MY MUSEUM. A REMINISCENCE OF MY SCHOOLMATES. "Let fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy; MOORE. by observation, so far as the senses can test it, that matter actually obeys this law. The same is true of the laws of light, heat, magnetism, and, indeed, of everything which is the subject of philosphical inquiry. The science of astronomy is a still more interesting exhibition of the coincidence of the laws of mind and matter. Were it not for this coincidence, the astronomer might have gazed for ceaseless ages on the solar system; alike ignorant of its laws of motion, and of the economy of its changes. Every eclipse would have been the portent of a raging pestilence; and every returning comet would have caused fresh anguish, as the ominous portrait of succeeding bloodshed. But the astronomer, having developed in his own mind the abstract demonstrations of the clypse, the hyperbola and parabola, efface. Time and distance, on the contrary, by comparing them with the phenomena of the heavens, found himself able to trace those hitherto bewildering orbs in their undeviating pathway, and predict their returning phenomena for successive ages. MY MUSEUM! of what does it consist? Johnson says, a museum is a repository of curiosities. Mine contains much more precious articles than any mere curiosity, however rare or antique. It contains the parting gifts of those early and dear friends, the memory of whom time nor distance can seem to lend a charm to these slight memorials of friendship, that they did not possess when first bestowed. Then we were in the first flush and buoyancy of youth and hope. The future lay before us in all the All this he has accomplished by carefully golden dreams of uncertainty-its pathway tracing the coincidence of the laws of mind seemed strewed with flowers, and even the and matter. But his labors are still incom- tear which accompanied our partings was plete. His field is infinite space, and the sub- soon followed by the smile of pleasure atjects of his inquiry are the innumerable tendant upon change of scene and circummyriads of orbs, that skirt the extremity of stance. But now, although so short a time human vision, and extend as far as the has elapsed, how many of those bright creative energy of an infinite creator. hopes have been blasted! Those golden How far he will push his future discove- dreams have vanished, the flowers have ries, we dare not predict. He may, perad-perished, and naught remains to many of venture, trace out some still more exquisite those young aspirants, but the "sere and ideal law, by the help of which, having yellow leaf" of drear and sad remembrance. caught the glimpse of a passing comet Could we, as we stand on the threshwhich has traveled in silent majesty through hold of womanhood, foresee the many trials the blue etherial vault ever since creation, and disappointments that await us, we would in her elyptical orbit, to arrive within the pre-shrink from encountering so much suffering cincts of our system, he may trace her course and unhappiness. But, unconscious and through other systems, and computing the careless of the quicksands that beset our revolution of each individual of these re- path, we rush blindfold upon our fate, and spectively, may pass from system to system, see our danger only when too late to avoid until he shall finally compute the grand rev-it. olution of an infinity of systems around one Each memento in my little cabinet, as I turn them over, recalls some cherished image. By-gone events and departed pleasures rise vividly to memory; or sad but pleasing melancholy unconsciously steals over me, as I contemplate these slight links that seem, as it were, to bind me more closely to the donors. A giant mind may be held in suspense, but that suspense must be brief, and the action which follows it will be more decided Here is a beautiful morocco-bound needleand energetic in consequence of that deten-book, the gift of Mary Reyburn. Her tion; just as a stream rushes with greater story is soon told. Her mother, a highforce for a temporary obstruction. born English woman, married, to please herself, a man whom her aristocratic fam- same tongue. Her history was wrapt in ily thought beneath them. As usual, Amer-mystery. Madame L. received instructions ica became their destination. Mr. Reyburn to furnish her pupil with everything requiamassed riches, and died when Mary was site to give her a complete and finished edabout sixteen years of age. Her mother ucation. Twice a year the consul came to wrote to her English friends-was forgiven, see his protege, who, during his stay, seemed in consideration, no doubt, that a rich widow unhappy and miserable. To his questions would be no incumbrance, and urged to in Spanish she replied in English, and return to her native land. Accordingly we mostly in monosyllables. Her writings and lost Mary, much to the regret of her young drawings were exhibited, she received a companions. How little can we divine the formal kiss at parting, and again was left destiny of even our most intimate friends! for another six months entirely among In less than two years after her departure strangers, who knew nothing more of her from our little circle, Mary Reyburn was than her name. She was never known to exciting universal admiration in the highest allude to any circumstances relating to circles of London, as the bride of Lord her former life, but her high and noble How often, as I look upon this memento of bearing gave evidence that she was of no her affection