of the tunes admit of being written, and I have copied a few
of the more rythmical, as they sang them. The principal objection to
them is that they are rather too short to bear repetition for half an
hour as is the custom, there is another music going on--a music that
cannot be written and will be difficult to describe--I mean the song of
the "Cicada Stridulantia" in walnut trees above me. This insect--the
balm cricket--is in appearance a burlesque, just such a house fly as you
might imagine would be introduced in a pantomime; and its cry is as
loud and incessant as it is peculiar. To describe it, fancy to begin
with a number of strange chirps, and that every few seconds, one of
those cogged wheels and spring toys that you buy at fairs to delude
people into the belief that their coats are being torn--is passed
rapidly down the back, with occasionally momentary interruption in the
middle of its course, while between each scratch you hear a mew of a
distant cat--another cat purring loudly all the time, and any number of
grasshoppers chirping to conclude with a running down of the most
impetuous and noisy alarum, and then silence--a silence almost painful
by contrast--until it begins again. Such is the song of the Cicada in
the Himalayan forests. I wonder every Sunday if they miss me at
Peshawur; for I was organist to the church before I left, and I doubt if
there is anybody to take my place. I wish I had the instrument here now
to peal forth to the hills and the wondering Kashmirians Handel's
sublime "Hallelujah Chorus" or "The Marvellous Works" of Haydn. What can
be more inspiring than the grand old church music we possess, bequeathed
to us by composers of immortal memory. Though much opposed to the
present Ritualistic tendencies I do delight in a musical service. It
seems to elevate the mind and give a greater depth to our devotion. Go
into any of our cathedrals and hear the solemn tones of the Liturgy
echoing through the vaulted roof, and your heart must needs join in the
supplication, "And when the glorious burst of music calls to praise and
rejoicing, will not your own soul fly heavenward with the sound and find
unaccustomed fervency in its thanksgivings." There is perhaps one thing
necessary, and that is, that you should know the music you hear,
otherwise the first admiration of its beauty may eclipse all other
considerations. But if you have studied it, if it is as familiar to you
as it ought to be, and is intimately