MAY I COME IN?
May I come in? My little Grace
Peeps round the door with laughing face.
I lift my head, and feign surprise
At wistful mouth and roguish eyes.
I know she'll trip across to me,
And give me kisses, one, two, three.
May she come in? Of course she may—
The sweetest thing I've seen to-day.
[CHATS ABOUT PHILATELY.]
BY J. J. CASEY.
VIII.—SURINAM.
The design of the postage stamps of Surinam, or Dutch Guiana, is shown in the accompanying illustration, the name being spelled, of course, after the Dutch method. In English the final "e" is omitted.
Surinam lies on the northern coast of South America. On the east is French, and on the west British, Guiana. The territory over which the Dutch claim dominion is about fifty-eight thousand square miles in extent, or more than four times the size of Holland, but the actual area under cultivation is a little over two hundred square miles. The principal settlements are in the lower valley of the Surinam River, which at its mouth is three miles wide. The water is of a dirty yellow color, with bubbles on its surface, and its current can be traced far out to sea. Its source has not yet been found.
The Dutch began to visit the coasts of Guiana about 1580. In 1614, the States of Holland granted to any Dutch citizen four years' monopoly of any harbor or place of commerce he might discover in that region. The first settlement in Surinam, in 1630, was made by an Englishman, whose name is still preserved by Marshall's Creek. Thirty-six years afterward the English settlement was taken by the Zealanders, and one hundred thousand pounds of sugar were exacted as a ransom. Finally, the country was confirmed to the Dutch by treaty, in 1674.
The most renowned name connected with Surinam is that of Cornelis van Aerssens, lord of Sommelsdjik, who in 1683 purchased one-third of the territory from the New Dutch West India Company. Sommelsdjik agreed to govern the colony at his own expense, and his rule was marked by rare wisdom and energy. He repressed and pacified the Indians, he erected forts, established a court of justice, introduced the cultivation of the cocoa-nut, and, in short, devoted himself to the welfare of his people. But his soldiery turned against him, and massacred him, after five years of beneficent rule.
His death threw affairs into great confusion. It became necessary to make some new arrangement, and his widow offered to sell his large interest in the colony to William III. of England. The arrangement would not, however, have been satisfactory to Holland, and Sommelsdjik's portion of the territory was finally purchased by the city of Amsterdam.
Surinam has continued under Dutch rule from 1804, with the exception of a period of eleven years, when it was in possession of the English. Slavery was abolished during this period. There is a House of Assembly, the members of which may never be less than nine nor more than thirteen. Four are appointed by the government, and the others are regularly elected by the colonists. There is one curious provision. A royal decree may overrule a unanimous decision of the Assembly, and not infrequently a command will arrive from Holland undoing all that has been accomplished by that body.
The capital of Dutch Guiana is Paramaribo. It has a population of 22,000, a large proportion of which are negroes. The city is regularly built, and the streets present a pleasant sight, owing to the rows of tamarind and orange trees which line them on both sides. In 1832 the city was nearly destroyed by a band of negro slaves, who set fire to the city. The flames were fortunately subdued before they made any great headway. In order to deter others from making a similar attempt, the negroes who executed the horrible deed were publicly burned alive.
There are about seventeen thousand bush negroes in Surinam. These are descendants of runaway slaves, and consist of three tribes. They retain curious traces of their former connection with Christianity, though they are, and consider themselves, pagans. Their chief god is Gran Gado (grand god), his wife is Maria, and his son Jesi Kist. Various minor deities are also worshipped; Ampeeka, the bush god, Toni, the water god, etc. Among themselves these people speak a language based on a corrupt English, mingled with many Dutch, Portuguese, and native elements.
I came near neglecting to state that in Surinam, in addition to postage stamps, there are also in use postal cards, and an extensive series of revenue stamps. These are of two kinds, stamped and unstamped, and in color correspond to the postage stamps of the colony. The cards were introduced in July, 1876. A very neat frame surrounds the card, with the word "Briefkaart" at the top, and four lines for the address.
A card for fifteen cents was first issued; then followed, in 1877, a card for twelve and a half cents. But last year, a change being made in postal rates, a card of seven and a half cents was issued. As an example of the economy so characteristic of the Dutch, the old cards were still kept in use, and the change made by simply printing the new value on them in black figures.
[WANTED, A LIVE RATTLESNAKE.]
BY FRANK R. STOCKTON.
ew strangers ever came to Cornham after the 1st of April. It was a sleepy little Southern town, and even the approach of spring made it too warm for comfort.
