always ready for the occasion, as distinctly stated in the Talmud (chap. vii. on perpetual offerings):-"Now, when the singers and instrumentalists had finished their strain, and whilst they were taking breath, the trumpets were sounded in answer to them, the people all the while bowing their heads. To this end, two priests standing by the basin of fat, upon the steps of the altar, were always ready, with two silver trumpets, to fill the ears and hearts of the worshipping multitude with delight." Such interludes, or final symphonies, when they were to be performed by the whole orchestra, and not the two priests alone, are frequently indicated by the word "Selah," which, according to the most learned interpreters, is derived from salel, i. e., "to raise," "to lift up;" being a call upon the instrumentalists to bring the performance to a climax, by a powerful and energetic ritornell or symphony. "We have ended our song-selah! and now let the mighty sound of trumpets and cymbals lift up the soul of the pious worshipper to heavenly joy." Thus, as Dr. Schubart observes, a modern poet would probably express what the sacred composer indicated by the word Selah.

With this last explanation we bid our reader good-bye, hoping that we shall have succeeded not only in giving him a tolerably correct idea of the manner in which the appointed musicians to Jehovah performed the " songs of Zion," but also in throwing a new and, in many respects, interesting light upon a number of expressions and phrases which, though forming an integral part of Divine revelation, and therefore intended to be studied, are too frequently dismissed with a careless guess at their meaning, or, because they present some difficulty, supposed to be of no importance, or even declared to be spurious additions. As regards the effect which the performance of the inspired strains of David and other holy singers must have produced, the reader will have observed that many of the resources which a modern composer has at his command, were inaccessible to the chief musicians of the Levites. Such a variety of melodious phrasing, such diversity of rhythmical grouping, such fine gradations of light and shade, of piano and forte, legato and staccato, and, above all, such wonderful harmonic effects as our orchestras are able to produce,

were beyond the capability of the Levitical chorus and band. But this deficiency was, to a great extent, compensated for by the extraordinary massiveness of the performance, especially on grand occasions. Everything connected with the Hebrew worship was calculated for grandeur of effect, and so was the music of the Levites also. In the vast spaces of the temple the voices of a thousand singers mingled with the sounds of numberless harps, lutes, and wind instruments, must have told with an effect of which we have no conception, and of which we can only form a faint idea from the deThis scription of the Bible itself. description, surpassing everything that has ever been said or written about a musical performance, will be accepted as an appropriate conclusion to our article:

"And the Levites (which were the singers), all of them of Asaph, of Heman, of Jeduthun, with their sons and their brethren, being arrayed in white linen, having cymbals, and psalteries, and harps, stood at the cast of the altar, and with them an hundred and twenty priests sounding with trumpets. And it came to pass as the trumpets and singers were as one to make one sound to be heard in praising and thanking the Lord; and when they lifted up their voice with the trumpets and cymbals and instruments of music, and praised the Lord, saying: For he is good, and his mercy endureth for ever, that then the house was filled with a cloud, even the house of the Lord, so that the priests could not stand to minister by reason of the cloud, FOR THE GLORY OF THE LORD HAD FILLED THE HOUSE."

A. H. W.

CHIEF AUTHORITIES ON HEBREW MUSIC.

Burney's, Hawkin's, Nathan's, Forkel's, and Fetis's Universal Histories of Music.

Marpurg-Kritische Einleitung in die Geschichte der Musik.

Schubart.-Ideen über die Tonkunst. G. Fink. Die erste Wanderung der ältesten Tonkurst.

Martini. Storia della Musica. T. S. Fetis. Curiosités Historiques de la Musique.

Mattheson.-Der Musicalische Pa

triot.

Herder.-Geist der Hebr. Poesie. Saalschütz.-Form der Hebr. Poesie

Musik.

P. Schneider. Bibl. Geschichte Darstellung der Hebr. Music.

B. Ugolino.-Thesaurus Antiquitatum Sacrorum, &c. (vol. xxxii.) Salomon van Till.-Dicht, Sing, und Spielkunst der Alten.

Kircher.-Musurgia Universalis. Gerbert.-De cantu et Musica Sacra; Scriptores Ecclesiastici de Musica Sacra Potissima; Monumenta veteris Liturgiae.

