The addition of "hagia" might be rather too Attic for English ears; and
I know not whether "the Sacred Heptalogia" would not also be too
mystical. This series of tales is capable of like illustration with the
last, except in the matter of portraits, unless indeed some eminent
fathers of the church, or some authenticated enamels, gems, or coins,
(if any,) displaying our Lord's likeness, served the purpose; and of
course the character of the stories should not be much in dissonance
with the sacredness of the text. The first might well enforce
forgiveness of enemies, especially if their hatred springs from
misapprehension. "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do:"
many a true story of religious persecution, as of Inquisitorial
torture, exacted by sincere bigotry, and endured by equally sincere
conviction, would illustrate the prayer, and the scene might be laid
among Waldensian saints and the friars of Madrid. The second tale might
enlarge upon a promised Paradise, the assurance of pardon, and the
efficacy of repentance: the certainty of hope and life being
co-extensive, so that it might still be said of the seeming worst, the
brigand and the blasphemer, "To-day shalt thou be with me in Paradise;"
a story to check presumption, while it encourages the humility of
pentitent hope; the details of a prodigal's career and his return, say
a falsely philosophizing German student, or the excesses of some not
ungenerous outburst of youthful wantonness; haply, a fair and passionate
Neapolitan. The third might well regard filial piety: "Behold thy
son--behold thy mother:" illustrated perhaps by a slave scene in
Morocco, or the last adieus between a Maccabaean mother, and her noble
children rushing on duteous death; or the dangers of a son, during the
Reign of Terror, protecting his proscribed parents; or allusive to the
case of many razed and fired homes in the Irish rebellion. The fourth,
necessarily a tale of overwhelming calamity ultimately triumphant, "My
God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"--the confidence of _my_ God
still, even in His recognised judgments trusted in as merciful: the
history of many an unrecorded Job; a parent bereaved of his fair dear
children; an aged merchant beggared by the roguery of others, and his
very name blamelessly dishonoured; the extremity of a martyr's
sufferings; or some hunted soul's temptation. The fifth, "I thirst;"
which might be commented on, either morally only, as referring to a
thirst after religion, virtue, and knowledge--or physically also, in
some story of well-endured miseries at sea on a wrecking craft; or of
Christian resignation even to the horrible death of drought among the
torrid sands of Africa; or some noble act, like that of Sir Philip
Sidney on the battle-field, or David's libation of that desired draught
from the well of Bethlehem. I need not remark that all these sayings
might primarily be applied to their Good Utterer, if it seemed more
advisable to shape the publication into seven sermons: but this, it will
at once be perceived, is not the present object; the word "sermons" has
to most men a repulsive sound, and a tale, similar in disguised motive,
may win, where an orderly discourse might unhappily repel: a teacher's
best influences are the indirect: like the conquering troops at
Culloden, his charge will be oblique; his weapon will strike the
unguarded flank, and not the opposing target. The sixth, "It is
finished;" perhaps, not only as a fact on the true, the necessary value
of the Christian scheme of redemption being so completed; but, more
generally, to display the evils and dangers of leaving mental,
spiritual, or even worldly good designs unfinished: a tale of natural
procrastination conquered, difficulties overcome, prejudices broken
down, and gigantic good effected: a Russian Peter, a literary Johnson, a
missionary Neff, a Wesley, or a Henry Martyn. The seventh, descanting
upon noble patience, and agonies vanquished by faith, the death and
glorious expectance of a martyr, the end of one of Fox's heroes;
"Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit." Of necessity in these
Christian tales there would be more of sameness than in those heathen;
because it would be improper and impolitic, with such theses, to enter
much into the lower human passions and the common events of life. But my
intentions of further proceeding in this matter have, as at present,
very sensibly subsided; for many wise and many good might reasonably
object to making those holy last dying words mere pegs to hang moral
tales upon. The idea might please one little sect, and anger half the
world; I care not to behold it accomplished, and question my own
capabilities; only, as it has been an authorial project heretofore
conceived by me, suffer it to boast this brief existence.
* * * * *
It is scandalously reported of some folks that they are not musical, a
calumny that has been whispered of myself: and, though against my own
convictions, (who will confess he "has not music in his soul?") I partly
acquiesce; that is to say--for, of such a charge, self-defence claims to
explain a little--although I _am_ charmed with all manner of music,
still for choice I prefer a German chorus to an Italian solo, and an
English glee to a French jig. Accordingly the operatic world have every
reason to despise my taste: especially if I add that Welsh songs, and
Scotch and Irish national melodies--[where are our English
gone?]--rejoice my heart beyond Mozart and Rossini. And now this next
little notion is scarcely of substance sufficient to assume the garb of
authorship: it is little more than a passing whim, but I choose for the
very notion's sake to make it better known. Except in a very few
instances--as Haydn's '_Seasons_,' e.g.--Oratorios, from some
conventional idea of Lent, we may suppose, seem obligated to concern
matters sacred. Of course, every body is aware of the prayerful meaning
of the name; but we know also that a madrigal has long ago put off its
monkish robe of a hymn to the Virgin, and worn the more laic habit of a
love song. Now, it is a fact, that very many good men who delight in
Handel's melody, and of course cannot object to psalms and anthems,
entertain conscientious objections to hearing the Bible set to music in
a concert-room; and sure may we all be, that, unless the whole thing be
regarded as a religious service, (in a mixed gay company who think of
sound more than sense, not very easy,) the warbling of sacred phrases,
and variations on the summoning trumpet, and imitated angelic praise,
and the unfelt expressions of musical repentance, and unfearing
despondency of guilt in recitative, are any thing but congenial to a
mind properly attuned. I hope I am neither prudish, nor squeamish, nor
splenetic, but speak only what many feel, and few care to express. Now,
the cure in future for all this would be very simple: Why not have some
lay oratorios? Protestants have appropriated the madrigal, and listen,
delighted with its melody, without the needless offence of seeming to
countenance idolatry; why should they not have solemn music, new or
ancient as may be adapted, administering to their patriotism, or their
tragic interests, or historic recollections, without grating against
their feelings of religious veneration?--To be specific, let me suggest
a subject, and show, for the benefit of any Pindar of this day, its
musical capabilities: we are, or ought to be as Englishmen, all stirred
at the name of