now before me, do I wonder mean extraction; and her ample supif, surrounded by the splendor and gaiety ply of spending money testified to her of a court, she ever turns her thoughts on wealth. Her vacations were spent among her early friends. Does she dwell with her different schoolmates, for the young affectionate interest upon former scenes, and with fond recollection call to mind her to whom she is still so dear? I close again its silver clasp, and pass on-it were useless to dwell longer on what can give no reply to such vain questions. Here is a plain gold ring. Let me turn from this; it calls but gloomy recollections, of the sorrow, sickness and death, of the young, the beautiful, and beloved. Here is a curiously wrought pen; on the stem is embroidered "Pensez a moi. V. D. S." Think of you, Virginia! Yes, I do often think of you, my bright and beautiful friend. "I ne'er will forget the short vision that threw South American was courted and caressed by all her companions. So surely do wealth and beauty win their way in the world! Had she been poor and homely, it may be doubted whether her very interesting and singular situation would have excited so much sympathy. But I forget; I am not writing the history of Virginia De Sylva. I was merely speaking of her beautiful pen. What her fate has been I am unable to say; but whatever it may be, the love and prayers of the writer will attend her until this heart is cold and indifferent to other ties and affections. Here is another ring, and the lustre of its diamond, as the precious stone reflects every sunbeam that falls upon it, seems a fit emblem of the happy girl who gave it. How Virginia De Sylva was a native of Brazil. different from the plain and unpretending She was placed at our school by the consul one we just passed, is this rich and costly from Buenos Ayres. She could speak both ring! Therese seemed born for the blue Spanish and Portuguese when she first came, skies and sunny atmosphere of the tropics. and with astonishing facility soon learned Her feelings were too warm, and her nature the French and English, although her mis- too ardent, for the chill of a northern clime takes in both were constant sources of and tempers. She returned to the West amusement to us. As soon as she could Indies to fulfil woman's destiny-to love make herself understood in the latter lan- and be beloved. She exchanged the happy guages, she could never be prevailed upon home of childhood for that of her husband. to speak her native tongue. Threats and All that is bright and happy in existence persuasions were alike unavailing; her will seems attached to the name of Therese. could not be altered; and when Virginia De By the side of this memento of happiSylva willed, nothing could change her res-ness, as if in mockery, lies a neat pocketolution. From time to time both Spanish book. Let me carefully examine one of and Portuguese children were in the school, its recesses, for it contains that dearest of but although it was evident she understood all legacies, a "lock of hair." As I unfold what they said, she never replied in the its graceful lengths, the mournful fate of the owner seems doubly sad. Cut off in life's earliest stage, when the bud of promise was about bursting into fruition, with all that makes life valuable crowding in her path, the fate of Augusta Meredith seems given to show the vanity of human hopes. Let me replace this severed link in its quiet resting place; it is not fitting that the eye of curiosity or indifference should coldly glance on what I hold so dear. Here is a carved ivory card-case, the souvenir of a clergyman's daughter, who, as usual, was the wildest romp among us. But soon, dear Lizzy, your frolics will be over, for in a little while you assume the dignities and sobrieties of a married lady. But I hope the cares so often attendant thereon may never damp that glad heart, or mark that childish face with wrinkles. But this review of my museum is forcing sad thoughts on my mind. How can I bear to recall so much that is somber and melancholy? Many of the donors of these simple gifts are now cold and almost forgotten in their early graves; many are merely dragging out life, weary of its cares and sick with disappointed hopes and blighted prospects; while only the few have seen their wishes gratified or their hopes realized, and of these how few have seemed the most deserving of such happiness. To most, life has been but the mockery of what they once anticipated. Experience has given the death-blow to all their airy visions of happiness, and time has destroyed even the affections which once formed so bright a portion of their anticipations. Let me lock the cabinet that contains these most precious gifts; more precious than aught that wealth could now bestow, for they are proofs of an affection sincere and disinterested, and therefore most acceptable. Can after-life ever compensate for the hopes and fears, the ties and affections, of earlier days? Surely, "there is no charm the world can give, like that it takes away." Columbus: 0. A. S. V. V. Virtue, to become either vigorous or useful, must be habitually active: not breaking forth occasionally with a transient luster, like the blaze of a comet; but regular in its returns like the light of day: not like the aromatic gale, which sometimes feasts the sense; but like the ordinary breeze, which purifies the air, and renders it healthful. PETER PIRAD. A SKETCH. FROM THE GERMAN. PETER PIRAD was born in Hamburg, in the year seventeen hundred and - His father's christian name was Hans Christophe. He was a burgher of Hamburg, a dealer in grain and distiller of brandy; and his business, though coarse, was very lucrative. Peter, his youngest son, was destined to follow his father's profession; he had, however, little inclination thereto, for his whole heart and mind were bent to the nobler science of music. His father resolved, when Peter was scarce eight years old, to bind him apprentice to a town musician; since he was firmly convinced "that nothing better could be done with the rascal." His master soon discovered that Peter was not so dull as at first seemed. And after a course of instruction, when Telemann, the then music director and cantor in the city, heard him play on the viol and horn, and beat the kettledrum, he became so much interested in the lad, that he devoted several hours in the week to giving him lessons on the harpsichord; in recompense for which kindness, Peter, whenever Telemann's compositions were represented, assisted by playing the kettledrum in a manner that astonished all who heard him. He When Telemann died, Peter was about twenty-four years old. He remained a year longer in Hamburg, and prosecuted his higher studies under Philip Emmanuel Bach. His father died in 1768. He had buried his mother about a year before. had many elder sisters, so that his portion of the inheritance was not large it was even less than it should have been, for he often gave his friends to understand that he thought it very possible "his brothers and his lady sisters had cheated him most heathenishly." Peter Pirad now left Hamburg for the first time in his life, and betook himself to obtaining a knowledge of the world. He was scarcely out of the city when his fortunes underwent a change much against his will. He fell into the hands of a party of Hessian recruiting officers, and was by them pressed, sans façon, into their service. For the space of four weeks, he endured like a hero the scant fare and plentiful cudgelling he found among them. At length his patience was exhausted-he swore to die rather than lead so heathenish a life any longer, and soon after made his escape. He turned his course to Vienna; thence to Salzburg, where he became acquainted with the court trumpeter Schachtner, an intimate friend of the family of Mozart. Schachtner was master not only of the trumpet, but also of the viola di gamba, a now forgotten instrument. By year, was half as tall again as his father. If I am not mistaken, he is yet living and happily married, as a painter in Riga. as tall, and twice as thick as himself. strenuous exertions, he brought matters to such a pass, that the heart of his colossal fair one was moved. He married her. And though it would have been impossible to look without laughter at the strange couple, yet he enjoyed as much happiness in wedlock as mortal had reason to expect. The In this, like firstborn son, however, was a source of unPirad, he was scientifically skilled. Pirad failing apprehension to his parental eye; became warmly attached to him, and spoke for the "Bengel," even in his sixteenth of him to the end of his life with enthusiasm and respect. Without doubt, the excellence of Schachtner stimulated him to higher proficiency as a kettle-drummer; for he ascribed his enthusiasm for that instrument to the impressions received during his stay in Salzburg, which lasted scarce a year. From Salzburg he went to Vienna, from Vienna to Prague, Dresden, and Berlin, where he made himself personally acquainted with all the great masters then living. The year 1788 found him at Bonn, where he beat the kettledrum in the Electoral Chapel; but he only stayed there a year, for there was no rest for the sole of his foot. Yet he looked upon Bonn as his home till the outbreak of the French revolution, when he became alarmed, for he was ever of a timid nature. In the later years of his life, he used to speak with great emphasis of a bedstead painted red, in which he has been often frightened from sleep for the space of half a year, because it put him in mind of the guillotine. I became acquainted with Peter Pirad while I was yet very young, and saw him first in Altona, whither in 1807 he had fled in great alarm from the English. He went thence, for the last time in his life, to Bonn, and was about entering into an engagement to become kettledrummer for his Majesty of Westphalia; but when they were proceeding to instal him into office, he crept out of the bargain and returned to Hamburg, whence he made year-long excursions, now to the East, now to the West. At length his journeyings stopped at Flensburg, where in the year 1822, he died, peaceful, happy, and full of years. As a performer on the kettledrum, Peter Pirad has seldom or never been surpassed. And this was not all. He had the most thorough knowledge of counterpoint. He played on many instruments with skill and precision. And on the organ, in counterbass, he carried his skill to perfection. But his kettledrum was everything to him. He was incessantly occupied with it. He kept it with great care, in as perfect tune as the most devoted violin virtuoso ever kept his instrument. In his first terror he departed, and rested not till he arrived, pale and thin, at his native city of Hamburg. The news he heard every day made him shudder. He did not think himself safe even there. He quitted the place once more, and at length drew breath Not an indenture was to be quietly in Copenhagen. There he betook seen in it. The parchment was so fine and himself again