h battles of your own,
without getting a loan of conflicts at twenty per cent a month.

Every time since the unfortunate struggle I have described, when Nick and
I take a country walk and pass a dog fight, he comes close up by my side,
and looks me in the eye with one long wipe of the tongue over his chops, as
much as to say, "Easier to get into a fight than to get out of it. Better
jog along our own way;" and then I preach him a short sermon from Proverbs
xxvi. 17: "He that passeth by, and meddleth with strife belonging not to
him, is like one that taketh a dog by the ears."

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE MASSACRE OF CHURCH MUSIC.

There has been an effort made for the last twenty years to kill
congregational singing. The attempt has been tolerably successful; but it
seems to me that some rules might be given by which the work could be done
more quickly, and completely. What is the use of having it lingering on in
this uncertain way? Why not put it out of its misery? If you are going to
kill a snake, kill it thoroughly, and do not let it keep on wagging its
tail till sundown. Congregational singing is a nuisance, anyhow, to many of
the people. It interferes with their comfort. It offends their taste. It
disposes their nose to flexibility in the upward direction. It is too
democratic in its tendency. Down with congregational singing, and let us
have no more of it.

The first rule for killing it is to have only such tunes as the people
cannot sing!

In some churches it is the custom for choirs at each service to sing one
tune which the people know. It is very generous of the choir to do that.
The people ought to be very thankful for the donation. They do not deserve
it. They are all "miserable offenders" (I heard them say so), and, if
permitted once in a service to sing, ought to think themselves highly
favored. But I oppose this singing of even the one tune that the people
understand. It spoils them. It gets them hankering after more. Total
abstinence is the only safety; for if you allow them to imbibe at all, they
will after a while get in the habit of drinking too much of it, and the
first thing you know they will be going around drunk on sacred psalmody.

Beside that, if you let them sing one tune at a service, they will be
putting their oar into the other tunes and bothering the choir. There is
nothing more annoying to the choir than, at some moment when they have
drawn out a note to exquisite fineness, thin as