Ranavalona, followed an outburst of conversion and a completo intellectual revolution. The society that has been most honoured in accomplishing this great work, though others have laboured in the field in a subordinate degree, is "The London Missionary Society," and the results of its labours in this island are a striking contrast to those which have been realised in other parts of the heathen world. This remark, however, applies to all missionary enterprise in the ancient and civilized pagan nations; and it is natural that an intelligent Christian mind should inquire into the causes of this contrast. Why is it, we ask, that the great Asiatic missions of modern times continue in such a state of stagnation as compared with the extraordinary vitality of the Christian movement in Madagascar ? Something, doubtless, is due in the latter case to the general stimulus given by the introduction of European letters and arts of life among a race previously sunk in the stupor of barbarism; whereas in India and China the English missionaries approach a civilization older than that of their own nation. But there is a reason for the contrast deeper than this, just as in nearly every national revolution we find in moral causes the true explanation of the political earthquake. We think that the most powerful and successful missionary of Christianity Madagascar ever had was the late Queen, wielding for thirty-five years the authority of a ruthless despotism against the new religion. The contagious and solvent power of each new national form of Christianity, it has been wisely remarked, depends upon its tone, whether it is hard, dogmatic, ecclesiastical, or earnest, deep, tender, sympathetic. And this again seems to depend mainly on the measure of suffering under which its early witness to the truth is delivered. The Church of Madagascar has borne the cross and drunk to the dregs the bitter cup of perse cution. Those twenty-five years of fearful woe have left public and personal memories behind which are powerful enough to melt down the pride and hardness of a nation's paganism. We are told, in noble and simple language, by an eye-witness of the scene, of the emotions which filled all hearts when the great church was opened at Antananarivo, which stands on the spot where the victims of the former tyranny suffered martyrdom by fire, near by the precipice, or "Rock of Hurling," over which the fourteen confessors were flung or speared to death, on the same dreadful day. Froude tells us that it was the martyrdoms of Mary's "bloody reign," as Mr. Gladstone rightly calls it, which finally completed the conversion of the English people to Protestantism. So it has ever been. Death for the truth's sake carries with it a converting power transcending all the advantages offered by religious equality and steady governmental repression of persecution. It is here, perhaps, that we are to look for the solution of the mysterious difference between the Malagasy missions and the modern missions of Christianity in other lands. The efforts of all mankind are now devoted to the establishment of universal toleration rather than to the vigorous enforcement of their own beliefs or religions. Had one Indian or Chinese despot been permitted or disposed to wage a ferocious war against Christianity, and had the conflict been continued long enough, who can doubt that the somnolent but sharp-witted mind of the Indian or Chinese people would have been moved in a manner which is almost hopeless under a quiet discipline of universal tract distribution and enforced toleration. It may be that Providence has in reserve some such trial of the quality of faith around the world before the establishment of Christianity in its final supremacy. No sane man can desire the return of sanguinary persecution, but no impartial student of history can deny that heathenish evil and falsehood have consolidated their powers on earth by refraining from it, or by submitting to the control of civilization. Eternal repose is purchased at the cost of all that renders life most heroic, spiritual, and divine. Christianity, which began in the suffering of death, has prospered under great tribulation ever since, and has lost its converting powers exactly in proportion to its secular prosperity and ease. The tendency which comes of sorrow is the mightiest agency in the world of mind. In terrible and searching trials nations may be, as well as individual souls, as the poet says— Heated hot with burning fears, And bathed in baths of hissing tears; HAYDN.