I witnessed a striking instance of its effects in the bay of Tior, my visit to which place has been alluded to in a former part of this narrative. On that occasion our worthy captain formed one of the party. He was a most insatiable sportsman. Outward bound, and off the pitch of Cape Horn, he used to sit on the taffrail and keep the steward loading three or four old fowling-pieces, with which he would bring down albatrosses, Cape pigeons, jays, petrels, and divers other marine fowl, who followed chattering in our wake. The sailors were struck aghast at his impiety; and one and all attributed our forty days' beating about that horrid headland to his sacrilegious slaughter of these inoffensive birds.

At Tior he evinced the same disregard for the religious prejudices of the islanders as he had previously shown for the superstitions of the sailors. Having heard that there was a considerable number of fowls in the valley, the progeny of some cocks and hens accidentally left there by an English vessel, and which, being strictly tabooed, flew about almost in a wild state, he determined to break through all restraints and be the death of them. Accordingly he provided himself with a most formidable-looking gun, and announced his landing on the beach by shooting down a noble cock, that was crowing what proved to be his own funeral dirge on the limb of an adjoining tree. "Taboo," shrieked the affrighted savages. savages. "Oh, hang your taboo," says the nautical sportsman: "talk taboo to the marines; " and bang went the piece again, and down came another victim. At this the natives ran scampering through the groves, horror-struck at the enormity of the act.

All that afternoon the rocky sides of the valley rang with successive reports, and the superb plumage of many a beautiful fowl was ruffled by the fatal bullet. Had it not been that the French admiral, with a large party, was then in the glen, I have no doubt that the natives, although their tribe was small and dispirited, would have inflicted summary vengeance upon the man who thus outraged their most sacred institutions: as it was, they contrived to annoy him not a little.

Thirsting with his exertions, the skipper directed his steps to a stream; but the savages, who had followed at a little distance, perceiving his object, rushed towards him and forced him away from its bank,- his lips would have polluted it. Wearied at last, he sought to enter a house, that he might rest for a while on the mats; its inmates gathered tumultuously about the door and

denied him admittance.

He coaxed and blustered by turns, but

in vain,—the natives were neither to be intimidated nor appeased; and as a final resort he was obliged to call together his boat's crew, and pull away from what he termed the most infernal place he ever stepped upon.

Lucky was it for him and for us that we were not honored on our departure by a salute of stones from the hands of the exasperated Tiors. In this way, on the neighboring island of Ropo, were killed but a few weeks previously, and for a nearly similar offense, the master and three of the crew of the K

I cannot determine with anything approaching to certainty what power it is that imposes the taboo. When I consider the slight disparity of condition among the islanders, the very limited and inconsiderable prerogatives of the king and chiefs, and the loose and indefinite functions of the priesthood,- most of whom were hardly to be distinguished from the rest of their countrymen,- I am wholly at a loss where to look for the authority which regulates this potent institution. It is imposed upon something to-day, and withdrawn to-morrow; while its operations in other cases are perpetual. Sometimes its restrictions only affect a single individual, sometimes a particular family, sometimes a whole tribe; and in a few instances they extend not merely over the various clans on a single island, but over all the inhabitants of an entire group. In illustration of this latter peculiarity, I may cite the law which forbids a female to enter a canoe,- a prohibition which prevails upon all the northern Marquesas Islands. The word itself ("taboo") is used in more than one signification. It is sometimes used by a parent to his child, when in the exercise of parental authority he forbids it to perform a particular action. Anything opposed to the ordinary customs of the islanders, although not expressly prohibited, is said to be "taboo."

FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY

(1809-1847)

F THE personality of Mendelssohn the musician, and of the professional activities of a career of perhaps as complete artistic felicity and success as can be pointed out, few essential facts are unfamiliar at this date. In connection with a literary work they need but general review. Not many masters in art have come into the world with so many amiable fairies to rock the cradle, so prompt to bestow almost a superfluity of gracious gifts. Born at Hamburg, February 3d, 1809, of Hebrew blood, and of a prosper

