THE REDBREAST.

IT is hard to believe there is not some mysterious sympathy between the redbreast and man. Certainly no other bird appeals to him so confidingly for shelter and protection. In the country houses of the rich he resorts, now to the stable or coach-house, now to the conservatory, and now to the breakfast-room. Almost every farmhouse or retired cottage affords him a home in autumn and winter. Many a time have we heard him piping sweetly and plaintively in cathedrals and parish churches, perched sometimes on the organ, and sometimes on the mouldings of a pillar, or a mullion of the chancel window. Not unfrequently, during a country walk in autumn, when we have seated ourselves to rest on a bank by the road-side, we have heard his well-remembered twitter in some neighbouring thorn, or seen him even alight in the road, as if to examine us close at hand, and discover whether we were not some familiar friend. Foresters will tell us that when they are felling wood, no matter how seemingly ill-adapted the locality may be to the habits of the redbreast, one of these birds will assuredly find them out, welcome them with a morning song, pipe to them many times a-day, watch them at their meals, pick up their crumbs, and, at evening, wish them goodnight with a longer and sweeter strain than usual.

We happened once to be paying a visit to a friend in the country, and, after breakfast, were invited by the lady of the house to come out and see her robins. We had not taken many steps when the lady made a chirping noise, and straightway a redbreast, who had seemingly been expecting her arrival, flew out from a laurel hedge, perched on her hand, picked from it a morsel of bread, and then flew away to eat its meal in privacy. A few steps further on the lady chirped again, and a second redbreast appeared, hovered a second or two in front of her face, and, without alighting, pecked from between her lips another morsel, with which he too flew off to his hiding-place.

All this is strange and pretty. There are many instances on record of animals of various kinds taking man into their confidence without any previous domestication, but these are chiefly remarkable for their singularity. With friend Robin this is not the case. All robins, old and young, habitually frequent the haunts of men; and any robin, we believe, might easily be induced to perch on a lady's hand, or feed from her mouth. In early Christian times this sympathy of the redbreast with man was accounted for by the legend, "that a redbreast accompanied our blessed Saviour to Calvary, and plucked off one of the sharpest thorns from his crown; in reward for which act of compassion God gave to this courageous bird a portion of his divine spirit." This fable, like many a fairy tale in our own day, was perhaps intended to teach some practical religious truth in the form of a parable from nature.

While admitting the fact that the redbreast is instinctively more fearless of man than any other known animal, and that its habit of courting human society is not acquired either by teaching or example, we are sorely afraid that, after all, there is little real sentiment in all this apparent devotion. Just as the spider spins his web in front of some tempting bunch of blackberries, which his instinct tells him is a certain lure to flies, or across some narrow path through a furze brake, which is a highway for gnats-so friend Robin affects our society for the sake of what he can get. In autumn and winter, insects, his favourite food, are most abundant in gardens and the neighbourhood of houses. Flies and spiders frequent barns, conservatories, and churches, for the sake of shelter from cold and safety from their enemies. Where his favourite food is most abundant, thither the redbreast repairs when times are hard; and finding welcome from man, accepts any proffered meal that may be to his taste; singing, when his meal is ended, not from any feeling of gratitude, but in the exuberance of animal spirits, which, in feathered as well as unfeathered bipeds, is the accompaniment of a well-filled crop.

THE HOUSE OF HOHENZOLLERN.

ROMANTIC PERIOD.

FAR away in the south of Germany rises the Castle of Hohenzollern. On an eminence nearly three thousand feet above the sea, on a precipitous rock eight hundred feet above the valley, stands the ancestral home of the Kings of Prussia.

To the north are the vineyards and sunny valleys of Wurtemburg; to the west the pine-clad heights and gloomy dells of the Black Forest; to the east the Rhane Alp; and to the south, the white mountains of Tyrol, Glarus, and Berne bound the horizon.

Very beautiful it is at early dawn to see peak after peak catch the rays of the morning sun, the lower lands still lying in shadow, while overhead the osprey soars, debating for a moment whether on that day he shall fish in the Neckar and other tributaries of the Rhine, or rifle the waters of the Danube. We are standing on one of those backbones of Europe which determine the courses of rivers. Those to our right flow west and north into the German Ocean, on our left they reach, after many wanderings, the Black Sea. This present castle, built by the late King of Prussia, after the Principality of Hohenzollern was ceded to him in 1849 by the elder branch of the family, who had sunk in the world, stands on the site of one more ancient, whose foundations were laid with great pomp about 1450. It must have been a great day. We read that "Josse-Nicholas," Count of Hohenzollern, Philip, Duke of Burgundy, Albert, Elector of Brandenburg, Charles, Marquis of Baden, and Albert, Duke of Austria, a goodly company, men known in history, "with trowels and hammers of silver," were masons for the day.