COURTEOUS READER, you who kindly partook of the "Basket of Fruit that we gathered for you last autumn, and who since accompanied us through the desolate fields and wintry garden to seek for a bouquet of the "Flowers of February," will you receive the offering we now present to you, though it be not of sweet fruits nor lovely flowers.

It is now the season for vegetables in their profusion and their perfection: now, therefore, we would fain invite you to a simple dinner of herbs and roots, such as are caused to grow for the service of man. Cooling, pleasant herbs, they temper the luxury of our savoury meats; their culture affords a healthful, cheerful, and useful occupation, out in the open air of heaven, amid the songs of free birds, and the odours of fresh blossoms; and they remind us of the improvement of man, when, advancing beyond the mere hunter or herdsman, dependant on wild chance-found plants to season his animal food, he began to lay out gardens, and to learn somewhat of horticulture and botany.

A great monarch (Charlemagne) was so sensible of the advantage of gardening to the minds and bodies of his subjects, that he thought it not unworthy of his imperial dignity to issue decrees for the planting of gardens, and even to prescribe by name the herbs that should be set therein, and among which

we read of sage, rosemary, rue, wormwood, and fennel.

If then, reader, you will not despise our invitation to this vegetarian fare, we shall endeavour to diminish, as much as possible, the insipidity of our herbs and roots, by bringing forward whatever we can remember of classic or historic associations belonging to them. "What!" you will say, "ugly, coarse roots-unsentimental, common kitchen herbs have they any such associations?" Yes; they are not quite destitute of interest beyond that of the cuisine. In their garden-plot they have their robe of green leaves, and their coronet of blossom; and in history and legend they are not devoid of reminiscences, though, we grant, not rivalling in variety, abundance, or romance those of fruits and flowers, so much more the favourites of the painter and the poet. The wise king has commended a dinner of herbs, seasoned with good-will, above a more substantial feast with enmity hovering round the board. So with an entire goodwill, we shall tax our memory to furnish you with some amusement in anecdotes, and some scraps of intervening song.

For the sake of the estimation in which it was held of old, we shall first set before you the CABBAGE, which, though now exiled in great measure to the tables of rustics, was highly regarded by the ancients. Pliny has ex

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tolled its wholesome qualities; Chrysippus, a Greek physician of Gnidos,* wrote a large book in its praise; Nicander, another Greek physician, called it divine (a). In Rome it was considered a specific against the plague; and Cato the censor (not he who died at Utica), during a pestilence fed his household upon it as a preservative from infection. The Greeks, Romans, and Egyptians began their repasts with cabbage, believing it to prevent intoxication. In the banquets of the Athenians, upon the birth of a child, crambe, or colewort, formed an important part of the good cheer, and was even given to the mother, as a restorative. It appears from some fragments of the Greek comedians, that it was usual among the Ionians to swear by the colewort. Ancient mythologists ascribe a strange origin to the cabbage. Jupiter, say they, was one day so much perplexed in attempting to reconcile two contradictory oracles of destiny, that a profuse perspiration burst out upon his brow, and from the drops as they fell, the cabbage sprang

up.

Formerly cabbages were esteemed by English herbalists, as efficacious in the early stage of consumption. A cabbage is sculptured at the feet of the effigy of Sir Anthony Ashley, on his tomb at Winborne, St. Giles, Dorsetshire, in memory of his having revived in England the culture of that vegetable, which, before his time, was annually imported from Holland, though it had been formerly well known to our Saxon ancestors, who called the month of February, sprout-kail, or the sprouting of the cabbage. The different varieties of cabbage all have their origin from the crambe martima, or sea-side cabbage (sea-kale) which is still found wild in some parts of England, and especially in the neighbourhood of Dover. Broccoli was brought from Italy to France at the end of the sixteenth century, and thence to England. Cauliflower (that most delicate species of cabbage), which Dr. Johnson pronounced to be the finest of all the flowers in the garden, was brought from Cyprus to Italy, and thence to France and England, at the close of the seventeenth century.

There has been from time immemorial in Scotland, some rural superstition ascribing fatidical properties to the cabbage, even as Nicander called it, pavy, the divine, or the soothsaying, for the Greek word signifies both. In the witching hours of night, on All-hallows'-E'en, the rustics try their matrimonial fortunes by pulling up cabbages by the root, haphazard and darkling, in the kail-yard. The taste of the pith, sour or sweet, betokens the temper of the future spouse; the shape of the stalk, straight or crooked, the figure; and the absence or presence of clay adhering to the root, a fortune, or no fortune in the match.

