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"I always shall-an' glad to get back. 'T was a very silly thing to leave it."

Mrs. Hannaford put her fowl-like nose within two inches of her husband's.

"I dare you to do it."

"Ban't no use flustering yourself, my old dear. Every human man 's got one kick in him. An' kick I 'm gwaine to this instant moment."

He turned and left her with great agility, while she, the foundations of her married life suddenly shaken by this earthquake, stood and stared and gasped.

Joseph quickly vanished into the dusk, and soon stood once more before the new vicar. Mr. Budd thereupon raised his eyes from his desk and asked a question without words.

"Well, your honor, 't is like this here: I'll go back to church again very next Sunday as falls in."

"Ah! But I thought that Joseph would be in bondage to no man?"

"Nor no woman neither," said Mr. Hannaford.

CROSS THE BORDER

BY SOPHIE JEWETT

I have read somewhere that the birds of faeryland are white as snow.-W. B. YEATS.

THERE all the trees bear golden flowers,
And all the birds are white;

Where fairy-folk in dancing-hours

Burn stars for candle-light;

Where every wind and leaf can talk,

But no man understand,

Save one whose child-feet chanced to walk
Green paths of Fairy-land:

I followed two swift silver wings;

I stalked a roving song;

I startled shining, silent things;
I wandered all day long.

But when it seemed the shadowy hours
Whispered of soft-foot night,

I crept home to sweet common flowers,
Brown birds, and candle-light.

loam, so sweet as sugar, an' drains like a sieve," declared Joseph.

"I want a gardener, of course, and cannot do better than Mr. Hannaford, though I'm not sure if it is n't too much for one elderly man."

"It is!" almost shouted Joseph. "Never a Bible prophet said a truer word! Too much by half. Not that I'd demean myself to ax for another man, but a bwoy I should have, an' I hope your honor will give me a bwoy, if 't is only to fetch an' carry." "What wages did you get from Mr. Truman?"

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Pound a week; an' another shilling would be a godsend, if I may say it without offense."

"An' up to squire's they only offered him seventeen an' sixpence, with all his ripe experience," said Mrs. Hannaford. "T would be a fine lesson in Christianity to squire, I'm sure, if you seed your way to twenty-one shilling."

"Better than a wagon-load of sermons, if I may say so," continued Joseph.

"A sight better, seeing squire 's not greatly 'dicted to church-gwaine, best of times," chimed in Mrs. Hannaford.

"You'd be under-gardener there, no doubt?"

"Ezacally so, dear sir. Onder-gardener beneath Smallridge-a man three year younger than me. But ban't for me to tell my parts. All the same, I would n't work onder Smallridge, not for ontold gold, if I could help it. Very rash views he 've got 'bout broccoli, not to name roots an' sparrowgrass."

"Terrible wilful touching fruit, also, they tells me," added Mrs. Hannaford.

"Well, you must come, I suppose. I could hardly turn you out of your old garden; nor is there any need to do so."

"An' thank you with all my heart, your honor; an' you'll never regret it so long as I be spared."

"The extra shilling you shall have. As to a boy, I want a stable-boy, and he'll be able to lend you a hand in the summer."

Mr. Hannaford nodded, touched his forehead, and mentally arranged a full program for the boy.

"Enough said, then. On Monday I shall expect you, and will walk round with you myself and say what I 've got to say. Good-by for the present."

Mr. Budd rose, and the old pair, with

many expressions of satisfaction, were about to depart when their vicar spoke again.

"One more matter I may mention, though doubtless there is no necessity to do so with two such sensible people. There are more sects and conventicles here than I like to find in such a small parish. Of course you come to church every Sunday, Mr. Hannaford ?"

"As to that, your honor-" began Joseph; then his wife silenced him.

"We 'm Plymouth Brethren from conscience," she said. "You ban't gwaine to object, surely-you as have come here to preach charity an' such like?"

Mr. Budd flushed.

"I've come to do my duty, ma'am, and don't need to be told what that is by my parishioners, I hope. All servants of the vicarage will, as a matter of course, go to church twice every Sunday, and upon week-days also, if I express any wish to that effect."

"Let 'em, then," answered the old woman, fiercely. "You can bind 'em in chains of iron, if you will, an' they 'm feeble-hearted enough to let 'e. But us won't. Us be what we be, an' Plymouth Brethren have got somethin' better to do than go hunting foxes an' week-day saints, whether or no. I'm a growed woman, an' Joseph 's my husband, an' he sha'n't be in bondage to no man. To squire's garden he shall go, an' save his sawl alive, so now, then! Gude evening, sir."

"If I may have a tell-" began Joseph, in a tremor of emotion; but his wife cut him short.

"You may not," she cried sternly. "You come home. Least said soonest mended. Awnly I'm sorry to God as a Cæsar of all the Roosias have come to this here place instead of a Christian creature."