But one morning, when the sun was pouring down its beams with particular brightness, the few loungers at the railway station were astonished by the arrival of a middle-aged gentleman with a red beard and a pair of gold spectacles. He took lodgings at the only tavern in the place—the Bull's Head—and before he went to bed that night he had posted up by the side of the tavern door the following notice:
"WANTED, A LIVE RATTLESNAKE.
"The undersigned will pay for a live rattlesnake, not less than thirty inches long, and with at least three rattles, the sum of one dollar. The fangs of the snake must be extracted before it is offered for inspection, but the animal must not be injured in any other way, and must be perfectly healthy and lively. For a snake four feet long, with six or more rattles, two dollars will be paid.
"John G. Harriman."
This notice attracted the attention of a number of the people of the town, who gathered in a little crowd to read it; and after that had been done, most of the good folks sat down on the benches in front of the tavern to talk about it. It was generally agreed that Mr. Harriman must be either a showman, or one of those scientific fellows who go about the country collecting weeds and bits of stone, and all manner of worms and insects. Whatever he might have been, any one in the town who had happened to own a live rattlesnake would have been glad to let him have it for a dollar; but it was pretty certain that no one possessed such a creature. There were, however, in the stony hills and mountains around Cornham plenty of rattlesnakes, and it was in the hope of inducing some of the villagers to capture one of these for him that Mr. Harriman had put up his notice.
About nine o'clock Tom Welden came walking by the tavern, and stopped to read the notice. Tom was fourteen years old, and was the son of a farmer in the neighborhood. He had finished his morning's work about the barn, and had come into town to get something from the store.
The notice was very interesting to Tom, and he read it twice. A dollar was to him quite a large sum of money, and he was not long in making up his mind to try to get a rattlesnake for Mr. Harriman. If he could catch one four feet long, so much the better. He had nothing in particular to do that day, and he would start off at once for Block Mountain, where it was understood there were always rattlesnakes to be found.
He did not, however, wish to go on such an expedition by himself, and so he called on Charlie Crawford, one of his boy friends, and asked him to go with him.
"Is it to be half and half?" asked Charlie.
Tom hesitated a little at this. He had not thought of dividing the reward.
"All right," said Charlie, laughing. "I don't want any of the money; I'll go for fun."
But Tom was too generous a fellow to consent to anything like that. "We will first get the snake," he said, "and then we will see about dividing the money. But we must hurry up, for I've got to stop at the house on my way to the mountain."
In an hour from this time the boys had begun the ascent of Block Mountain, which was about two miles from the village. They had not gone very far up the mountain-side before they came to a cabin standing by itself on a small level space. An elderly man, very roughly dressed, was sitting on a bench by the door.
"Charlie," said Tom, "I'm going to stop for a moment to speak to old Ramsay. He can tell us more about rattlesnakes than anybody in these parts."
The boys found old Ramsay very willing to talk about rattlesnakes. "If it wasn't for my rheumatism," he said, "I'd just as lief go with you as not. But if you go up to the Break-Neck Rocks, and look around in the sunny places, you'll be sure to find some. You know how to scotch 'em, don't you?"
"Oh yes," said Tom, "I've done it before; but what bothers me is how to get the fangs out of the snake after we catch it. It's got to have its fangs out before it's delivered."
"Don't you try to take 'em out at all," said Ramsay. "Just you get your snake into this basket, and fasten the lid down tight, and then bring it to me. I'll take the fangs out."
The man then handed Tom a small but strong basket, made of split white oak, and thanking him for it, the boys started off again. On the way up Tom cut a pole about six feet long. He whittled off the upper branches, leaving only a small crotch at the top.
The Break-Neck Rocks were near the top of the mountain, but before they got there the boys sat down to rest.
"Tom," said Charlie, "if I'd been you, I would have put on my shoes before I came out to hunt rattlesnakes."
Tom looked at his bare feet in despair. "I never thought of it," he said. "I had so many things to do, that shoes never entered into my head."
"If your feet had entered your shoes, that would have been much better," said Charlie.
"Well, I'm not going back," said Tom, "for it's too far. I'll pick my way gingerly, and I guess I won't tread on a snake."
"FOR SOME TIME THE BOYS RESTED ON THE SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN."
For some time the boys rested on the side of the mountain, looking out over the country below them, and at the river which flowed not far away. Then they started up again, and soon reached the Break-Neck Rocks.
