Read Ebook: Harper's Young People April 25 1882 An Illustrated Weekly by Various

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Ebook has 311 lines and 20577 words, and 7 pages

"How are we going to get him?" whispered Charlie. "The pole won't reach down there."

"I think we can manage it," said Tom. "I'll get part of the way down, and then you can hand me the pole, and I'll rouse him up, and when he sticks his head out to crawl, I will clap the crotch down over his neck, and hold him fast."

"All right," said Charlie.

Tom now began to cautiously clamber down the sides of the cleft. He had often gone down into these little ravines, but the walls here were much smoother than he had generally found them, and he did not meet with many projections on which he could place his feet. He was, however, slowly working his way down, when, to his own horror, and that of Charlie, who was watching him from above, he suddenly began to slip. He vigorously thrust out his arms and legs on either side, and as the cleft gradually narrowed in a downward direction, he succeeded by a great exertion in stopping himself when about half-way down. But now his position was very critical. If he slipped to the bottom, he might not only hurt himself, but he would most likely come down with his bare feet right on the sleeping snake. In working his way down he had, without intending it, got into a position directly above the creature.

It was a situation of great peril, and Charlie, who watched the scene from above, was even more frightened than Tom. He reached down the pole to his companion, but Tom could not take either of his hands from the rocks to seize it, and even if he could have done so, it would have been of little service, for Charlie was not strong enough to pull him up.

Then another idea struck Charlie. "If I can drive away the snake," he thought, "it will not be so bad for Tom, if he must fall." He picked up some small pieces of stone, and going back a little distance, where there would be no chance of his hitting Tom, he began to hurl the stones at the sleeping snake. One of them soon struck it, and in an instant the animal was aroused; but instead of uncoiling himself and crawling away, he thrust up his head and glared around, at the same instant raising his tail and rattling violently.

"Now I have done it," thought poor Charlie. "Tom might have got away from the snake when it was asleep, but now it is all ready for him." Charlie was in despair, but stepping back to a point just above Tom, and looking down upon his friend, another idea entered his mind.

"Tom," he cried, "can you hold on for half a minute longer?"

"Yes," said Tom, rather faintly.

"All right, then," cried Charlie. "Hold on tight, and shut your eyes."

Charlie turned around, and looking about him, picked up a piece of rock as big as his head. Taking this in both hands he stepped across the chasm, and stood astride of it, not exactly over Tom, but a little in front of him. Charlie had noticed that the snake had moved a little, and its head was now so far forward that a large stone might possibly be dropped upon it without hitting Tom. To do so, however, the stone must almost graze Tom's nose. But there was no time to be lost, and this was the only plan Charlie could think of to save his friend.

"Keep your eyes shut," he cried, "and don't move."

Down dropped the stone, and the wind of it as it passed Tom's face made him jerk back his head.

"Did it touch you?" cried Charlie, excitedly.

"Nothing touched me," answered Tom.

"It's on top of the snake!" cried Charlie. "Now get down as fast as you can."

Tom gave a glance downward, and then, half-slipping, half-scrambling, he came heavily to the bottom of the ravine. Charlie now ran off some distance to a place where there was a comparatively easy descent to the paths among the rocks, and he soon reached the spot where Tom stood.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"No," said Tom, "only scratched a little. But there isn't a man alive who would give three cents for this snake. You've smashed its head nearly off."

"That is what I tried to do," said Charlie. "Now we will go and look for another one."

The boys moved slowly among the rocks, and it was not long before they saw another snake, coiled up and asleep. Tom roused him with the crotched end of his pole, and when the snake, after rattling and hissing, laid his head upon the ground to crawl, Tom clapped the crotch over his neck, and held him firmly down. It was of no use for the creature to squirm and wriggle; he could not get his head from under that crotch. Charlie carried the basket, and he now ran up to the snake. Taking a piece of twine from his pocket, he slipped it under the head, and tied it around the neck just in front of the crotch. It required some care to tie the cord tightly enough to prevent its slipping, but not so tight as to choke the snake. The ends of the cord were about two feet long, and each of the boys took hold of one of them. The stick was now removed, and the snake began to struggle violently, but could not get at either of his captors. He was then lifted up by the cord, and dropped, tail foremost, into the basket, when the lid was clapped down quickly upon him, and securely fastened. The ends of the twine, which hung outside, were tied together under the basket, and the boys started homeward with their prize.

When they reached the cabin of old Ramsay, the veteran snake-hunter was still sitting at his door. As soon as he heard that the boys had caught a snake, he began to make preparations to take out its fangs.

"It's too tetchy a business for young boys like you," he said.

Ramsay hobbled into the house, and brought out a strong leather strap. He then untied the ends of the twine, giving one to each of the boys to hold. The lid of the basket was removed, and the snake angrily raised its head. Ramsay then held the end of the strap toward it, when, quick as lightning, the shake struck at the leather, and fiercely bit it. The moment the creature's fangs entered the strap, Ramsay violently pulled it away.

Glancing at the end the snake had bitten, Ramsay held it out toward the boys.