So saying, she clutched Joseph and led him away. But on their silent journey homeward Mr. Hannaford pondered this tremendous circumstance deeply. Then, at his cottage gate, he rallied and spoke his mind.

"We 've done wrong," he said, "an' I be gwaine back again to confess to it afore I sleep this night."

"We 've done right. You'll save your sawl an' take seventeen shilling an' sixpence. You'll be a martyr for conscience, an' I be proud of 'e."

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'Martyr or no martyr, I knaw a silly auld woman, an' I ban't proud of 'e at all, nor of myself neither. Anything in reason I'd do for you, an' have done ever since I took 'e; but being put to work in cold blood under Smallridge is more 'n I will do for you or for all the Plymouth Brethren as ever bleated hell-fire to a decent man. I won't go onder Smallridge. He'd make me sweat enough to float a ship; an' at my time of life 't would shorten my days."

"The Lord 'll help 'e, Joseph."

"Lord helps those who help theerselves." "You 'm gwaine to the Hall, however, for I 've said it."

"Not me."

"You be, Joseph Hannaford, as I 'm a living woman.”

"No. Not for nobody, Jane! I 've never crossed 'e in my life; I've knuckled onder like a worm for five-an'-thirty year, an' shall henceforward just the same; but wheer Smallridge be in question I'm iron. I go to church next Sunday." "You never shall!"

"I always shall-an' glad to get back. 'T was a very silly thing to leave it." Mrs. Hannaford put her fowl-like nose within two inches of her husband's. "I dare you to do it."

"Ban't no use flustering yourself, my old dear. Every human man 's got one kick in him. An' kick I 'm gwaine to this instant moment."

He turned and left her with great agility, while she, the foundations of her married life suddenly shaken by this earthquake, stood and stared and gasped.

Joseph quickly vanished into the dusk, and soon stood once more before the new vicar. Mr. Budd thereupon raised his eyes from his desk and asked a question without words.

"Well, your honor, 't is like this here: I'll go back to church again very next Sunday as falls in."

"Ah! But I thought that Joseph would be in bondage to no man?"

"Nor no woman neither," said Mr. Hannaford.

ACROSS THE BORDER

BY SOPHIE JEWETT

I have read somewhere that the birds of faery

land are white as snow.-W. B. YEATS.

HERE all the trees bear golden flowers,
And all the birds are white;

Where fairy-folk in dancing-hours
Burn stars for candle-light;

Where every wind and leaf can talk,

But no man understand,

Save one whose child-feet chanced to walk
Green paths of Fairy-land:

I followed two swift silver wings;

I stalked a roving song;

I startled shining, silent things;
I wandered all day long.

But when it seemed the shadowy hours
Whispered of soft-foot night,

I crept home to sweet common flowers,
Brown birds, and candle-light.

MODERN MUSICAL CELEBRITIES

BY HERMANN KLEIN

II. ADELINA PATTI

HAPPY, if fortuitous, circumstance was that which brought upon the same scene, toward the end of 1888, the two most illustrious lyric artists of their time. The rising star of Jean de Reszke had displaced no more familiar planet; it simply filled a vacant foremost position in the constellation of operatic favorites. For four years Adelina Patti had ceased to appear regularly in opera in London, but in the concert-room and upon the Continental stage she still enchanted vast audiences, and, in every sphere alike, the brilliant orb of the "Queen of Song" continued to blaze with undimmed splendor. Now, in my opinion, there would have been ample space for these famous stars to shine in company at Covent Garden without detracting in the smallest degree from the brightness of each other. Yet, with all his pluck, Augustus Harris never ventured upon this "great emprise." Whether from motives of economy or for some more obscure reason, I cannot say; albeit, if the former, he had before him the striking example of the "coalition season" of 1879, when Gye and Mapleson united their wonderful array of forces at Covent Garden and made between them a net profit of one hundred and twenty thousand dollars.

Strangely enough, it was Paris that was to make the attempt. That highly favored institution, the Académie Nationale de Musique, was to have the honor of including in its bill, "for a few nights only," the distinguished names of Adelina Patti and Jean de Reszke. They were no strangers. They had known each other in the earlier days when the tenor was singing as a barytone; and the diva had given much friendly ad

vice and encouragement to the young Pole, whom she was wont to address by his petit nom of "Giovannini."

