ngregation in singing

"When I can read my title clear,"

which hymn was the usual voluntary at the opening of service. Then the
old minister said, "Let us continue the worship of God by singing the
hymn on page 554." He "lined" the hymn--that is, he read each couplet
before it was sung. With the coming in of hymn books and other
newfangled things the good old custom of "lining the hymn" has
disappeared. But on that Sunday morning the Marquis d'Entremont thought
he had never heard anything more delightful than these simple melodies
sung thus lustily by earnest voices. The reading of each couplet by the
minister before it was sung seemed to him a sort of recitative. He knew
enough of English to find that the singing was hopeful and triumphant.
Wearied with philosophy and _blase_ with the pomp of the world, he
wished that he had been a villager in New Geneva, and that he might
have had the faith to sing of the

"--land of pure delight
Where saints immortal reign,"

with as much earnestness as his friend Priscilla on the other side of
the aisle. In the prayer that followed D'Entremont noticed that all the
church members knelt, and that the hearty _amens_ were not intoned, but
were as spontaneous as the rest of the service. After reverently
reading a chapter the old minister said: "Please sing without lining,

"'A charge to keep I have,'"

and then the old time of "Kentucky" was sung with animation, after
which came the sermon, of which the marquis understood but few words,
though he understood the pantomime by which the venerable minister
represented the return of the prodigal and the welcome he received.
When he saw the tears in the eyes of the hearers, and heard the
half-repressed "Bless the Lord!" of an old brother or sister, and saw
them glance joyfully at one another's faces as the sermon went on, he
was strangely impressed with the genuineness of the feeling.

But the class meeting that followed, to which he remained, impressed
him still more. The venerable Scotchman who led it had a face that
beamed with sweetness and intelligence. It was fortunate that the
marquis saw so good a specimen. In fact, Priscilla trembled lest Mr.
Boreas, the stern, hard-featured "exhorter," should have been invited
to lead. But as the sweet-faced old leader called upon one and another
to speak, and as many spoke with streaming eyes, D'Entremont quivered
with sympathy. He was not so blind that he could not see