoming the first difficulty; how does he cope with the second, much the more important of the two? He takes his classes most carefully through all the intervals of the natural scale; they are practised in singing thirds, fourths, fifths, etc., beating time, singing in two and three parts; and, so long as the music remains in the natural key, everything goes on well, and the singers make very satisfactory progress. But music cannot always remain in one key; sharps and flats come to be introduced; the teacher explains carefully why they are introduced, and practises the pupils in the new scales. He encourages them with the assurance that there is no difficulty, but the pupils manifest unmistakable signs of timidity; the classes gradually thin; the volume of sound diminishes in proportion as the sharps and flats multiply; the enthusiasm dies away, and scholars give up the hope of becoming musicians. So far as the writer's experience goes, this has been the history of classes taught on the fixed DO system: the brilliant prospect of progress with which they began is not realised; those who persevere and succeed are comparatively few; and the failure arises from its want of power to teach the ready appreciation of key-relationship.

suggesting

The advocates of the Tonic Sol-fa system adopt a very different process. They protest that the musical staff itself is a delusion and a snare: It consists of five lines drawn at equal therefore to the scholar that the distances between them in music are also equal. This, however, is a mistake; the interval between 1 and 2 seems the same as between 2 and 3; but when sung, the interval in the one case is a tone and a half, in the other two tones. In commencing, therefore, they discard the staff and teach from what they call the Modulator.

DO

TE

LA

SOL FA

MI

RE

of which the sents a part. On this the intervals in the scale are pictorially represented in their proper proportions; and in singing these intervals, the pupil is taught to observe the mental effect of each of them; that from Do to LA, for DO example, is plaintive; from Do to TE, piercing; from Do to SOL, bold; and so on. Thus the intervals come to be sung with more confidence and certainty than on the other system, the ear being assisted, as it were, by the intellect. In printing their music, also, they discard the usual staff, and indicate the notes by their initial letters; time, rests, etc., being also expressed in a peculiar manner, the great object being to make music visible, so to speak, as well as audible. Proceeding still further in their attempt to simplify the learning of music, they eliminate the difficulty of keyrelationship altogether, so far as the scholars are concerned, by translating the music in all cases into the key of DO. Thus they teach but one scale; and though they cannot get rid altogether of sharps and flats in the shape of accidentals and modulating notes, which they represent with great ingenuity to the eye on their modulator, yet they claim to have removed from the path of the learner that perplexity which the sight of music in a key with several sharps or flats is generally found to occasion. To the Sol-faist all keys are equally easy, because, in fact, he knows no key but one, the music from which he sings being always printed for him in the natural key. Thus they say they have got rid of the difficulty which arises from failure to appreciate keyrelationship; the other difficulty, that of pitch, they ignore as of no importance; pitch, they say, can always be obtained from a tuning-fork, or a pitchpipe, or a violin, or from any instrument, except perhaps a piano, for which they generally express an extraordinary and unreasonable contempt.

Of the great practical success of this system there can be no doubt, but when it is carefully considered the success loses most of its value. The truth is, that in the very point in which it professes to be strongest, it has not overcome the difficulty, but only evaded it. In fact, the Sol-fa system is like the system of interlinear translation, with which students at universities are not unfamiliar, in which Sophocles or Eschylus is printed in the original Greek with the

corresponding English in smaller type below, by the help of which the student is able to secure the approbation of his tutor for his fluent translation of some difficult passage, when, in truth, he was not reading the original at all, but only the English version of it. In exactly the same manner the Solfa student evades the difficulty of key-relationship; he seems to be singing a difficult passage, when in reality he is only singing the translation of it prepared for his convenience by his teacher. The teacher, indeed, is supposed to be taught to grapple with and overcome the difficulty, but the learners are simply helped over it; and without in the least wishing to disparage the zeal and energy of Mr. Curwen and the other Sol-faists, we doubt whether the number that really learn to sing, in any true sense of the word, on this system is greater than that of those who learn on that system of Mr. Hullah which they so persistently denounce.

