This strange resemblance is probably one of those curious instances of mimetic coloring which the exigencies of some creatures' lives seem to require and to produce, for in most lands the native cuckoo resembles the smaller of the native hawks, any variety peculiar to the country in the feathering of the hawk being repeated in the color of the cuckoos. Doubtless this makes his winter transformation easier too.

It seems a little hard on the cuckoo, particularly since he poses as an oracle, that every awkward lass and clumsy lad, every loon and natural and simple, should be his namesake. He must have done something very foolish in those distracted times when William the Conqueror came over; perhaps he forgot to crown his stag when, with the other nobles of ancient British and Saxon lineage, he led him up to the Norman invader in proud submission; for ever since that time the expressive though ugly words "gowk," "gawk," "gawky" have been popular terms of reproach.

In the north, where a people more plain-spoken than courteous dwells, the April Fool bears this missive:

The first and second day of April Hound the gawk another mil.

And his elegant en revanche is this:

The gawk and the titlene sit on a tree, Ye're a gawk as well as me.

This use of his name is comprehensible, for the cuckoo was once a "beckerknecht," and bakers' boys have been mischievous and given to practical jokes always, even since the day when that one who stole the dough which God had blessed for the poor was turned into a cuckoo.

There is no doubt about who it is that teaches children to play hide and seek.

him through the wood pursuing their fruitless search. "Cuckoo!" right over head, cuckoo! close at hand, cuckoo! at their very feet, but ever and always this clever play-boy is off to another shelter before they can spy him. And directly the children get home from the woods they throw down their treasures, the bluebells and windflowers killed almost with the clasp of hot hands, and are off to play the game the cuckoo has taught them. Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! how sweetly their voices ring through the house, Cuckoo! Cuckoo! from the cupboards and all possible nooks and crannies. Is there anything so joyous or so pathetic as the unconscious glee of children at play?

The cuckoo can work, as well as play. He did once build a nest, in a hay field in France, but when he came out to tell the hay-makers what he had done, the wheel of a loaded wagon went over his body, and that is why he flies so heavily. Of course, he gave up building nests after that.

But he has not been idle-indeed, so occupied is he with bringing home the errant spring, and telling fortunes, and showing children his good game, that folk who have never been to France think that is why he is not "seated," though so distinguished an individual.

Others think it is because he is such a wanderer that the cuckoo is houseless, but some other absentees are the owners of the finest homes in all our trees and meadows. The cuckoo is the first of the travellers to go, so let all who are wise in their generation take advantage of his presence while he is at hand, especially when first you hear him call remember, for it is a tide in your affairs. So sit you down upon a green bank, and, taking off your right stocking, invoke him thus by saying:

May this to me Now lucky be.

you have put this off till the cuckoo comes you will have but a poor harvest), make haste with your questions, for you cannot keep the cuckoo; he is on the wing and only paying a flying visit to his native land, when he rides in on a kite's back in April.

You cannot keep him, though you bind him with links of gold and а string of pearls. Some have tried, seeing how flowers begin to fade and leaves to wither at his going, but they have only succeeded in making themselves a by-word. Fulke Greville wrote in the sixteenth century: "Fools only hedge the cuckoo in."

You cannot keep him, go he must, back to his favorite haunts in Africa, Persia, and all the far-away lands of the sun. It is quite true what they say who know all about him:

In June, he changes his tune;
In July, away he doth fly.

Teuton loved music, and it became his constant companion. So that when the Anglo-Saxons, a Teutonic tribe, migrated to England, they brought with them this passionate love of song. Under the fostering care of religion and patriotism music enjoyed quite as much popularity in Saxon England as on the Continent. Witness the testimonial in its praise from the pen of the Venerable Bede:

commendable, courtly, pleasing, mirthful Among all the sciences music is most and lovely. It makes a man cheerful, liberal, courteous, glad, amiable; it rouses him in battle, excites him to bear fatigue, comforts him in travail, refreshes him when disturbed, takes away weariness of the head and sorrow, and drives away depraved humors and desponding spirits.

Anglo-Saxon music came from two sources-the clergy and the laity; the former brought in a rough system of notation, and chanted their hymns with some uniformity; the latter practised only in ear and in memory, simply handed down the treasures of tradition. And a like difference is to be noted in their musical instruments, for the former used a species of organ, while the latter employed simpler instruments-such as the harp, lyre, crowth, pipe, tabor, and cymbals. Yet the laity often insisted on bringing these instruments to divine service, especially the crowth, and thus accompanying the organ. Much quarrelling was the natural result, and often a "musical case" was appealed to Rome. Finally, a decision came ex câthedra that the choir should be divided into two parts, aid that these parts should sing alternately; moreover, that those who could not sing in tune, or who brought into church an instrument to accompany the organ, should keep silent, or, if not, should be immediately turned out of doors.

The clergy were very active in securing the best musical instructors for their choirs. French and Italians came over, and were heartily welcomed by the Saxons; they received as much care and attention as a travelling English

man of our time does among Americans. Germany, too, sent her quota of music teachers although the German seems not to have been so popular as the French or Italians. There is a strange story related of a German named Putta, "a simple-minded man in worldly and caurch matters, but especially well skilled in song and music." This German was finally made bishop; but evidently his calling was that of a gleeman; for shortly after consecration his church in Mercia burned down, and he made no effort to rebuild it, but wandered about the country in the character of a strolling minstrel.

In the eighth century the Gregorian system superseded all others in vogue among Anglo-Saxons. It was introduced by the Archbishop of Canterbury. As Dean Hook justly observes:

Gregory, following the example of Saint Ambrose, introduced into the Western Church the system of chanting which had prevailed in Antioch so early as the year 107, improving what he had imported but venerating a style of music which had probably been inherited from the Jews. Gregory increased the number of the ecclesiastical tones, which somewhat resemble our modern keys, from four to eight. And the Gregorian chants, now harmonized according to the improvements of modern science, remain to the present hour the basis of church music in England.

