Nero-where the heat is so intense that its long, dark passage, is said to have been eggs are readily cooked in the boiling excavated by order of Agrippa, designed stream-temples of Venus, Minerva, Nep- as a connexion with the other side of the tune, and other heathen Deities, were all mountain, and possibly to be used as a visited during the day. In the temple of place of concealment in case of necessity. Minerva, we stood beneath the dome near- The subterranean lake or pool, must be ly at the top of the building, the remain- forded on the back of a guide, through a der of it being still buried in the earth. low passage opening into the room beyond, Here we were entertained by a couple of which is thought to be the Sybil's abode, dancing girls, the music of their tambour- by those who cling to the marvellous leines reverberating strangely through the gends of the past. This room is of concircular space! The earth sounded hol- siderable size, and was probably used for low under our tread, and a faint whisper, a bathing-place, the water here being of uttered with ones lips against the wall, just the right temperature for this purpose. could be distinctly heard at the opposite Traces of mosaic are here visible. But, extreme. The effect of this imparting a upon the whole, it was to us a doleful strange, wiered air to the place, an effect place-we mean the long, dark passage, increased by the gipsey-like figures of the which was as far as we went into this to us barefooted dancers, the echo of whose terrible "Subterain :" trusting to our comquick, pattering steps, sounded strangely panions for a description of the far interialong the vaulted space. In the vicinity or, and glad enough to escape (deadly of Baia (which was formerly much in re- sick as we were) into the open daylight— pute among the ancient Romans, for the into God's free air again! medicinal virtues of its many springs,) splendid palaces arose, and gradually all that love of luxury and splendor derived from the Greeks-that refined effeminacy, so surely tending to corruption and decay -triumphed over the sturdy Roman virtues. The convulsions of nature, as terrific in this region, at length suddenly completed the work of destruction, which those more insiduous foes of human good (excessive self-indulgence and idleness,) had begun, and the once beautiful scene was changed into desolation!

Cuma is said to be of very remote antiquity, dating back as far as 1030 B. C., when it was founded by a colony of Greeks. Lakes Lucerne and Avernus, the latter once the bed of a volcano, were made to communicate by means of a canal dug by Agrippa. From near this point a road for merly led on to Rome by the way of Appii Forum, and this was the route taken by Paul in his journey from Puteoli to that city.

But a short distance from these lakes (now much dwindled in size,) is the cave of the "Cumaan Sybil," that personage, of whom many mythological ideas are entertained, which will hardly bear the test of candid investigation. The cave, with

Returning to Pozzuoli, after these interesting yet fatiguing explorations, we were too weary to examine the ancient remains of this city, among which the Amphithea tre stood conspicuous for its size, and which-capable of seating 30,000 spectators-occupied the centre of the ancient city. This, too, like the colosseum at Rome, was stained with the blood of Christian martyrs, and must ever, by this baptism, be a sacred spot to the follower of Christ. Pozzuoli contains 9000 inhabitants, and was formerly adorned with splendid palaces, the abodes of illustrious Romans.

Before reaching home that evening, we were treated to one of those gorgeous Ital ian sunsets, which we had never been privileged to see until this time-one of those sunsettings such as poets have sung, and painters have vainly endeavored to transfer to their canvas-vainly, because such tints are unapproachable by the highest exercise of human art, belonging as they do to the realm of the etherial, the divine! That glorious revelation from the Western heavens, threw a halo around the whole day, making it bright with almost celestial radiance !

Lilfred's Rest.

M. C. G.

real tune that is developed, not manufactured, expresses some vital sentiment, shares a unity of life, a virtual identity, as much as the poem one writes or the speech one makes. It is the utterance of the inner man. It tells out in tones the state of the heart. And this is the kind of music that lives and amounts to something. A tune thus produced is a distinct thing and takes hold of the human heart and awakens a response. Whereas music composed as too much of our modern music is as a trade and for profit, from the intellect and not from the heart, has no identity-really expresses nothing-and will go the broad way of oblivion, and mingle with that huge mass of indifferent material which the world does not need and can well spare. We contend that a real tune, which shall be a force in the world, cannot be deliberately manufactured, any more than a real poem or prayer can; on the contrary, it must be produced out of some strong emotion. We shall thus get tunes that have a meaning-that answer a demand—that will be timely for given occasions; while, otherwise, we shall only have such as will be equally appropriate for all occasions, and, therefore, fit for none. Unmeaning music, like any un-sitions of her period of ripest culture, when, meaning speech, is a real offence to an earnest humanity, and ought to be speedily annihilated. A man who attempts to talk, ought to have something to say-a conviction to state, an emotion to express, for, if he have not, all the Grammar and Rhetoric in the world cannot help him to an effective discourse. And precisely so a man who attempts to create a tune, ought to have something to put into it that shall give it life and identity-ought to make it a musical utterance of some sentiment, either cheerful, devout, patriotic, or of some other type. Then our tunes, while distinct one from another as our deeper experiences, will stir us whenever we hear them.