to his favorite science. Nau- transparent, that it looked as though it would mann's Orpheus so moved him, that he was burst with every stroke; and yet, Pirad obliged to keep his bed eight days. With would play, without injuring it, the whole the exception of Hoffman, and the excellent year long, from the lightest pianissimo note, violin player, Rolla in Dresden, I know of He suffered none no artist, on whose physical constitution the else, however, to meddle with it: and I verily hearing of delightful music produced such believe, notwithstanding his usual timidity violent, such even pernicious effects, as on and gentleness, would have murdered anybody outright who should have spoiled his instruments. that of Peter Pirad. Till this time, had Peter known little or nothing of love; now first his obdurate heart felt the quivering arrow of the little blind god. He was enamored of his landlady, the widow of a Danish ship-lieutenant, a dame of goodly proportions, being about to the strongest forte. I have described his personal appearance in the picture of Beethoven. I never saw him differently attired, with the exception of his silken hose, which he subsequently exchanged for a pair of gray cloth. His lan guage was a mangled mixture of almost all the different German dialects, varied with broken phrases of Italian, French, and Latin. With his wife, he murdered Danish, which he understood as imperfectly as she did German; so that each seldom comprehended what the other meant to say, and yet they always agreed. One misunderstanding, however, occasioned both no little embarrassment. When madame Pirad, one day in the dearth of news, informed her good-man, then seventy years old, that her favorite cat, Itscha, was about to be blessed with progeny, Peter, mistaking her meaning, was induced to believe that God intended bestowing on him and his wife, as on Abraham and Sara, a son in their old age. He expressed great joy at the news, drank a flask of wine, and in the gladness of his heart, invited half the town to stand god-father to the expected infant. My last interview with Pirad was not a little amusing. I happened to be in Wismar in 1820, and master Peter, as luck would have it, one day made his appearance there. He had attended the representation of some of Handel's compositions, under the direction of the lamented President Breitenstern-too early summoned home! He waited on the President; and Breiten stern, who saw in him a passionate admirer of Handel, received him with all the courtesy and affability so peculiar to him. Peter Pirad went to one of his soirees, and made no end of talking to me about it. At length he broke out-sakerment! It is furious, that you can represent nothing with a complete set of instruments. Heh! the President should do something to have the Messiah performed with Mozart's improvement.' And on my remarking that the object of Breitenstern was to give Handel's original notes, he said "all very well-very good -but the kettledrum eh? sakerment! You know nothing of the improvements of Mozart!" "How should I not!" ment! the effect, I say, when the choir of voices first begin, (and he sang, as he was wont when in a rage,) "For unto us a child is born, unto us a child is born, a child is bo-r-r-r-n." And now soli. "His name shall be, (Tutti Fortissimo.*)--The Mighty God-the Everlasting Father-the Prince of Peace!" 66 Here the tears chased one another rapidly down his lean and wrinkled cheeks. "Heavens!" he exclaimed, sobbing. "Heavens! what great men were Handel and Mozart! But know, I will ask the President to let me give a kettledrum concert. Now is the time-think you not so?" Of course I did not gainsay him, and he lost no time in making his wishes known. "What would you play on the kettledrums," asked the President. "Eh? variations, variations." "Very well--and in what." "In the thema. Ich bin liederlich-du ." He started, and corrected himself with alow obeisance. "Sic sind liederlich.”† The President sank laughing on the sofa, and cried "no, no, my good friend! I must not let that be drummed out so publicly here!" Pirad did not exactly comprehend why, but allowed himself to be satisfied with a not insignificant gift from the President. I could relate many other amusing anecdotes of master Peter; as, for instance, when assisting a niggardly stage director, who played the flute and directed his performers, Pirad suddenly, in the midst of the performance, flung away the viol and thundered a solo on his kettledrum; (it was in the G--dur Quintetto, in the second Act, where the chorus of priests join at the close,) whereat the director was so much astonished and affrighted, that he tumbled from his stool into the midst of the counterbassists and violincellists, etc., etc. E. F. E. But no anecdote must be too long spun out; so rest thee, mine honest old friend "Good! good! But-sakerment! have Peter Pirad! Surely the earth lies lightly you not observed what effect the kettledrum upon thy bosom, for thou wast throughout produces; particularly in the-that-what life a good and true man! do you call it? The devil! Exactly! The chorus I would say--"unto us a child is born!" "Do not laugh," he interrupted himself in a tone of vexation, as I, irresistibly reminded of the cat story, could not refrain from laughing. "So, so, where was 1 yes! yes! with the chorus! Hollenele Columbia: S. C. *These tuttiforte, like the succeeding, he sang in a voice of thunder, at the same time throwing up his arms as if beating the kettledrum. + You are dissolute, etc. |