Strange to relate, Greece had a monopoly of organ-making in those days; for, according to Muratori, the first organ to be introduced into western Europe was one sent to Pepin from Greece in 756. But there were already in sacred use among Anglo-Saxons the horn, trumpet, flute, harp and lyre.

For the laity the crowth, harp and pipe were favorite musical instruments. The tabor was used at Anglo-Saxon entertainments, but it was not so popular as these three. Drums were occasionally used to heighten the effect, but they, also, do not seem to have been in high favor. While the pipe was a favorite instrument among the lower classes, such as bear-dancers and exhibitors of dancing-dogs, the harp, on

the other hand, was the instrument of the nobility; all noble children were taught to play on the harp. Thus the king of Westnesse commands the harp for the education of his son: "Teach him of the harp and of song; teach him to tug o' the harp with his nails sharp.” Most famous knights of King Arthur were taught "harping." And we know that Alfred the Great put his knowledge of the harp to other than musical purposes. It is also worth noting that St. Aldhelm and St. Dunstan were renowned as harpers. In fact, a gentleman of Anglo-Saxon days was supposed to be able to play the harp as a matter of course, just as an American or an English girl is supposed to play the piano.

A few specimens of very early AngloSaxon music remain; as, for example, the music to the "Praise of Virginity" and to other poems by St. Aldhelm; but we cannot interpret their peculiar notation-it is decidedly imperfect and misleading. F was represented by a red line and C by a yellow line, and singing marks or numes were written between these lines, but the time is quite indefinite. As to harmony, considerable progress must have been made, since the nation used the harp and organ, and this implied some knowledge of con

cordant sounds.

It is claimed that Angro-Saxon secular music was plaintive. Doubtless this was the case, for melancholy played a considerable part in their moods. The philosophy of Schopenhauer has a natural basis in the Teutonic nature; and among other rich deposits they possess a strong vein of pessimism. It must have found expression in Saxon music, as it assuredly found expression in Saxon poetry.

Yet the word "gleeman" seems to change that conclusion somewhat, for this name, given to their bards, signifies "joy-man," or one who sung of joys. Doubtless the gleeman's "musical wood" rang through the scale of both joy and sorrow.

The gleeman was in earliest times not only the master-musician, he was the philosopher, historian, prophet and poet

of his age; he could hold civil dignities such as the government of a province or of an important city. But when Christianity was introduced the gleemen were hated by the clergy, and looked upon as rebels. Their duty, later on, was to sing the praise of their patron, to attend him and play whenever required by the courtiers or by himself; so that after a time the gleeman who stood next to the king in dignity became in the end an obsequious dependant, flatterer and parasite. Those who did not like the court, wandered about; these wandering bards were little better than mendicants playing from house to house for a night's lodging.

Often the Saxon gleeman sung the famous genealogy of his patron, the family traditions and connections. Alter dinner, when there was "song and music together and the wood of joy was touched," he sang these topics to the assembled feasters. The following names applied to the Saxon gleeman will indicate how many rôles he could play: poet, harper, pantominist, tumbler, saucy jester, ribald player, juggler and mimic. Here is variety enough and to spare. But in all these rôles he was, first of all, a musician.

WILLIAM HENRY SHERAN.

From The Spectator.

THE SPEECH OF CHILDREN. The men of science have begun to attack the cradle. For some time the nursery and the play-room have been subject to their attentions, and now the very citadel of babyhood is to be stormed. First came the folklorists, and laid their sacrilegious hands upon "Puss-in-Boots" and the "Sleeping Beauty," showing that these stories contained we know not what marvellous indications as to the origin of mankind and the universality of particular beliefs. The next positions assaulted by science were the nurseryrhymes and the games such as "Here we go round the Mulberry Bush" and "Oranges and Lemons." Some of the

jingles used by children were shown to have deep political and moral meanings; others, like the counting-out games, were exposed as the remains of dark and deadly incantations. "The Cow that Jumped Over the Moon" is, we believe, asserted to be a piece of gnosticism. "Ten Little Nigger Boys" is a charm probably against the rheumatics. "Hickery Dickery Dock," though it sounds like nonsense, is composed in gipsy language,- -a Romany lyric. But these were mere affairs of outposts. Mr. Buckman, in the May number of the Nineteenth Century, has had the hardihood to march up to the very edge of the cradle and to allege that when our child's first accents break they are not delicious nonsense, sweet babblings of the tiny human brook, but a highly organized system of infantile Volapuk. Mr. Buckman in all seriousness parades before the reader's astonished eyes the essential words of the baby's vocabulary. "Ma," he tells us, is an urgent cry of attention. So we have ourselves gathered. "Ma," indeed, is so universal a word that even the lambs use it. "The lamb, greatly excited to make itself heard, says 'ma,' while the mother (sheep), not moved by such strong feelings, answers 'ba.' What the human mother answers when "not moved by such strong feelings" as her infant, we are not told by Mr. Buckman. We believe, however, that when her feelings match those of ner offspring she is not unknown to reach to the height of such a phrase as "Drat the child, what does it want now?" But to continue, "Da, dadda" is the next item in the universal language of babes. It is described as "a cry of recognition now applied to the father." True, but unfortunately the recognition is often very imperfect, and it is not unusual for a total stranger in an omnibus or railway carriage to be addressed over and over and over again as "Da, dadda," the imperfect and embarrassing recognition being enforced by the placing of a much-sucked index finger or a sodden crust on the knee of the stranger, "Ta, tatta," we are told, is