-No. I. THE joyous, amiable, and sprightly Haydn was born at Rohrau, near Vienna, on March 31, 1732. His Christian name was Francis Joseph. But Christian names and titles go for very little in the case of a man who becomes famous. The simple name of HAYDN is grander in its simplicity than it could ever become by any accumulation of titles. "Father of Symphony" is the title by which this versatile genius is recognised among musicians, which at once suggests a history, an achievement, and a position. What Mercury was among the gods of antiquity Haydn is among the Masters of Music. He is not the Thunderer, like Jove, nor the God of Battles, like Mars; but he is the jovial, laughing, light-hearted spirit, whom all welcome as a friend. Haydn is one of that great number of persons, who, though of lowly origin and meagre educational advantages, have won for themselves fame and distinction. It is written, "He giveth grace to the humble." This grace was abundantly lavished on Haydn, whose father was a poor wheelwright. Though Haydn's childhood was spent in poverty, it was a very happy childhood. His mother was a beautiful singer, though she did not understand music. His father could play the harp by ear, although he knew no more of music than his wife. In the evening this mother would sing for hours chorales and popular songs, the father accompanying on the harp. The boy Haydn stood in front of them with two sticks; one he held in his left hand as though it were a violin, the other he used as the bow; and in this manner domestic concerts were performed, very much to the satisfaction of all three. Years after, when Haydn had heard the best music in the world, and had himself become famous, he spoke of his mother's pure voice and correct accent with rapture. On one of these occasions a young schoolmaster was present who very well understood music, and being struck with the exact time the little fiddler kept, he proposed to take the little fellow with him and teach him music. The proposal was accepted, and at the age of six little Haydn went cheerfully to reside with his cousin Frank, the schoolmaster, to be initiated into the mysteries of sweet sounds. 66 This cousin was a rough teacher, and gave his pupil more cuffs than gingerbread," as Haydn used to say to his friends, but withal was a good teacher, so that Francis Joseph made rapid progress. While at this school the little genius discovered two dusty, brokendown tambourines, which he cleaned and repaired, and though they contained but two tones young Haydn managed to produce an air which was the wonder of the neighbourhood. Besides this, he learned to play the violin, an instrument which can never be properly played unless its mechanism and management be mastered in childhood. More than this, he had a fine voice, which he inherited from his mother. In a short time little Joseph had learnt all the music his cousin was capable of teaching, and sang so well at church as to attract a good deal of attention, while at the same time he was acquiring Latin and a general education. One day a visitor arrived at the school. This was Reuter, Chapel Master at St. Stephen's, the cathedral church at Vienna. He was in search of good voices for the augmentation of the choir at St. Stephen's. Schoolmaster Frank promptly recommended his cousin Joseph. Reuter gave him a canon to sing at sight. This was done with such correct time and pure intonation that Reuter was charmed. He then said, "But you do not shake." "How can Ishake, replied Joseph, "when my cousin does not shake?" "Come here, then, and I will teach you," said Reuter. He took the boy between his knees, and told him how to shake. Haydu tried, and did it triumphantly. Reuter was so much pleased that he took a plate of cherries which had been procured for him, and emptied them all into the pockets of the lad. And, long years after, Haydn said he never heard a shake without thinking of those cherries, which were the nicest and sweetest he had ever seen. At the tender age of eight Haydn was thus captured by Reuter, and taken to the beautiful city of Vienna, a city he always dearly loved. The boy choristers of St. Stephen's were only required to practise two hours a day, but young Haydn practised sixteen hours a day, and told a friend that he very often went as far as eighteen hours a day. This is the old story of the hand of the diligent making wealth. The only price at which pre-eminent excellence can be obtained is downright hard work. Even when playing with the other boys, as soon as Haydn heard the organ off he ran into the church. When Haydn had been five years at St. Stephen's-that is, when he was thirteen years of age-he astonished old Reuter by bringing him a mass to examine. This mass was Haydn's first composition. The Chapel Master examined it, and-condemned it. It was quite worthless. The poor lad knew nothing of harmony. Reuter did not teach his little choristers harmony. There was no musician in Vienna who taught the theory of music for nothing. Little Hadyn could barely live; he had not one spare penny from quarter to quarter. How was he to learn counterpoint and thorough bass? Perhaps this very poverty was one of the things to which he was indebted for his originality. Not being in circumstances to obtain proper instruction, he formed a style of his own, and thus became a self-made man. At this period his poverty was extreme and his industry surprising. He lodged in a top garret six stories high. In winter he shivered in the cold because he could not afford a fire. In this garret, among the lumber, was an old broken-down harpsichord. This he re-adjusted and re-constructed to the best of his ability. Sometimes the keys would drop off as he was playing. Sometimes one end would fall down. But nothing daunted or discouraged this persevering genius. He at length contrived to pick up an old secondhand work on the theory of music. It was very obscure, and