There is, however, a system which does fairly attempt to grapple with the difficulty. It is a com

On Mr. Hullah's system this will be sol-faed, SOL, SI, MI, MI, but the children who attempt to sing it will be perplexed by the intervals, which are not the same as. they are accustomed to sing between those notes. On the Sol-fa system the passage would be written thus: M: SD: D; and it would thus be at once apparent that it was part of the common chord that was required to be sung without the children being. in any way taught key-relationship in any other than the natural key. The advocates of the third system compel the singers themselves to translate the passage; to perceive that in the key of three flats, SOL occupies the same relation to the key-note that. MI does in the key of Do, and therefore to call it MI; and in the same way by their own appreciation of key-relationship to translate any music into that natural key with which they are familiar. This we believe to be the only true and sound method of learning music. Progress may not be made so rapidly as in the Sol-fa system, but the progress is real, not merely flimsy, and those who do make progress are independent musicians, and not mere helpless children led in the go-cart of Sol-fa. are happy to know that everywhere this system is finding favour, and if England is to become famous, as some continental countries are, for the universal cultivation of vocal music in its schools, the first and most important step towards such a desirable result must be the adoption of the only sound method of musical instruction-that which has not as yet even a name among us, and which we are obliged to describe therefore as "the movable Do system with the old notation."

We

R. D.

RICE: THE FOOD-CORN OF THE EAST.

Fond of the human race has been rice. In India FRO two-thirds of the inhabitants are so dependent on their rice-crops, that with the failure of these, suffering is inevitable. At a time when all the energies. and intellect of rulers are stirred to meet a famine involving the lives of not hundreds, but millions of people, we begin to comprehend the importance of the rice-crop. For the second time in ten years famine afflicts the people of India; where, indeed, famines have been so frequent as to be almost periodical.

ROM time immemorial the principal diet of onethird

Owing to the failure of the rice-crops in 1865 one million and a half of the people perished from hunger. In 1868-9 a similar fate was barely averted; and in 1770, so terrible was a famine that 10,000,000 are said to have perished. From Mohammedan writers we learn that before British rule in India these rice-famines were by no means infrequent. In a land where plenty and fertility are proverbial, how, we are led to ask, can such contin

gencies arise? This is, however, a question for political economists: to the general reader a glance at the history and culture of rice, its annual consumption, and the present condition of the poorer Hindoos, will be more interesting.

Though cultivated in most of the tropical and many of the temperate countries of the globe, we seldom hear of rice-famines except in India, and there most frequently in the north-eastern provinces. And for two reasons. Nowhere else do the inhabitants subsist so entirely on rice, and nowhere else do they depend so much upon the rains for a successful crop. The Chinese bestow immense care upon its culture. In Ceylon, also, in its palmiest days an elaborate system of artificial irrigation was adopted.

In America, whence we have had our best rice, and where there is no lack of rain, the growers never trust to the clouds alone. Rice possesses the merit of growing where other grains will not, but then it requires much care.

As Carolina rice stands first in marketable value, the rice-lands of America shall be first described. The principal ones lie along the banks of the rivers of Georgia and South Carolina, just above reach of the salt or brackish waters, but below the risk of unseasonable floods. In the rich alluvial swamps of that district the grain has its two essential conditions, warmth and moisture. The fields are protected by embankments from dykes by which water is let in through flood-gates. The seed is sown in rows, not thrown in, but carefully planted in the bottom of trenches, which are about a foot and a half apart. Immediately after depositing the seed the water is let in, and the field remains flooded for several days, while the grain swells and begins to germinate. In a few weeks the delicate green leaves are three or four inches high, when the fields are again flooded, and allowed to remain under water between two and three weeks. This is in April, when nature is making her most vigorous strides, and the second flooding kills the less aquatic vegetation which has sprung up in abundance in the trenches. After the spring flooding has subsided, the crop is carefully watched and weeded for several months. In July the fields are flooded for the third time, and remain under water till the grain is matured. The rice-harvest in America is in August and September; in India and China there are two crops in the year.