The term " cabbage," by which tailors designate the cribbed pieces of cloth, is said to be derived from an old word, cablesh, i. e., wind-fallen wood; and their hell, wherein they store the cabbage, from helan, to hide.

When Diocletian the Roman Emperor had grown weary of persecuting the Christians, and satiated with the pomps of the purple, he abdicated, and retired to rural life at Salona,† where his favourite amusement was rearing vegetables. Being importuned by his former colleague in the empire, Maximianus, to seek the restoration of his imperial rank, he refused, saying, in his letter, "If I could but show you the fine cabbages I have reared myself, at Salona, you would no longer talk to me of empire."

The house of Raconis, in Savoy, adopted as their cognizance a cabbage, which was called, in old French, cabus ; and added as a puuning motto, "Tout n'est," which, joined to the cognizance, can be read, "Tout n'est cabus," (Everything is not cabbage), or "Tout n'est qu'abus" (Everything is but abuse); but the pun cannot be preserved in a translation.

Inelegant as is the cabbage in our eyes, it holds proudly up its erect branch of yellow cruciform flowers, when it is running to seed, and thus is more handsome in its old age than in its youth; an advantage it possesses over the human family.

As the cabbage has fallen from its high estate among emperors, nobles, and physicians, and has become but a

peasant vegetable, we will associate with it our translation of a rural German song:

THE CONTENTED MAN.

FROM THE GERMAN OF JOUANN MARTIN MILLER. "Was frag Ich viel nach geld und gut ?" Why need I strive or sigh for wealth?

That heaven hath sent me strength and health,

A spirit glad and free:
Grateful these blessings to receive,
I sing my hymn at morn and eve.

On some, what floods of riches flow!
House, herds, and gold have they;
Yet life's best joys they never know,

But fret their hours away.

The more they have, they seek increase; Complaints and cravings never cease.

A vale of tears this world they call,
To me it seems so fair:
It countless pleasures hath for all,
And none denied a share.
The little birds on new-fledged wing,
And insects revel in the spring.

For love of us, hills, woods, and plains In beauteous hues are clad;

And birds sing far and near sweet strains, Caught up by echoes glad.

Rise," sings the lark, " your tasks to ply;"

The nightingale sings "lullaby."

And when the golden sun goes forth,

And all like gold appears, When bloom o'erspreads the glowing earth,

And flelds have ripening ears, I think these glories that I see, My kind Creator made for me.

Then loud I thank the Lord above,
And say in joyful mood,
His love, indeed, is Father's love,
He wills to all men good.
Then let me ever grateful live,
Enjoying all He deigns to give.

Now en revanche for the ugly cabbage, we will turn to the delicate ASPARAGUS, with its pretty Greek name (arragayos, a young shoot not yet opened into leaf). Is there not much beauty in a bed of asparagus run to seed? The tall, slender, feathery, green sprays, with their shining bead-like berries, have an air of great elegance, especially when begemmed by the morning dew. Asparagus was first cultivated in England about 1662. Some species of the wild Asparagus are still found in Wales,

in the Isle of Portland, and near Bristol. Tavernier mentions having found some enormous asparagus on the banks of the Euphrates; and Pliny mentions asparagus cultivated at Ravenna, three of which would weigh a pound.

Asparagus is an especial favourite with our Gallic neighbours. Of the French philosopher, Fontenelle, an anecdote is related, which shows how completely his gourmandise could conquer all natural emotions of the mind!

One day a brother literati, with whom he had lived in habits of friendship for many years, came to dine with him. The principal part of the meal was to consist of asparagus, of which both host and guest were extremely fond, but they differed in their tastes as to the mode of dressing it; the latter preferred it with butter, the former with oil. After some discussion, they came to a compromise; the cook was ordered to make two equal divisions, and to dress one share with oil, and the other with butter. This knotty point being settled, the friends entered into some literary conversation. In the height of their discourse, the guest fell from his chair, suddenly struck with apoplexy. Fontenelle hastily summoned all necessary assistance, but in vain; for despite of every exertion to restore him, the invalid expired. What were the reflections of our French philosopher on this abrupt and melancholy termination of long-standing friendship? Awe? Sorrow? Religious aspirations? No! but a happy recollection that now his own taste could be fully gratified, without the necessity of any deference to that of another. He left the corpse, and running to the head of the stairs, called out to his cook"Dress it all with oil-all with oil!" ("Tout à l'huile-tout à l'huile !" It is not surprising that a man so exempt from the wear and tear of human emotions as Fontenelle, lived to be upwards of ninety-nine years of age. He was for forty years Secretary to the Academy of Sciences, and died in 1756.

