the professional singers in the Roman
Catholic chapels, but direct the voices of all that may feel the animating
force of the 89th Psalm--

Lord God of hosts thy wond'rous ways,
_Are sung by saints above!_
And saints on earth their honours raise
To thy unchanging love!

The only instance I have met with in any of the London churches or chapels
of the Church of England (there may be others) is at the St. James's
Chapel, near Mornington Place, on the road to Hampstead. I attended at
that place of worship lately, and was delighted with the whole of the
services, wishing only that greater numbers of the congregation had joined
in the singing, which was conducted precisely on the principle of four
being appointed to lead the congregation: the four voices were excellent,
and naturally and easily led many to join, and I cannot doubt, but that
this superior arrangement, whoever was the author, will tend to make the
singing in that chapel an example to many others.

I lament that I am obliged to leave town, and may not be here again for
several months, but when I do, I shall humbly offer my services to the
clergyman of the chapel, for the improvement of so judicious a plan, and
extending it to other chapels of the same parish.

I should offer some apology for not having noticed the discourses, though
my remarks originate and have been chiefly confined to the psalmody. I
will not, however, let this opportunity pass of saying the sermons, both
morning and evening, were excellent, the attention of every part of the
congregation was great; throughout all the services there was, while the
minister was speaking, and the people not required to join, a most
interesting but attentive silence, and in the evening I retired with a
sympathetic feeling which I cannot describe.

In my next (should this receive your attention) I shall send you a few
remarks on the psalmody of the new churches of Marylebone and Trinity.

CHRISTIANUS,
_A Cathedral Chorister_.

* * * * *

THE LAY FROM HOME.

(_For the Mirror_.)

Its music beareth o'er my widow'd heart
A tale of vanish'd innocence and love,
And bliss that screw'd around the ark of life
Sweet flow'rs of summer hue. It hath the tone,
The very tone which wrapt my spirit up,
In silent dreams mid visions. Oft, at eve,
I heard it wandering thro' the silver air,
As if some sylph had witch'd the stringed shell
Of woods and lo