South Carolina has always been the chief ricegrowing State of America. Georgia ranks next, then North Carolina and Louisiana. The delta of the Mississippi is admirably calculated for this grain, and it is now grown successfully in all the warmer States of the Union. In 1840 the United States produced 80,841,422 pounds of rice. In the year ending in June, 1850, the quantity raised was 215,313,497 pounds, of which nearly 160,000,000 pounds were the produce of South Carolina, or more than all the other States together. In the year ending in June, 1860, out of 187,140,173 pounds South Carolina produced only 119,100,528 pounds, a decline which proved that the embarrassments of the country were already beginning to be felt. By the census returns of 1870 we find that the quantity of rice grown in the United States had fallen to 73,635,021 lbs., of which South Carolina produced only 34,277,380 lbs. Before the war the production of rice in America was steadily increasing. During the first two years of the war miles of the rice-lands near the coast were abandoned, and have long since

been overgrown. In the district between Charleston and Georgetown alone, of the 30,000 acres of ricefields formerly under cultivation only 14,401 were planted in 1866, and of these upwards of 1,000 acres have since been abandoned.

In 1866 the distress of the South was aggravated by a general failure of all the crops through drought. Had the poorer classes depended wholly on rice, as do such vast numbers of Hindoos, the suffering and privations must have been far more severe. Indian corn, as a bread-food, is more relied on by the negroes than rice, which, indeed, has always been produced in America more for exportation than for home consumption.

For want of labour and capital other rice-lands have recently been abandoned; and the impoverished condition of South Carolina is seen in the fact that last year 268,528 acres of land were forfeited to the Government in consequence of the inability of the owners to pay their taxes. This, however, does not refer to rice-lands alone. An increased levy this year will increase the amount of forfeited lands, which will by degrees be settled by a new population. Not for many years can South Carolina recover the effects of the desolating war.

A good crop of rice in America averaged from forty to sixty bushels an acre, and has been known to amount to even eighty or ninety bushels. Owing to inefficient culture the South Carolina rice has lately produced only twenty-two to thirty bushels per acre. The demand now exceeds the supply, prices have doubled, and exportations are comparatively small; lately, indeed, they have been nothing to speak of.

Of the rice consumed in England at the present time only five per cent. is Carolina; and a glance at the trade reports will show that while the Oriental rices are imported at from 10s. to 20s. per cwt., Carolina sells at from 30s. to 40s.

The consumption of rice in England has greatly increased since the tax upon it was reduced in 1842, and still more since 1860, when the tax was abolished altogether. But proportionately as we have had less from America of late years, we have imported more from the East. It is estimated that an average of 5,000,000 tons are annually raised in Bengal alonemore, as will be seen, than at any time in America; but then it is chiefly for home consumption. Exports of rice from India are immense notwithstanding, averaging in value above two millions of pounds annually. For instance, in 1857 £2,301,182, and in 1861 £2,962,497. The largest export from Calcutta in ten years was in 1864, during the American war, namely, 550,000 tons, when, no doubt, Carolina rice fell short. The smallest export in the same ten years was in 1866, when, as now, the crops had failed in the Bengal provinces, and the people were dying of famine.

On a subject of so much interest at the present moment figures will be pardoned, and to enable the reader to appreciate the vast difficulties of contending against a famine, and turning trade from its usual channels, we must quote still further from commercial sources. Merchants in India have to meet their engagements to supply England with upwards of 1,000,000 tons of rice annually. In 1858, 260,000 tons of "cleaned," and 33,601 tons of "paddy," or unhusked rice, were imported from the East; and in 1867, 2,778,754 tons of cleaned, besides unhusked rice, were brought to our shores, the greater part of which was from India and the adjacent islands.