This new castle was necessitated by the fact that Henrietta, Countess of Wurtemburg, in defending the supposed rights of her two sons, had come suddenly down on the Counts of Zollern, and burnt, and as she thought, utterly destroyed that nest of the Black Eagle, which had been founded in 980, by a Frederick, Count of Zollern. He at any rate was the first who, in a rude way, fortified that "House on the Hill," which in after days was to send forth one of the ruling houses of Europe. His ancestors had been rich landed proprietors in Swabia, and had had a share in the local government confided to them. In this position they might have continued to this day, simply princely proprietors, but for a circumstance which we often see repeated in a modified form in our own times.

A Count of Hohenzollern had four sons. Trained to arms and accustomed to adventure, they found their petty principality too small for their ambition; so it happened that Conrad, one of the younger, went forth to seek his fortune.

Can we not picture to ourselves the high-spirited lad, slowly wending his way down yon precipitous path, mounted on his favourite war-horse, whose flowing mane and tail have been plaited and decked with gay ribbons (after the fashion of the time), followed perchance by some faithful dog, or equally faithful vassal (foster brother for aught we know), bound for the Holy Land, to fight the Infidels under those great leaders, Frederick Barbarossa and Richard the Lion-Hearted of England. From that day the Swabian fortress saw him no more, for the younger son "rose in the world," "made his fortune," as we may say, while the elder branch remained, at best, stationary. Just as we often see portionless younger brothers, or the younger members of overgrown working families obliged to exercise their talents and call

forth all their energies, till they rise far above the wellcared-for elder son, bringing to mind the Bible saying, "The elder shall serve the younger."

We cannot follow Conrad step by step. Enough for us to know that towards the end of the twelfth century he was appointed Burgraf or Governor of the Imperial city of Nuremburg, as a reward for services rendered to the Emperor.

Nuremburg was and is one of the most interesting and curious of German towns. Wonderfully charming are its quaint old streets, its "Beautiful Fountain," its ancient churches-wonderfully interesting the old memories that hang about the birthplace of Albert | Durer, and many others famous as painters, carvers, or mechanics. There they say the first watches were made, and called by the queer name of " Nuremburg eggs," and there the first cannon, at any rate in Germany, were cast. Alas! now its most celebrated manufactures are lead pencils and children's toys.

For more than two hundred years Conrad's descendants remained governors of Nuremburg-two hundred years of incessant wars and tumults-a time when great rights were fought for, and great wrongs done, to describe which would lead us far out of our depth in a troubled sea. The Hohenzollerns were not much loved by the citizens, and often indeed at open war with them; but they throve, adding field to field and treasure to treasure, till the sweet Franconian country, with its gentle vales and sparkling troutstreams, became theirs; whether by purchase or inheritance is hard to say, but possibly the latter, for Frederick, third Burgraf of that name, married a sister of a Duke of Meran, and after the Duke's murder, in 1248, his possessions near Nurnburg fell into Frederick's hands. He was a staunch friend of the Emperor Rudolph of Hapsburg (founder of the present Austrian dynasty), and is said to have been the person to announce to him his unexpected election to the Imperial Crown, while fighting under the walls

of Basle.

Frederick IV. rendered signal services to the Emperors Albert, Henry VII., and Louis of Bavaria.

Frederick V., declared Prince of the Empire 1363, at his death in 1402 divided his estates between his two sons-John, the elder (married to a sister of Sigismund, King of Hungary), and Frederick VI. As John died childless the younger succeeded to all his property; and this greatest of all the rulers of Nurnburg was, as it were, the second founder of the House of Hohenzollern. One of the most accomplished nobles of his day, immensely rich, and evidently what we should call "a good man of business," he greatly assisted Sigismund in his election to the Empire, apparently bearing him no ill will for having jilted his sister to marry a king's daughter, and lending him one hundred thousand gold florins into the bargain, a sum never destined to be returned, at any rate in kind. About 1411 the Electorate of Brandenburg fell to the Emperor Sigismund, in consequence of the failure of direct heirs, and this province was conferred on Frederick, in part payment of his debt, with the title of Margraf, or Governor of the Marches, the Emperor reserving for himself the Electoral dignity. The towns submitted readily to the new governor, but it was otherwise with the great nobles. Two brothers, Von Quitzon, headed an insurrection, declaring that "should it rain an army of Burgrafs, still they should not establish themselves in the Marches."