the other hand, have been plaintive and subdued, disclosing the saddened heart of that oppressed people. The airs of Scotland have been touched with melancholy, ir like manner. The persecuted covenanters could not sing in joyous notes, any more than the old Hebrews in captivity could sing the Lord's song or play their jubilant harps; while the superstitious peasantry of the Highlands, accustomed to the chilling presence of sombre and shadowy ravines, the moaning notes of the wind sighing through the gorges or hoarsewinding around the heights, the depressing aspect of threatening storm-clouds wildly gathering upon the mountains, the haunting traditions of ghostly incidents, could not indulge in light and sprightly music. Their humor was for something serious, rather; they wanted solemn notes to speak the mood of their hearts and chime in with their grave pitch of life. Germany has given a wonderful variety of music for she has experienced a wonderful variety of vicissitude. We have from her the chivalric ballad-music of the medieval period; the stately and devout chorals of Luther's day, when life was an earnest and serious business; and the classic compo

with her masters in science and philosophy, there were her masters in music-Mozart, Handel and Haydn, Beethoven and Mendelshon, whose sublime combinations of sounds, regulated by the ripest skill and the maturest taste, have been the joy of the musically trained and the torment of the musically untrained. France has not furnished the world much music of any type-certainly not much of a permanent order. Who sings or plays a French tune? I know not but that gay nation may have courted the Muses with deep desire for their presence and inspiration; but they seem not to have assembled within her borders. French emotions are too superficial and volatile for either poetry or music. The profound deeps of human nature have been too little stirred there to render them a nation given to heart-eloquence. For once, however, they lived from the heart, and there came of it that unequalled National Anthem-the Marsaillese-the very chorus of patriotism, the

normal utterance of a burning love of the market, with a view to profit, and not country, that touches a Frenchman's ear produced as Paul preached the Gospel, but to stir his very soul and draw tears because it was in him and would out. from his eyes. England, also, has fur-Hundreds of tunes might be selected, that nished but little music, not because the mean nothing, and are as like such other emotions there have been like those in as so many inhabitants of China. But France-light and volatile, but, contra- there are those of a superior type, that wise, dull and slow. The life of England meet every want of the Christian soul. is matter-of-fact. The philosophy of Eng- Are we sorrowful? Are we cheerful and land is utilitarian. An Englishman, who hopeful? Are we lifted into the higher truly represents his countrymen, thinks realms of awe and adoration? Are we chiefly of good living and feels his strong- actuated by moral heroism? There are est devotion in the direction of stocks and sacred airs that answer our demand—that per-cents. And music does not flower speak to us in voices eminently adapted to from that soil. America has little music our feelings worthy to live. Of our national airs, the Star Spangled Banner is sophomoric and ambitious, and Yankee Doodle is a mere trick, a dry joke, half our own and half played upon us, good for holiday noise, but worthless for solemn national worship. Of highly classical music, whether like that of Germany, which we hear in the oratorios, or that of Italy, which we hear in the operas, America has furnished next to none. None of the more perfect types of this fine art have, 'as yet, grown on our national soil, for the reason, partly, not wholly, I think, that time and interest have been absorbed in other provinces. Our accomplishment, in this matter, has been mainly of church music. We have produced some unsurpassed tunes for purposes of worship. Our Puritan faith and life, our baptism as a people who believed devoutly in God and would becomingly adore Him, has given us the appropriate music. Billings, Reed, Mason, Webb, Baker, and others, inspired and moved by vital pity, have won us much credit; credit, not only at home, but abroad, for travellers tell us it is no uncommon thing to hear from the choirs of other countries the tunes of these American composers. To have produced a devout music, thus, is a matter to be justly proud of, for it shows that worldliness and pleasure have not "quenched the spirit" of divine life within us that, whatever else we have been wont to pursue, we have not forgotten the "Lord's Song."

Of course, not all of our church music will bear the true test. Much of it has been manufactured, as wares are made for

Music is the twin art to poetry. They disclose many parallels. They are gener ically alike in that they are the language of the heart. If the mathematician could say of Poetry, "It proves nothing," so could he of Music, and so could he of Painting, and all the utterances of the sentiments. Music and Poetry are alike characterized by rythm or measure, by regular succession of accent, and by accordance of sound. It is because they are thus twin arts that they have been so intimately united in all time. Music and the old Hebrew poetry were combined with grand effect; and so are music and Christian poetry. When well mated, when adapted to each other, when both mean the same thing, music and hymn coalescing, the power is doubled. It is then like a twice charged battery. Hearttones and heart-terms accompanying each other, the effect is wonderful. The Marsailles hymn and tune must go together to tell with the most truly electric effect, to arouse and agitate the breast from its lowest depths, and sweep it into a wild storm of patriotic emotion. The two united have ever an advantage.

And wherever music and poetry are happy counterparts, they should be wedded in indissoluble uniona union, we had almost said, sealed by law, like that between husband and wife.

But music, closely allied with the office of religion, is still adapted to all provinces where the heart is called into action. It accords with the varying moods of the fireside; harmonizes with social intercourse and festive occasions; cheers the farmer as he drives a field, the sailor as he pulls