Read Ebook: The Variation of Animals and Plants Under Domestication Volume II (of 2) by Darwin Charles

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Toby put on his trousers and shoes as quickly as possible, and when Uncle Daniel was ready to start, he stationed himself directly behind Aunt Olive--a position which he thought would afford him a fair view of what was going on, and at the same time be safe.

"Now be careful of that gun, Dan'l, an' don't go so far that they can hurt you, for there's no telling what they will do if they find out you mean to catch them;" and Aunt Olive looked quite as badly frightened as did Toby.

"There, there, Olive, don't be alarmed," said Uncle Daniel, soothingly. "They will probably run as soon as they see the gun, and that will end it. I only hope that I can catch one," and Uncle Daniel went down the stairs as determined and savage-looking a man as ever started in search of a supposed chicken thief.

Aunt Olive insisted on carrying the candle, though Uncle Daniel urged that it would not be possible for him to surprise the burglars if she held this light as a warning; but she had no idea of allowing him to go out where there was every probability that he would be in danger, unless she could see what was going on.

WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART.

BY MRS. JOHN LILLIE.

In the month of May, 1765, an advertisement appeared in London announcing that a concert would be given at Hickford's Rooms, Brewer Street, Golden Square, "for the benefit of Miss Mozart, aged thirteen, and Master Mozart, of eight years of age, prodigies of nature, a concert of music, with all the overtures of this little boy's own composition."

Overture, strictly speaking, means a prelude to some longer work, but the term has also come to be applied to pieces of concert music which illustrate some special idea.

Suppose one had been able to go to that concert in May, 1765. It would have been a charming sight. I am sure there was a great deal of jostling about of Sedan-chairs and footmen; and in the spring twilight--they gave concerts earlier then than now--the gorgeously dressed ladies and gentlemen must have looked very much like a picture. Let us follow them into the "rooms."

We find ourselves in a large well-lighted hall, with chairs and benches, and a big platform containing some instruments and a good harpsichord. Then out comes old Papa Mozart, a dignified gentleman from Salzburg, leading a child by each hand, one a charmingly pretty little girl in the quaint dress we are reviving to-day; the other, a boy of eight, of the most striking grace and beauty, and dressed like a little court gentleman, that is, with knee-breeches, silken hose, shoe-buckles, a little satin coat with lace ruffles, and a little sword at his side.

The little boy makes his bow to the enthusiastic audience; he sits down to the piano, and forthwith begins one of his own sweet, child-like, yet harmonious compositions. Then Nannerl plays. Presently the two young prodigies vanish, the fine audience move away, the lights are out, and the boy's London fame has begun. As we go through dingy Golden Square to-day, a hundred and fifteen years later, we think of all the music he left for us to hear and feel and play between that night when he played "his own little compositions," and the day of his early death, in 1791, at the age of thirty-five years.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was born at Salzburg in 1756. His father had possessed musical talent, but in him it was genius. At three years of age he learned to play; before he was five he had composed a great many little melodies, which his father wrote down for him. I remember seeing in the studio of an English artist in London, himself the son of a great musician, a picture representing the baby Mozart, a charming little figure, leading a visionary choir of angels. It seemed to me the very embodiment of what Mozart must have been as a child--beautiful, fascinating, angelic, and a musician to his very soul.

Felix Moscheles.

His sister Anna, or "Nannerl," as she was called, also played marvellously, and when the children were very young their father started with them on a concert tour, during which they played in London. Everywhere they went they were f?ted and caressed in a way which would have spoiled even Mozart's sweet, sunny nature, but for his father's watchful care.

Innumerable presents were made them, some of rich jewelry. This their father insisted upon keeping in a box, only allowing them to take it out on rare occasions and enjoy looking at it for a little while.

It was during that London visit that the father fell ill. They were in lodgings in Chelsea, which was then an open country with blooming gardens and green lanes. The little Mozarts had to keep very quiet during this illness of their father's. The harpsichord was closed, and the children took to running about the pretty suburban place, no doubt enjoying the rest from practicing. But it was during this enforced idleness that Mozart composed his first symphony . He was then in his tenth year. Think of the amount of scientific knowledge as well as the genius the boy must have possessed! Soon after, they gave more concerts, playing among other things duets for four hands on the harpsichord, which was then a great novelty.