Vain boast! Frederick raised troops, attacked the insurgents, reduced them, greatly assisted by a single cannon (the first used in that part of Germany), lent him for the occasion by the Margraf of Thuringia. Dietrich Von Quitzon escaped, and perished miserably; his brother was taken prisoner; while the other rebels, among whom we find a Bismark, submitted to the

conqueror.

What a contrast between the Bismark of that day and the Bismark of ours! What a difference between Faule Grete," "Dirty Margery," the first cannon used in Germany, and the Prussian needle-gun of modern times!

Again the spendthrift Sigismund wanted money, again Frederick supplied him, this time receiving the coveted title of Elector for his money, and the citizens of Nurnburg knew the Hohenzollerns as Burgrafs no more. Legends say they were so heartily glad to be clear of their governors, that "the magistrates, assembling together men women and children, caused their castle to be levelled with the ground, so as not to leave a trace behind." If this be true, it must have been rebuilt not long after, and may be seen to this day by any one fortunate enough to wander up the winding Mayn, through the Bavarian Forests (I must say Prussian now), scented, oh! so sweetly, by myriads of lilies, to that quaint old city of Nuremberg.

So ends what I have ventured to call the Romance of the House of Hohenzollern. Our next sketch must teach us somewhat of the Electors of Brandenburg and the Teutonic Knights.

POPULAR SONGS OF HUNGARY.

ONE of the most ancient and most remarkable of European races is the Magyar (pronounced Madjar) portion of the inhabitants of Hungary, who occupy the regions overrun by the Huns, when, under Attila, they invaded and settled in that part of the Austrian dominions-whose sovereign they recognize as their king, but have not acknowledged as their emperor. They have a language of their own, to which they are passionately attached, and which has resisted with wonderful persistence the introduction of foreign words. The future fate of Hungary is one of the most interesting problems which has now to be solved; and it is to be hoped that the Austrian influence, no longer dominant in Germany, may seek to consolidate itself by cherishing and directing the affections of the various peoples of the empire who are not derived from the Gothic or Teutonic stem. A German poet has said of the popular songs of Hungarians, that they

the

as sunbeams break Through rains and clouds that veil the April skies; Like the wild warblings of the woods they speak, Yet force the tender tear-drops from the eyes. The condition of the Magyars is unexampled in European history. Their free institutions are coeval with our own, for the antiquity of their Diet is only five years less than that of our Parliament. Their language, preserved and cherished with a most passionate love, is one of the most ancient of the spoken dialects of modern civilization. Their nationality has been preserved, notwithstanding every influence, personal, social, and political, which has been brought to accomplish its destruction. Invaders, Moslem and Christian, have often overrun the soil, and seemingly subjugated the people, but in the words of one of their bards

They live-their City stands-they shall be saved ;*

By their city is meant the ancient Buda, the capital of Lower Hungary. Pesth, the new city, is on the opposite shore of the river. Miss Pardoe, in her "City of the Magyar," speaks in glowing language of the "calm regality" of the old metropolis. "The contrast between the two shores, linked together by a bridge of boats upwards of twelve hundred feet in length, is peculiarly striking. stern and still, clasping the dark heights with hous's and convents, On one side Imperial Buda, the original and ancient capital, spreads clothing their sides with habitations, and cresting them with lordly palaces and bristling fortresses; while right and left along the river bank stretch its long faubourgs, where you may distinguish at inter

vals an old Turkish tower, a remnant of the times when the Moslem

and this dream of future redemption runs like a thread of golden ore through the whole stratification of society. The lover singing to his mistress-and no nation has so many love songs as the Hungarians-seldom fails to make some reference to his beloved father-land. No mingling of races, no vicissitudes of history, no repressive laws, no government persecutions, none of the seductions of power, no, not even the passion for military glory which has characterized the Magyar races, have destroyed that traditionary feeling, which, linked with the remote and perished past, has invigorated and cemented a living present. Decree upon decree has been issued, in the hope of exterminating the ancient tongue; but that tongue, in the keeping of nursing-mothers and prattling children and youths and maidens, has but struck deeper roots and extended wider branches.

A melancholy tone runs through a large portion of the national music, and many a bard like Petöfi has addressed his country in strains like this:

TO HUNGARIA!

O, land of many sorrows!-wilt thou never
Raise from the dust thy long dishonoured head?
Say, shall thy ignominy last for ever?
Hast thou no memory of the illustrious dead,

No visions of the future, to deliver

Those whom the tyrant's chains have manaclèd?
Man will arise from darkness and decay,
And shall not nations have their resurrection day?