Wild asparagus was held in reverence by the Ioxides, a colony in Caria, in remembrance of their ancestress, Perigone. She was the daughter of Sinnis, a robber of gigantic stature, dwelling in the Peloponnesus, who was surnamed the Pine-bender, from the species of cruelty he prac

He

tised on all whom he defeated. used to bend down two pine trees till they met; then he tied a leg and an arm of the captive to each tree, and suddenly letting the pines fly back to their natural position, the unfortunate victim was torn asunder. This monster was conquered by Theseus, and put to death in his own manner. On his defeat, his young daughter, Perigone, fled away, and hid herself amid a brake of wild asparagus, praying the plants, in childish simplicity, to conceal her, and promising never to root them up, or burn them. She lay among them so well sheltered that she escaped discovery by Theseus, till she was induced by the conciliatory tone in which he called upon her in his researches, to come forward to him. He subsequently married her; and their grandson, Ioxus, founded in Caria a colony who kept in memory the pledge of Perigone to the plants that had given her refuge.

The wild asparagus being full of prickles, yet agreeable and wholesome to cat, its sprays were used by the Boeotians as wedding garlands, to sig nify to the bride, that as she had given her lover trouble in wooing her, so she ought to recompense him by the pleasantness of her manners in wedded life. We will accompany this reminiscence with the address of a dying poet to his beloved wife, which we translate from the Italian :—

THE DYING POET TO HIS WIFE. FROM THE ITALIAN OF REDAELLI.

(Odi d'un uom che more, &c.) Hear my last accents spoken, Thus in my dying hour; And keep, as mem'ry's token, My gift, this wither'd flower.

How dear to me this blossom

Thy thought can scarce divine; I stole it from thy bosom

The day that made thee mine.

Long on my heart I wore it,

Pledge of affection's row; Ah! to thy heart restore it,

The pledge of sorrow now!

With love by time unshaken,

Remember when from thee This wither'd flower was taken,

And when restor'd by me.

TURNIPS are taken as an emblem of benevolence. Guillim says, that in

heraldry they are symbolic of persons who relieve the wants of others. Columella writes that husbandmen are more religious than other men, for when they sow turnips they pray that they may grow for themselves and for others; the latter part of the petition is unnecessary in these days, when turnip fields seem to be considered common property, and are more unconscionably plundered than any other. Turnips came to us from Hanover. Though they have been produced in England of prodigious size, these are quite surpassed by monsters of which Pliny speaks (Lib. xviii. c. 13), that attained the weight of ninety pounds each. A turnip-field in blossom, with its tall branches of pale yellow flowers, forms a pleasing variety in the rural landscape.

This vegetable reminds us of the content and integrity of Curius Dentatus, who, after being three times consul in Rome, subduing the Samnites and Sabines, and expelling Pyrrhus from the Roman territories, retired to cultivate his little farm with his own hands, in cheerful poverty. Ambassadors from the Samnites came to offer him a large present of gold, to induce him to enter into the service of that nation. They found him sitting by the fire, in his humble cottage, preparing turnips for his supper. He rejected all their offers with firmness, and pointing to the turnips, said, “A man who can be satisfied with such a meal, has no need of gold. I consider it much more honourabe to subdue the owners of it, than to possess it myself."

The CARROT came to us at an early period from Flanders. The roots of caraway boiled, were often used as a substitute. When the carrot was more rare than at present, it was at one time a fashion among ladies to wear its graceful foliage in their caps and bonnets, and in their hair. The wild carrot (whose seeds enjoy some reputation as medicinal) is called by the English peasant, bird's-nest, from the hollowed and fibrous appearance of its cymes of small white flowers, when withered.

BEANS, that rank with us among the "ungenteel" vegetables, had a high share of honour in ancient times; indeed, Pliny (Lib. xviii. c. 12) ascribes to them the highest honour (maximus honos) amongst legumes, because bread