During the latter part of the London visit a series of entertainments were given at home, where for two shillings and sixpence people could come and "test the youthful prodigies at the harpsichord." They were lodging in a quaint old inn down in the part of London known as Cornhill, and there they delighted hundreds of admiring and curious visitors.

Passing from this time of sunny though precocious childhood to a boyhood in which he worked indefatigably, we find Mozart in Italy, studying, composing, performing, and writing the most delightful letters home, chiefly to his dear Nannerl, who was by this time more devoted to domestic duties than music.

In the old market-place of Munich lived a very respectable widow, and Nannerl was lodged there, the father and son having to go nearer to the court. It must have been a delightful visit. Nannerl was all excitement about the opera, and her brother darted in and out half a dozen times a day to report progress. Finally the grand night came. The opera-house was crowded to excess; the court was there in full splendor, and Mozart, the youthful maestro, fine, in a new suit of lace and satin, sat by his father's side, with Nannerl, waiting not a little timidly, no doubt, for the performance to begin. The success was tremendous. The boy--for he was scarcely more in years--became the object of the wildest enthusiasm, and from that hour his musical fame was established.

But we must not feel that all Mozart's days were so cloudless and so joyful. Times of anxiety and heart-sickness were not wanting in his short and busy life. The little family circle was so centred in Mozart that when he started out on a second tour, and the father could not accompany him, the mother left her household duties to Nannerl and set forth with her son. An adoring fondness for his parents was one of the most lovely traits in Mozart's beautiful nature. On this trip he wrote home with pride how careful he was of his mother, and she, good woman, watched him tenderly, giving up everything to his pleasure and profit.

He spent the winter in Mannheim, where his letters show how very busily he was employed. He writes that he rose early, "dressed quickly," and after breakfast composed until twelve; then wrote until half past one, when he dined. At three he began to give lessons, which continued until supper-time; after which he read, unless he was among his friends. Of course he had a large circle wherever he was, but in Mannheim during this winter he formed friendships which shadowed all his life.

The Weber family were there--brilliant musicians, agreeable, and witty. There were five daughters, and Mozart straightway fell in love with the eldest, Aloysia--a beautiful girl, who was studying for the stage. She was well pleased with the young composer's attentions, and he went to Paris half, or, as he considered it, wholly engaged. That was a sad visit to Paris. His mother, wishing to economize for her son's sake, took rooms in a cold, poor quarter of the town, and there fell ill with a fatal disorder. Poor Mozart wrote home the most pathetic letters. We can fancy how he tried to save her, but it was in vain. The careful, tender, self-sacrificing mother faded from his life, her last thoughts being to commend this beloved son to God's keeping.

Full of sadness, the poor young fellow hastened to Mannheim, where he hoped Aloysia Weber would console him. She had gone to Munich, and thither he followed her. There the true selfishness of the Weber family was shown to him. They had become prosperous, and Mozart, although famous, was far from being rich, so that the family of his betrothed received him coldly. Aloysia herself scarcely listened to the first words he said. He had entered the Weber parlor full of hope and anxiety to see his future wife and tell her the story of his sorrow. He must have looked noble and manly, with the tenderness of his grief in his handsome face, but Aloysia turned aside coldly--there were others there, to whom she talked. Mozart hesitated a moment, and then seating himself at the piano, sang in his rich clear voice: "Ich lasse das M?dchen das nicht will" . And before the evening was over, the engagement was at an end.

We could wish that his intimacy with the Webers had also ended, but later he renewed acquaintance with them, and in spite of much opposition from his anxious father and Nannerl, he married Constanza, Aloysia's younger sister. With her he tried to be happy, but even in his tenderest letters we see that she was ill-tempered, cold, and selfish. But Mozart's nature was so uniformly sweet that it took a great deal to make him positively wretched, and unkind he could not be.

When he was in the midst of many worries, one summer, he used to ride out every morning for exercise, and leaving his wife sleeping, he never failed to pin a little note to her pillow, that she might find it on awaking. It was always a sweet word of love and care for her, and it is hard to think Constanza was not worthy of it.

There is so much to tell of Mozart, I wish that we might linger an hour more over his sweet story. His successes were so many that it is hard to think of him as so often in trouble about money.

Constanza glanced at Roser, a musician who was with them, and, blinded by his tears, Roser sat down to the piano, and sang one of Mozart's favorite airs. It was almost the last sound his closing ears received. The next morning, Sunday, December 5, 1791, at the age of thirty-five, Mozart died.

