Within the hollow of that shell That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot Music raise and quell? The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms, With shrill notes of anger, And mortal alarms. The double double double beat Cries Hark! the foes come; The soft complaining flute, In dying notes, discovers The woes of hopeless lovers, Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs and desperation, Fury, frantic indignation, Depth of pains, and height of passion, For the fair, disdainful dame. But O, what art can teach, What human voice can reach, The sacred organ's praise? Notes inspiring holy love, STANFORD SOCIAL EDUCATION Notes that wing their heavenly ways Orpheus could lead the savage race; But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher: -John Dryden. VI. THE MERRY CHOIR-BOY Herr Frankh, a German teacher and musician, was walking through a little Hungarian village one evening. He spoke to a six-year-old boy who was running past him. "Can you tell me," asked Herr Frankh, "which is the house of the coachmaker Haydn?" "I will take you there," said the little boy, "The coachmaker is my father." "Well, well! And what is your name, my child?" "Franz Joseph Haydn, but they call me Sepperl for short." *"Sequacious" means "following." "Your father is my cousin," said Herr Frankh. “I have come from my home in Hainburg to pay him a visit.” By this time they had reached the coachmaker's house. It was a long, low building, only one story high. It had a thatched roof, plastered walls, and tiny windows. A part of the building was occupied by the coachmaker's shop, and the great arched doorway was large enough to admit a horse and carriage. Indoors the house was beautifully clean and neat. Sepperl's mother was poor and had many children to care for, but she was a wise and careful housekeeper. The Haydns welcomed Herr Frankh pleasantly. After supper the family gathered in the kitchen to make music, as they did every evening. The village schoolmaster came with his violin. Sepperl's father sang and accompanied himself upon the harp. The mother sat busily knitting, and sometimes she joined in the song. Little Sepperl sang too, in a clear, childish soprano. He imitated the schoolmaster's fiddling by rubbing two sticks together, and he ground away in perfect time just like a real violinist. Frankh was interested in the bright little boy. He saw that the child had musical talent and a good voice. So he offered to take him to Hainburg and to teach him properly. The mother was unwilling to let Sepperl leave her loving care. "He is too young," she protested. "He ought to have some one to keep him clean and tidy. And if he goes away I'm afraid that he may wear one of those horrid wigs!" For at that time the fashionable people wore powdered wigs, such as you see in pictures of George Washington. But Sepperl's father was anxious to have the boy well educated. He knew that Frankh was the choir director of Hainburg, and he felt sure that his talented son would be given a fine opportunity to learn music. So when Frankh's visit was ended he took little Sepperl to Hainburg with him. The six-year-old boy never lived at home again. When he was a grown man and a great musician, he visited the old house, but his parents were dead. He knelt and kissed the threshold over which their feet had so often passed. In Hainburg Sepperl sang in the choir and had lessons in violin-playing, as well as in Latin and other studies. Herr Frankh was a well-meaning man, but he had oldfashioned ideas about teaching. Whenever Sepperl made the slightest mistake he was given a sound whipping and was sent to bed without his dinner. In after years Haydn said that he received "more beating than bread." But when he grew up, he was grateful to his cousin for having kept him so busy at his lessons. One day a man named Reutter happened to be dining |