The occasion that brought them together again was the first performance at the Grand Opéra of Gounod's "Roméo et Juliette." Curious had been the history of this work in the two capitals. It was first produced at Paris, at the Théâtre Lyrique, in 1867, the part of Juliette being then sung by Mme. Miolan-Carvalho, the original Marguerite of Gounod's "Faust." In 1873, when the Théâtre Lyrique disappeared, "Roméo et Juliette " was transferred to the boards of the Opéra Comique, and at about the same time it was given at Covent Garden in Italian, with Mario and Patti in the title rôles. Later on, the renowned prima donna (then the Marquise de Caux) appeared in the same version, with the handsome French tenor Ernest Nicolini, who was subsequently to become her second husband. Notwithstanding these interpretative advantages, neither in Paris nor in London did "Roméo et Juliette "take any real hold upon the affections of the public. "Faust" was by far the most popular opera of the day. "Roméo et Juliette" seemed to be tolerated merely because it was by the same composer and had a Shaksperian subject, rather than for any intrinsic merit of its own. I know not which were the unkinder toward it, the French or the English critics. The latter plainly called it a dull, tedious opera. One of the former complained that the "symphonic element dominated it too much"; that the duo de l'alouette required "more naïve emotion, fewer heartrending dissonances and violent cries, more art and more nuances"; finally, that the composer had "preferred to make concessions to the doctrine of the music of

the future, whilst discarding the exigencies of taste and ear, and making of it a realistic drama [drame réaliste].” 1

Autres temps, autres mœurs! During the eighties a distinct change of attitude began to manifest itself in Paris toward "Roméo et Juliette." I recollect a performance at the Opéra Comique in 1886, with Talazac and Adèle Isaac, that delighted not only me, but a crowded and demonstrative house. At last Gounod, still hale and hearty, arranged for his work to be transplanted from a stage that was too small for it to the opera-house, where it ought originally to have seen the light. The directors, MM. Ritt and Gailhard, had the discrimination to foresee a valuable addition to their repertoire, and determined to mount it with a superb mise en scène and the finest cast obtainable. Gounod himself undertook to conduct the first performance, and, in compliance with the stupid traditions of the Paris Opéra, he consented to furnish the music for a ballet, without which at that time no work, whatever its source, could obtain admission to this lawridden stage.

I went to Paris expressly to attend this most interesting première, which took place on November 28, 1888. Seats were not only at a high premium, but virtually unobtainable, and I owed mine to the courtesy of M. Jean de Reszke. Many a time have I looked upon the heavily gilded and slightly somber interior of the Paris Operahouse, but never when it contained such a collection of famous men, such a gathering of elegant, jewel-bedecked women, as assembled there on that memorable night. The grandes dames of the French aristocracy were present in an array of sartorial splendor that recalled the halcyon days of the Second Empire, and what that implied I can only leave my fair readers to guess. On taking the conductor's seat, Gounod was overwhelmed with acclamations. His calm, serene countenance wore an encouraging smile, and no one would have dreamed that the veteran composer was as anxious as though it were the first performance of a brand-new opera.

At the outset, indeed, every one was nervous. Many years had elapsed since Mme. Patti had appeared at the Opéra, and, often as she had enacted Juliette, this was the first time she had sung the part in

French. In the waltz air, long one of her favorite concert-pieces, she did what was for her the rarest imaginable thing, namely, made a slip that carried her four bars ahead of the accompaniment. ("Elle sautait quatre mesures!" as Gounod subsequently put it.) Yet, thanks to her extraordinary presence of mind, the great prima donna regained her place so quickly that probably not twenty persons in the audience noticed the error. Moreover, she sang the whole waltz with such grace and entrain that an encore was inevitable, and on the repetition her rendering of it was the most brilliant I have ever heard her give. The youthfulness and charm of her assumption were astounding, while her fine acting in the more tragic scenes made manifest a startling advance in histrionic force upon her effort of ten years earlier in the same opera.

The new Roméo proved worthy of association with this perfect Juliette. The mere fact that it was Jean de Reszke may be deemed sufficient guaranty of that to-day; it is less easy, however, to convey an idea of the striking revelation which his impersonation offered as, step by step, scene by scene, it unfolded itself for the first time upon the same plane with Patti's exquisite conception. Every attribute that distinguished the one arose strong and clear-cut in the other. Never before, at least in their operatic mold, had the hapless Veronese lovers been so faultlessly matched. Where was "monotony," where was "tedium," now? The interest of that delicious sequence of love duets acquired a fresh intensity, and became "cumulative" in such a degree that the final scene in the tomb formed a veritable climax of musical as well as dramatic grandeur. The genius of Gounod stood in a new light, and his personal triumph on this occasion was a fitting corollary to that of the great artists who were his chief interpreters. Again and again did they appear before the curtain, hand in hand, an illustrious trio, to be converted into an illustrious quartet after Édouard de Reszke had invested with his unique organ notes the grateful phrases of Frère Laurent. From first to last it was a historical performance.

IN August, 1891, I paid my first visit to Craig-y-nos Castle, the lovely Welsh home 1" Dictionnaire Lyrique," by Félix Clément and Pierre Larousse.

LXVI.-7

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