Nannerl survived her brother many years. Constanza Mozart died in this century, having in 1809 married a second time.

HAVING FUN WITH A WOODCHUCK.

BY ALLAN FORMAN.

Jack and I made up our minds to catch a woodchuck. We were spending the summer down on the east end of Long Island, and judging from the number of cauliflowers eaten by them, the woodchucks were abundant; so we determined to catch one.

Farmer Brown, to whom we applied for advice, told us to "grab him by the tail as he went into his hole." This sounded so easy that we decided to try it at once. We found, however, after two or three days of patient waiting, that the woodchuck absolutely refused to go into his hole while we were within grabbing distance.

We then set steel-traps in the burrows, but with no effect. We wandered around the fields armed with an old musket, and succeeded only in wasting a large quantity of powder and lead. We tried to drown one out, and after blistering our hands by carrying pails of water, were told that "a woodchuck hasn't lived in that burrer for two years." We were disappointed, but not discouraged.

"Let's set the rabbit trap," said Jack one morning as we were planning for the day's campaign.

So we carried the rabbit trap, which was a great box with a swinging door, up to the hedge back of the barn, and set it. Farmer Brown laughed at us, and said,

"Ef you see a 'chuck, put for the nearest hole; ef you git thar before him you can stop him from goin' in."

This plan seemed so much more exciting than any other, that we spent that afternoon and the next day looking for a stray woodchuck. Toward evening our patience was rewarded by the sight of a woodchuck in the middle of a field. Jack and I had by that time learned the location of the holes as well as the owners themselves, and we both started for a burrow in the hedge.

The woodchuck saw us, and made for the same burrow. He hadn't so far to go, and was evidently in a great hurry. Jack managed to arrive just in time to throw his hat in the mouth of the hole, thinking to bar the progress of the woodchuck. Vain hope! On came the woodchuck, and dived into the burrow, carrying Jack's hat with him. I just reached the spot in time to see the brown stump of a tail vanish, and hear Jack exclaim,

"I wonder what he is going to do with my hat?"

The loss of Jack's hat cast a damper upon our hunting for the afternoon, and it was not until after supper that we thought of the rabbit trap. When we reached it, it was sprung, and there was a sound of scratching inside that showed plainly something was trying to escape. We carried the trap carefully down to the barn, and opened it, so as to let our prize into a large barrel.

Our happiness was complete: it was a large woodchuck. What had tempted him to go into the trap I am sure I can't tell. Probably he was a victim of his own curiosity. At any rate, we had him safe and sound in the barrel, and after we had covered it with a board we went to our beds very much elated over our success.

The next morning we rose early, and went to the barn to see our prize. There he was in the barrel, his little eyes gleaming with rage, and signifying his disapproval of our proceedings by a series of short, sharp barks. Suddenly a brilliant idea struck me.

"Let's shut the doors; then let him out on the floor, and have some fun with him," I said.

Jack agreed, and we soon had every door and window but one securely fastened. This window was, fortunately for me, overlooked in our haste to have our fun.

We turned the barrel over, and out sprang a very angry woodchuck. He started directly for Jack, and that youth, with an agility which I had never given him credit for, scrambled into the oats bin. The animal then turned his undivided attention to me, and I dashed around the barn, the woodchuck in pursuit.

Every nail in the barn seemed to stand out and take a hold upon some portion of my clothing, and it was rapidly being reduced to fragments. Jack jumped out of the bin to assist me, but only succeeded in making the confusion worse. With a jump, the woodchuck fastened his teeth on Jack's arm. Luckily he only bit through the sleeve of his loose blue flannel shirt. Thoroughly frightened, Jack grasped a rope which hung from one of the rafters, and swung himself out of reach.

At that moment I spied the open window, and in a second more I was out. Jack was hanging on the rope with a tenacious grip, and the woodchuck was trotting around trying to find an avenue of escape. I ran to the door and threw it open. A dark form whizzed past me, and Jack dropped from the rope. We had had enough woodchuck for one summer.

"What on airth hev you boys been a-doin'?" inquired Farmer Brown as we entered the house.

"Been having some fun with a woodchuck," replied Jack, a little sheepishly.

Farmer Brown laughed, and remarked, as he took a second look at our torn clothes and flushed faces,

"Wa'al, I don' know, but it kinder looks as ef the woodchuck had been a-hevin' fun with you."

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