MENDELSSOHN

ous and distinguished family that numbered the Platonist, Moses Mendelssohn, among its immediate ancestry, the boy's temperament and talents received peculiarly careful cultivation. Indeed, so far was this the case that it would not have been singular had Felix made music a mere avocation, instead of accepting it as the business and passion of his life; one which he pursued with that splendid system and industry, in nine cases out of ten having much to do with the recognition of what the world thinks the irresistibility of genius. From being a youthful prodigy at the pianoforte and in original composition, from studying diligently with his charming sister Fanny, the lad outgrew the interest attaching to merely a young virtuoso, and stood forth as one of his art's mature and accepted masters. Mendelssohn's career of triumph may be spoken of as beginning with the familiar music to Shakespeare's 'Midsummer Night's Dream'; its later milestones are familiar in a long series of orchestral works of large form, and in the large body of chamber music, vocal and instrumental, of greater or less interest; and it can be said to have culminated in 'Elijah,' the best of his oratorios,-indeed, the best oratorio on a Handelian pattern yet heard. Life to him from year to year meant incessant and delightful labor, bringing admiration and substantial honor. Only Mozartwith whom Mendelssohn's affinity is emphatic - was as prolific, with so little that in the general result can be dismissed as dull or trashy.

After Germany and England had been the scene of a career which, reviewed at this date, appears to us to have brought not only fame but a personal and musical idolatry, the composer died in the flush of manhood, at Leipzig, in 1847. There was soon after a certain natural reaction against his music, save in England. Lisztian influences affected it, in especial. Much of it still is laid aside, if not actually dismissed. But his place in his art seems securer now than it was a decade ago; and however the forms and the emotional conception of music have changed, whatever the shifting currents of popular taste, it seems now probable that Mendelssohn's best orchestral works, his best compositions for the voice, and even the best of his pianoforte pieces, will long retain their hold on the finer public ear and the more sensitive musical heart. The world has begun to re-esteem them, and to show signs of feeling a new conviction of their beauty of idea and their singular perfection of form. This is the day of the dramatic in music; but Mendelssohn's expression of that element is not feeble nor uncertain, albeit it must be caught rather between the lines by a generation concentrated on Beethoven, Schubert, Schumann, Brahms, and Wagner.

Mendelssohn's letters are-like his music, like his drawings, like everything that he did—a faithful and delightful expression of himself. His temperament was charming, his nature was sound, his heart affectionate, and his appreciations wide. His sense of humor was unfailing. He poured himself out to his friends and relations in his correspondence in all his moods, whether on professional tours or stationary in one city or another. Every mood, every shade of emotion, is latent in his "pages of neat, aristocratic chirography." He knew everybody of note; he wrote to dozens of people-musical and unmusical-regularly and voluminously. His epistolary style is as distinct as his musical one,-what with its precision in conveying just what came into his head, united to lucidity, elegance, finish, a knack of making even a trifling thing interesting; and showing a serious undercurrent from a deeply thoughtful intelligence. He was a born letter-writer, just as he was a born musician. Those few volumes that the kindness of his friends has gradually given to the world (for the original letters of the composer have always been difficult to procure), depict his moral and æsthetic nature, so limpid and happily balanced, with an obvious fidelity and an almost lavish openness.

N°

FROM A LETTER TO F. HILLER

LEIPZIG, January 24th, 1836. OTHING is more repugnant to me than casting blame on the nature or genius of any one: it only renders him irritable and bewildered, and does no good. No man can add one inch to his stature; in such a case all striving and toiling is vain. therefore it is best to be silent. Providence is answerable for this defect in his nature. But if it be the case, as it is with this work of yours, that precisely those very themes, and all that requires talent or genius (call it as you will), are excellent and beautiful and touching, but the development not so good, then I think silence should not be observed; then I think blame can never be unwise: for this is the point where great progress can be made by the composer himself in his works; and as I believe that a man with fine capabilities has the absolute duty imposed on him of becoming something really superior, so I think that blame must be attributed to him if he does not develop himself according to the means with which he is endowed. And I maintain that it is the same with a musical composition. Do not tell me that it is so, and therefore it must remain so. I know well that no musician can alter the thoughts and talents which Heaven has bestowed on him; but I also know that when Providence grants him superior ones, he must also develop them properly.

I

FROM A LETTER TO HERR ADVOCAT CONRAD SCHLEINITZ, AT LEIPZIG

BERLIN, August 1st, 1838. ALWAYS think that whatever an intelligent man gives his heart to, and really understands, must become a noble vocation: and I only personally dislike those in whom there is nothing personal, and in whom all individuality disappears; as for example the military profession in peace, of which we have instances here. But with regard to the others it is more or less untrue. When one profession is compared with another, the one is usually taken in its naked reality, and the other in the most beautiful ideality; and then the decision is quickly made. How easy it is for an artist to feel such reality in his sphere, and yet esteem practical men happy who have studied and known the