was a most laborious book to study. But Haydn pored over it winter and summer, mastered its contents, and made many reflections suggested by it. Indeed, he made an infinite number of little discoveries, probably never contemplated by the author of the work: so that seed fell on very good ground. Haydn's eagerness to learn from whomsoever and wherever appears from the following circumstances. An old Ita lian singer of some celebrity, named Porpora, was attached to the establishment of a noble Venetian, who was Ambassador at Vienna. Haydn contrived to get introduced into this Ambassador's house, entirely for the purpose of approaching Porpora, in order to learn something from him. He attended on the old Italian with unwearied assiduity; cleaned his shoes, brushed his clothes, adjusted his finery, and, in short, became his lackey. Mark, this was done voluntarily, without fee or reward. Porpora was sour beyond imagination, rewarding his volunteer lackey with such expressions as "Fool!" "Blockhead!" for long months. At length he began to soften, and discovered that the youth had some abilities. He then gave him advice in musical matters, and taught him how to accompany on the piano, an accomplishment not quite so simple as many seem to imagine. In this manner did young Haydn learn the pure Italian style of singing. After a while the Ambassador was so charmed with his proficiency that he gave him a pension of £3 per month, and admitted him to the table of his secretaries. This generosity soon enabled Haydn to purchase a respectable suit of black, which gave him a new start in the world. For now he played first violin at daybreak at a church; thence he went to play the organ at a chapel; at a later hour he sang tenor at St. Stephen's; and, last of all, spent the remainder of the day practising on the pianoforte. In this manner he picked up musical knowledge from every available source. He thus became acquainted with different styles, without any preferences for any or prejudices against any. And he thus was led to form a style essentially his own. He became a great original, enriching the world of music with new discoveries and new inventions. At the age of nineteen Haydn was expelled from the choir of St. Stephen's. In a frolicsome mood he had cut off the skirt of the gown of one of the choristers, which offence was deemed unpardonable. The larkish youth had his whistle, and now he had to pay for it. Thus cast upon the world, he had nothing for his fortune but his rising talent, and that talent was at the time unknown. But a peruke maker had often admired his singing, and in this extremity opened his house to Haydn. The gentle, affectionate disposition of Haydn made him a great favourite in the family. The peruke maker had two daughters, one of whom fell passionately in love with Haydn, and was equally beloved by him. He loved, not wisely but too well. An engagement was entered into, which Haydn honourably kept, although his marriage turned out to be very unfortunate. He While lodging with the peruke maker Haydn obtained a few pupils. At this time he composed a number of small pieces for the pianoforte, which he sold at low prices-minuets, allemands, and waltzes. These are the earliest compositions of the great Symphonist, and were published when he was nineteen years of age. then ventured a little further, and composed a serenata for three instruments, which he and two friends played in different parts of the city. On one of these excursions the performance took place under the window of Curtz, a distinguished play actor. Curtz was so charmed with the music that he came down stairs and inquired who had composed it. "I did," boldly answered Haydn. "How ! you; at your age?" To which Haydn replied, "One must make a beginning some time." "This is droll," said Curtz; come up stairs." Our hero did so; and then it transpired that Curtz had composed an opera as regards the words, but wanted some one to compose the music. Haydn undertook the task, and produced his first opera, for which Curtz gave him £12. An incident occurred in the composition of this work which deserves to be related. There was to be a storm at sea in one part of the opera. Haydn had never seen the sea, much less a storm : how, then, could he depict what he knew nothing about? In this dilemma he applied to Curtz. But Curtz had never seen the sea or a storm. What, then? "We must have the tempest," said Curtz. "How are we to do it?" inquired Francis Joseph. "Imagine a mountain rising," said the play actor, "and then a valley sinking; and another mountain, and then another valley, and so on, and describe that, with thunder and lightning intermixed." Poor Haydn tried chromatic passages, allegros, and all the violent things he could think of; but all to no purpose. "We shall have to give it up," said Haydn. "No," replied Curtz, "we must have the tempest." Haydn in despair flung his hands frantically on each end of the keyboard, when Curtz embraced him exclaiming, "That's the storm!" "Let us have that!” That, accordingly, had to do duty for the storm. Many years after, when crossing the Straits of Dover in bad weather, Haydn laughed almost all the voyage as he remembered the storm-scene in his first |