BUDA.

It has been truly said of Hungary's great poet, Alexander Petöfi, that though his life was like a meteoric blaze, his productions have left an enduring light spread over the whole Hungarian land. There is no other example of a popularity so suddenly acquired, and yet so firmly established. He has been compared held sway in the chief city of the Magyars, or a stately monastery, upon whose spire the cross now glitters in the sunlight, unprofaned by the vicinity of the crescent." Our engraving affords some idea of the beauty of the scene, and of the half Christian, half Moslem character of the buildings.

to Burns among the Scotch and to Beranger among the French, but neither of these national poets agitated or captivated the minds of their fellow countrymen as Petöfi moved the Magyar people. His history is as romantic as his genius was prolific. Born in the lowliest obscurity-passing through every stage of want and woe-he reached the very highest position of social and political influence-and died at the age of twentysix, fighting by the side of Bem, for the redemption of his country.

On the Continent there is scarcely a language into which the poetry of Alexander Petöfi has not been translated, while he is scarcely at all known to English readers. It is our purpose therefore to give a few specimens of his style, preceded by some short examples from old anonymous sources, and from the works of some of those who preceded Petöfi in the field where he has been the most distinguished and successful labourer.

The Magyars, scattered over vast plains, and having little intercourse with any but their own classes and clans, linked to and dependent on their masters, even more than were the Highlanders upon their chieftains, have always been remarkable for their passionate admiration of woman, their love of poetry and music and dancing, and their laudation of the vine. These, and their patriotic attachment to Magyarism-for they have given a name to their nationality-are the leading topics of their popular melodies, many of which have never been printed. Some would be deemed treasonable to the imperial government of Austria; others are too coarse for the publicity of the press; while many display that national vanity which is no rare weakness, and which is so tersely expressed in the burthen of the song

Whatever you do, wherever you be,

Life's only worth having in Hungary!

It may be doubted by some if these little vanities are worthy of being reproduced. Yet they illustrate character, and in a future number we propose to insert a few characteristic specimens which we have selected for translation.

VOLUNTEER CONCERTS.

DURING last autumn many interesting accounts appeared in the London newspapers of the amateur concerts which for some time past have been given in villages and small country towns, at a price for admission merely nominal, so that the very humblest classes might attend them. In all instances the object of the promoters of such experiments has been identicalnamely, the supply of amusement to the people-the furnishing them with a reasonable and innocent excitement in the place of the mischievous and often ruinous attractions of the ale-house or the beer-shop. They have accepted the fact, so often affirmed by writers on social subjects, that the people must be and will be amused; and have done and are doing their best to allure the labouring man from amusements which are debasing and demoralising to others which are at least harmless, while they are humanising in their tendency. With the view of making this moverendering it a little assistance, I shall briefly recount ment more generally known, and, if it may be, of some of our experience in the business at Byriver. small town. It is a town in the topographer's view, for I hardly know whether to call Byriver a village or a it has a market-place, where there is some show of a market at odd times, and where certain periodical fairs are held for the sale of cattle and dairy produce. It has some two thousand inhabitants, and a capital church, big enough to accommodate every person old enough to go to church, and not containing a single pew. But to the view of the casual traveller the place

is more like a village-the cottage population being vastly in the majority, and their low-roofed cottages, straggling in all directions; while their pigs, fowls, gobbling geese, and shaggy donkeys, have pretty much their own way in the thoroughfares.

Our first attempts to wean the labourer from the public-house, and to amuse him in the long winter evenings, were made about four years ago. Like most first attempts, they came short of any very decided success; the chief reason being, that those who could have given us the most valuable aid were slow to recognize the importance of our aim, and were consequently in no hurry to come forward. And another reason was the difficulty, not to be summarily dealt with, of making a selection among volunteer performers, whose readiness to exhibit was apt to be in the inverse ratio of their ability.

