tence of his heart in chords such as no mortal ear had ever yet heard. It was also a great consolation to him to remember that the Lord, to whom he had drawn near in humble and child-like faith, had suffered and died for him, and would look on him in love and compassion. The day before his death, he desired the score to be brought to him in bed (it was two o'clock in the afternoon), and sang his part; others took the soprano, tenor, and bass. They had got through the various parts, to the first bars of the Lacrimosa, when Mozart suddenly burst into tears, and laid aside the score. The delicate organs of his bodily frame were already fast decaying, so that even his cherished canary was obliged to be taken out of the room, because the invalid could no longer bear its singing."

His wife's sister has written of his dying days: "The last movement of his life was an endeavor to indicate where the kettle-drums should be used in his Requiem.' I think I still hear the sound." Another messenger

than the tall man in gray had come, even Death, and so Mozart was borne away in his thirty-fifth year. But his life on earth was finished. There remain many letters by himself and others, from which we know some.

thing of his daily life; above all, we still hear his music sounding forth. It can never die. He moved through the mean things of life like a divine being. He obeyed the voice from on high which perpetually bade him sing! He was music itself, ever youthful, full of heavenly harmony.

THE RETURN OF ORPHEUS.

WHEN the world was young Orpheus sang to it, and when the world grew old, Orpheus came again and sang a second time. At the first visit all were so enchanted that the rocks and trees could not sit still, but jumped up and danced about to the sound of the music. That was when the world was young and foolish; no one was looking on and all did as they pleased. When the world grew old, it was wiser and did nothing without thinking about it, and asking what its ancestors would have thought, what its posterity was going to think.

Now it was whispered about that Orpheus was to revisit the world. The world had not forgotten his first coming; the Evergreens took care of that. They stood sprinkled in the forest and though the rest slept, they kept awake, — they never forgot. All that had happened was intrusted to them to remember. Each year in the spring, they told of Orpheus' visit, and at last, one spring, they added: "He is now to come again, for when he left us he

promised to return when the blood of heroes should make the cold world warm enough for his footsteps."

The rocks, the trees, the bushes, all heard this and expected Orpheus, but they were not quite certain how they ought to behave. "When the world was young," they said,

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our ancestors danced, very likely, but the question is - are we to dance? A great deal has happened since those days; all sorts of fiddlers have been fiddling, singers have been singing, there has been no general dance, one or two may have skipped a little, but they make no rule; if reports are correct, they were not always very reputable." This was the common talk, but the matter was so interesting that there were many separate opinions. "What think you, neighbor?" asked the Elm of the Oak. "Shall we dance?

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"Shall we stand on our heads?" growled the Oak; "I have a better opinion of myself than to think I shall engage in such foolery,” and he thrust his knobby arms out and dug himself deeper into the earth, for he meant to get such a hold and make such a solid stand that he never should be shaken.

"I see nothing to dance for," said the Willow; "I can't dry my tears so suddenly for

every strolling player that chooses to pipe for

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me."

"It is undignified to dance," said the Poplar. "How I should look!"

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Well, I should like to dance pretty well," said the Elm; "it is graceful exercise, but then I don't care about it if the rest do not dance. I should not wish to be conspicuous."

The Rocks said they would dance; they only asked that Orpheus should play loud enough to move them, and that he should play exactly as he did when he came before. They were perfectly willing to dance, but they must insist on knowing the tune. The Evergreens said they should dance, as a matter of course; it would be ridiculous not to; they were ready, only let him come and strike up - they would lead off.

Orpheus came with his lyre and sang. The Evergreens immediately began to dance, but they were out of time from beginning to end. It was not the music that made them dance; in fact, they led off before Orpheus had uttered a note. When the Elm saw them she also began to dance quite gracefully, though she did not listen much to the music. But she saw the Oak clinching his knobby fists at Orpheus and she stopped, pretending that she had only