These rocks covered several acres, and between them were clefts or openings, often a yard or more wide at the top, and extending downward for fifteen or twenty feet. In the middle of the day, when the sun shone down into these great fissures, the ground at the bottom was a favorite resort for rattlesnakes; and here it was old Ramsay had meant the boys to look for them.
Tom and Charlie now began their search, stepping from rock to rock, and carefully looking into every cleft. It was not long before they saw very plainly a large rattlesnake on the ground at the bottom of the cleft. He was coiled up, and evidently fast asleep.
"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.
It is always well, even in the most delightful music, to stop and think how much you enjoy because you understand it; that is, if you are a student, and I am addressing myself chiefly to young people who are studying music.
Is not an orchestra a confusing sight in one way? You look at all the violins and violoncellos, the flutes, the hautboys, the wind instruments, and finally the conductor, and even if he waves his baton ever so knowingly, you wonder how he knows just what to do.
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.
Orchestra is a Greek word. It really means an open space where people sit, but it expresses now a place for an instrumental band and a chorus, and, properly speaking, an orchestra must sit. This is one of the chief distinctions between an orchestra and a band. Bands must, by right, stand while they play; orchestras ought, by right, to sit, that is, unless the weight of their instruments obliges them to stand. Besides this distinction, a band is composed of wind instruments; an orchestra has both wind and stringed instruments.
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.
In writing for orchestras Bach used a great many times what is called the obligato. This word, when written over a part, means that it can not be left out—it must be played.
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 encyclopædia, 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 à 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.
In an old house in London there is a book full of Mendelssohn's sketches when he and Moscheles were on their concert tours; and looking at them—some bright, some humorous, all happy and kindly—one could fancy just how much heart and soul he carried into his work; he put his fun into it as well as his sadness. Whatever he had, he gave it all to those around him when he stood in the conductor's place.
AN APRIL SHOWER.
[THE MAN IN THE MOON.]
Who does not know the Mother Goose jingle of
"The man in the moon
Came down too soon
To ask his way to Norwich"?
But the question is, how did he get in the moon, and what is he doing there? Most people can see only a face in the moon, and not always that; but in old times it was firmly believed that there was an actual man in the moon, with a bundle of sticks on his back, which he had to carry always as a punishment for gathering them on Sunday.
Some of the old English poets represented the man in the moon as a thief, who had been sent there for stealing, with a thorn bush on his back. Sometimes he had a dog with him for company, and in Shakspeare's Midsummer Night's Dream it is said,
"This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn,
Presenteth moonshine."
In Sweden, the country people say that the spots on the moon are a girl and boy carrying a pail of water between them, whom the moon once kidnapped and carried up to heaven. But the Germans see a man and woman in the moon, who were put there for punishment; the man because he strewed thorns and brambles on the path to church to prevent people from going there on Sunday morning, and the woman because she did her churning on that holy day. The man has to carry a bundle of thorns, and the woman her butter tub, and to stand in the moon always as a warning to other Sabbath-breakers.
The Dutch say that the man was caught stealing vegetables. But in the island of Ceylon they speak of "the hare in the moon," instead of the man, and tell this story about it:
Buddha, the god whom they worship, was once a hermit on earth, and got lost in a forest. He wandered about until he met a hare, which said to him, "I can help you out of your trouble; take the path on your left hand, and it will lead you out of the forest."
"I am very much obliged to you," replied Buddha, "but I am very poor and very hungry, and have nothing to offer you as a reward for your kindness."
"If you are hungry," returned the hare, "I am again at your service. Make a fire, kill me, roast me, and eat me."
Buddha made the fire, the hare at once jumped into it, and has been seen in the moon ever since.
There are any number of old superstitions and strange beliefs in regard to the moon. In Suffolk County, England, it is considered unlucky to kill a pig when the moon is waning. The pork, so the old wives say, will waste in the boiling. Another fancy is that to look at the moon for the first time through glass brings ill luck. According to an old rhyme,
"A Saturday's moon,
If it comes once in seven years,
Comes once too soon."
The application of this is that if the new moon happens on a Saturday the weather will be bad for the ensuing month.
The Chinese represent the moon by the figure of a rabbit pounding rice in a mortar, and sometimes by a beautiful young woman with a rabbit at her feet. But, after all, we have got to let most of our fancies in regard to the moon go. They will not stand for a moment after one glance through an astronomer's telescope.
HOW JUMBO CROSSED THE OCEAN.