We got over both these difficulties in time. The appointment of a committee of management did away with the worst of them, because it got rid of personal responsibility in regard to selection; and our partial success, manifested in the delight of our audiences, had the effect of bringing more talent on the platform. At the present time we may be said to have a volunteer staff nearly always available, made up of the most incongruous materials, socially considered, but happily congruous considered harmonically. If our instrumentalist drives in in her carriage to open proceedings with a sonata of Beethoven's, and afterwards to accompany Long Ned from the smithy, while that "harmonious blacksmith," with cavernous bass notes, "bays the moon with hideous howl," I submit that no objection ought to be made to this kind of co-operation on any grounds whatever. At any rate, we have got rid of such objectional feelings, if they ever existed, and are quite of one mind on that matter. We have solo singers of all grades-duetts between primos of high standing and secondos of no standing; and we get up capital glees, and sing them well, too, which we should never be able to get up at all if class feelings and prejudices interfered with our harmonious essays, and people who have hundreds a year refused to blend their voices with others who have but shillings a week. Our entire orchestra consists of a serviceable piano, hired at small cost, always gratuitously played, and generally by some young lady, of whom there are several well qualified in the neighbourhood ever ready and prompt with their services. I shall not recite any of our programmes, though these are generally printed and circulated-the sale of them usually defraying the charge of printing, with a trifle over. The price for admission-the regular price-is a penny only, and as the school-room, where the concerts come off, will hold by cramming (and it always is crammed) five hundred people, there is a gain of about thirty shillings after all expenses are paid. This surplus, of course, is applied to some benevolent purpose, and for the most part may be said to go back to the class who chiefly contribute towards it, in the shape of blankets, fuel, and necessaries of various kinds, to the sick and indigent among them. Besides the penny concerts, we have, however, for special occasions special concerts, at which higher prices (sixpence and a shilling) are charged for tickets of admission, and which are of course attended by the more moneyed classes; still, the entertainment is pretty much of the same character as at the more popular assemblies, for as we make a point of always doing our best, we can do no more for the gentry than we do for the poor. The special concerts are got up in furtherance of some benevolent design-either to supplement the funds of the district visiting society, to increase the store of black diamonds at the coal-club, to provide warm winter clothing for poor cottagers' children, or for some other object equally desirable and praiseworthy. Occasionally, to vary the evening's recreations, or to

meet the convenience or the likings of those on whose good offices we are dependent, we alternate readings with musical performances. When the readings are really good the evening's entertainment is even more satisfactory than when it consists entirely of music; but, as all who know anything of this business are but too well aware, the difficulty of getting good readers is almost insuperable. Unfortunately, elocution has been all but ignored in the education of Englishmen, so that where you will find twenty people who can sing agreeably, you will scarcely find one who can read tolerably. I have noticed that when a well-chosen piece is well delivered by the reader, the satisfaction of the audience, however humble that audience may be, is always at the highest, and their applause the loudest. Now and then the vicar will read, and as he is sure to choose something quaint or droll, his lecture will be heard with peals of laughter long and loud: he has the good sense and the tact to leave his homilies for the pulpit, and to lend himself unreservedly to the amusements of the hour.

Beginning at half-past seven, with a brief word of introduction from the chairman, the business of the night is got through in a couple of hours or so, by which time our dwellings are all closed, and our streets quiet; and though the ale-house is not yet shut, and a beer-shop or two may remain open, the instances are now comparatively rare in which there is any adjournment from the school-room to the tap-room. We are happily in a condition to report, with perfect good faith, that the influence of these cheap concerts in Byriver has told to a very perceptible extent on the character and pursuits of the inhabitants. It has given to many a young lad something else and something better to think about than mere "beer and skittles;" and if it has only led a few to cultivate a musical talent or a regard for the contents of books, even that is something worth striving for.

Although these cheap volunteer concerts have latterly gained ground in the villages and small towns throughout the country, the reader may be fairly reminded that they did not originate in the provinces. All that the country promoters have a right to claim is the idea of carrying out in country places what had long before been done in London, and of reducing the charge for admission to the popular penny. So far back as fifteen or twenty years ago, cheap amateur concerts, the cost of admission to which varied from one penny to threepence, were common in London; and unless we are much mistaken they owed their existence mainly to Mr. Hullah's popular teaching. More than fifteen years ago we had occasion to attend at several of them, and we recorded at the time the results of our observation in a popular journal. As is the case now in the villages, they were held in schoolrooms, the performers were volunteer amateurs, sometimes assisted by choruses of children, and they often gave selections from Handel's oratorios with considerable effect. They dealt, however, a good deal in comic singing, and had a decided leaning to the funny and humorous, and were occasionally leavened with a little speechifying not too refined. But they offered a welcome retreat for the working classes after the toils of the day, and were to them a source of real and innocent pastime. It is to be regretted that in London these gatherings have almost, if not entirely, ceased to exist. The truth is, and it is not a pleasant one to accept, that they were gradually done to death by the activity of a race of publicans of the philharmonic order who sprang up about that time; and who, by combining together the charms of music and of beer, grog and tobacco, offered overwhelming attractions to the young and thoughtless, and ere long extinguished the twopenny concerts. Surely it might be worth while to take a hint from the villages, and start them | again at a penny's fee.