"Thar's his fangs," he said, "sticking into the leather. I jerked 'em out. Now the varmint couldn't hurt a baby--that is, till his fangs grow again, which won't be for a good while."

When the snake was delivered that afternoon to Mr. Harriman, it was an object of great attention to that gentleman and many of the villagers. It was found to be forty-nine inches long, and had seven rattles.

"Why, it's a two-dollar snake!" said Tom.

"Yes," said Mr. Harriman, "it is a very fine specimen, and I gladly pay you the two dollars. To which of you must I give the money?"

"This is Tom's snake," said Charlie, quickly. "The one I got, I smashed to flinders."

And in spite of Tom's arguments, he refused to accept a cent of the reward.

"It was a plucky thing in you," said Tom to his friend as they walked away, "to drop that big stone so close to my face."

"There was nothing plucky about it," said Charlie, laughing. "It wouldn't have hurt me if it had hit you."

"I don't believe a word of that," said Tom. "I believe it would have hurt you just as much as me."

Which was exactly the truth.

THE ORCHESTRA OF YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY.

BY MRS. JOHN LILLIE.

I suppose that every one who enjoys music likes to hear either a band or an orchestra. There is something very inspiring and fine about a performance where a great many people take part.

I think the conductor of an orchestra always looks like the possessor of some curious secret. His baton goes here and there; he waves it in a rhythmical or sharp fashion, and yet if you look closely you will see that not one in the orchestra but feels that he is his leader. There is a regular meaning in everything he does.

There are very few portions of musical history so interesting to me as the orchestra. To-day we have such excellent music in public orchestras that I suppose we forget there ever was a time when even musicians were not sure how orchestras ought to be arranged. In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries there were flutes and many stringed instruments; but the people who played on them did not know that they might be used harmoniously together. I am sure that seems almost funny to you now, but it undoubtedly was the case.

You see, music was in just that unformed condition then that they did not know what they could do with it. Now we will try and think a little, and see when orchestras began, and how they gradually prospered.

To go very far back, I must tell you that certain instruments, like lutes and lyres, were used among the ancients. I think they played them in concert. At all events, they had a dim idea that, performed upon together, they would sound well. But it was not until the sixteenth century--in 1581--that anything like a real orchestra was known. And just here I want to tell you what the word itself means.

Now, when you hear any orchestral concert, look back into olden days and see the first orchestra that we have record of. It was in the days of the sixteenth century.

In France there lived a certain famous nobleman--the Duc de Joyeuse. The splendor and beauty of his entertainments were renowned; and when, in 1581, he married the Lady Margaret of Lorraine, a very gorgeous festival was gotten up by him regardless of the expenditure of time or money or genius.

Now at this entertainment was produced a sort of dramatic performance with an instrumental band--the first on record. But it was in a very different fashion from the performance of an orchestra of to-day. They knew very few rules for harmonizing the instruments, yet, from the accounts given, the effect must have been very pleasing. Certain it is the gay audience were delighted by it.

Of course writing for orchestras was soon adopted by the various composers of the seventeenth century. Before the close of the century there were some quite well-ordered orchestras of stringed instruments, and when Bach began to write, the science of orchestration had gone very much further.

The other day I was listening to Beethoven's Fourth Symphony performed by some of the best players in the world, and led by a famous conductor, and I could not help thinking how very interesting it might be even to very young students to listen to any such performance, having a copy of the music with them, and then, on going home, to pick out certain parts and try to play them, reproducing some of the stringed effects. Now perhaps you will think this work for very advanced students. So it is, but little hands can try it too. Try some little chosen part of any symphony you may hear at a good concert, and see if you can remember, when you play, just what part of the expression belonged to any one particular instrument. I have heard pianists who seemed to me to almost reproduce the feeling of an entire orchestra.

Another interesting and useful study is to find out, before hearing a concert, the names of the various instruments used, and then, by means of a dictionary or encyclopaedia, you can read all about them. See if it will not transform the whole concert to you.

Here is a list of the instruments of a complete orchestra: First violins 15, second violins 12, violas 10, violoncellos 10, double basses 8, flutes 2, piccolo 1, oboes, cor Anglais, clarionet, corno di bassetto, bassoon, double bassoon, trumpets, horns, trombones, timpani, cornet ? piston, bass trumpet, tenor tuba, ophicleide, contra bass tuba, harp, bass drum, cymbals. The number and kind of instruments can of course be varied to a certain extent without losing the effect.

Chamber music differs from ordinary orchestras because none of the instruments are doubled; that is, only one of a kind is included in it, and it is adapted to a small number of performers on stringed instruments.

Many famous musicians have been equally famous conductors of orchestras. Mendelssohn and Moscheles, who were dear friends and great musicians, were celebrated for their conducting. Mendelssohn had a peculiar power over the musicians. They looked at his face as well as at his baton. Those sweet keen eyes seemed to tell each what to do--his whole soul was in the work. Very many stories are told of how on certain occasions parts of the score were found missing just as the men were taking their places, and yet Mendelssohn always contrived to get it together again with his marvellous faculty for rapid musical work. Once he is said to have dashed off a whole part while the audience were waiting, writing it from memory.

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