DECEMBER.

DOES SOHO KNOW ITSELF?

To the Editor of THE ST. ANNE'S MAGAZINne.

At

SIR, I have read your first Number with great interest. You have certainly added one more to the remarkable and multifarious productions of that mysterious region known as Soho. Macte novâ virtute, puer; sic itur ad astra. I venture upon a few words of Latin, for doubtless, among the endless variety of the inhabitants of Soho there must be some who can read Virgil. But, as I have implied, Soho itself is something of a mystery to me, who know it chiefly by report, and but seldom penetrate personally into its recesses. From my childhood it has been associated in my mind with its famous Bazaar. least the Bazaar was once famous, though whether it is so still, I do not know. But, apart from its Bazaar, from the rumours which reach the outer world, you seem to possess within your borders almost every sort and kind of human beings, engaged in almost every sort of profitable or unprofitable occupation. Pardon me if I say that your reputation is not altogether immaculate. You are said to be as fertile in vice as in virtue, in idleness as in industry, in disregard to the Church as in devotion to her services; and altogether to present to the inquiring mind a perfect collection of the lower strata of the London life of the year eighteen hundred and seventy one. You produce, in truth, nearly everything except rich people. In gazing at the tall and once handsome houses in your most important quarters, I can see only the memorials of faded splendour, and can with difficulty realise the fact that Soho was once the centre of wealthy, brilliant, and fashionable life.

Whether it was in those days a more moral, more religious, more intellectual and more interesting region than it is to-day, may be a matter of doubt. Viewed in this light, I don't think myself that there is much to choose between the Soho of to-day and the Soho of a hundred years ago.

But now-to come to the object of my letter-why do not some of your many inhabitants seek to instruct their neighbours, through the pages of your magazine, in some of the endless varieties of human existence which your district exhibits? You must be almost as little known to one another, as you are to myself and to other outsiders. And yet you must possess in your streets, and courts, and lanes and alleys, the materials for innumerable pictures of that life of sorrow, and struggle, and pleasure, and vice, and crime, and virtue, and honesty, and hypocrisy, which throbs so violently in every place where men and women are huddled together in tens of thousands. Allow me, then, to ask, "Does Soho know itself?" Did it know its own Church affairs until your magazine first enlightened it? Has it any suspicion as yet of the prospect which is before it in the way of performances of sacred music? On these points, however, you will doubtless take due care to keep it well informed. But you should do more. You should induce your parishioners, if such a word can be applied to your manycoloured population, to contribute what they can to the spread of such local knowledge as may be interesting to Soho itself. A local magazine should arouse local interests, and paint local pictures, and enable people to know something of the life that is led in the dark corners, as well as the open quarters amidst which their lot is cast. Perhaps you have nobody who can do such things. It is very possible, and thus my suggestions will be thrown away. But I venture on them nevertheless. And what may not be expected from a district which is suddenly exhibiting so vast an improvement in its Church music as you are now achieving. If you, from your local resources, can give respectable performances of such excellent compositions as I see specified in your little handbill, what may not be

within your literary reach? I repeat, then, Macte nová virtute, puer. Make your magazine interesting, and people will buy it. And what so interesting as revelations of the realities of the human life around you? They will not only make your magazine sell, and enlighten the denizens of Soho itself, but will be valuable to many another who, like myself, is

A NON-RESIDENT. (J. M. CAPES.)

INAUGURAL DOMESTIC ODE.

To God the bounteous giver of all good,
For life and health, and air and daily food,
Be ours to raise the song in thankful mood,
For mercies numberless.

"Non nobis."

We plant the garden, sow the well tilled field
In vain, unless He bid them increase yield.
We build; but vain the building-hut or hall:
If He bless not the roof-tree and the wall,
We labour but in vain.

"Non nobis Domine."

We deck the chamber, passage, porch, and stair;
We stain the storied panes with colours fair;
With colours and devices manifold

The moulded beams o'erlay, and beaten gold.
Rich loomwork of delight from far off lands,

And metalwork well forged by cunning hands;
Choice books, and sculptured forms, and pictures rare,

We to our homestead bring with tender care:

Loving the joy of all these things to share

With loving faithful friends.

"Non nobis Domine-non nobis."

And friendship! chiefest of all joys below,
Helping and cheering as we homeward go

From these poor homes to those beyond the sky.
For this and all His gifts, to God on high

Be grateful thanks and praise.

"Non nobis Domine-non nobis

"Sed Nomini tuo da gloriam.”

B

ALFRED BELL.

THE WHISPERINGS OF THE WALLS.

THE Outward figure, dress, and manner of a man are found by experience to reveal a vast deal more of his inner mind than could have been at all foreseen as probable. At the first glance we read off, as it were by an instinct, from these outside appearances very much of that which lies within. Hence, let the man neither speak nor act, yet by these mere external appearances we may say much of him. Whether he is of a trade, or a profession, and indeed of what profession he is, may be thus discovered. We may further get to know something of his mind and habits. It is in vain that he attempts to conceal his individuality; it comes out at a glance, even in the rapid passing of people through a crowded thoroughfare. This is, more or less, a generally acknowledged fact; so that we do accustom ourselves to read off these external notes of men as the first step towards a more complete acquaintance. We study this voiceless language, this whisper of the outward man, which will not keep the secret of the inner man, much as he may desire it. Indeed, it is often the case that we form a truer estimate of character from these unconscious personal revelations, than from the conscious ones of speech and action, which may be arranged with a purpose of concealment or deception. Hence, if we have once made up our minds that we do, or do not, like these outward first appearances, it is no easy matter to change this conviction into an opposite sentiment, let the speech and act prove ever so apparently inconsistent with this preconceived idea. We have an irresistible conviction that, sooner or later, our first impressions will prove correct.

Now there is a singularly parallel case to this of the individual in that of the nation. The outward appearances of