flowers and bon-bons, was still the little Baptiste: his memory was wonderful; all characters seemed to suit his genius; he displayed either a comic dignity or a genuine sensibility, which brought tears to the eyes or elicited shouts of delight. The smallness of his size afforded an opportunity of exhibiting him under a variety of singular disguises, which fully justified the enthusiasm of the public.

There was a piece called "L'Andouille de Troyes," which was considered as the most successful of his performances. At first he appeared served upon a dish, covered with brown silk, which represented the chitterlings; then, when the guests had put the knife into this festive dainty, Baptist Raisin, freeing himself from his first envelope, displayed himself under the form of a little live sucking pig; then a combat ensued between him and the cook, who wanted to put him on the spit; at last, by a new metamorphosis, the sucking pig became a little imp, who terrified the guests, and devoured the whole of the dinner which had been prepared for the others. This denouement excited universal applause; Raisin was loudly called for, and as an agreeable conclusion to the representation, he replied to the acclamations of the spectators by a pretty little couplet, of which he had himself composed both the music and the words.

One day, however, the piece did not reach its con

clusion, for one of his little comrades, named Lefevre, who was playing the character of cook, threw himself with so much violence upon him with the spit that he pierced him through and through. "I forgive Lefevre," he said, as he was dying, "but it is my poor sister Babet that I regret." He was but six years old when he died.

His family was inconsolable; every one mourned this young and interesting child: his brother never forgot him, but that sister Babet, whom he so justly loved, did not long remember his fate. She went mad the day he died, and in her old age the poor maniac repeated to every one, "Have you seen my brother Baptiste? why does he not return?"

Jean-Philippe Rameau.

Born, 1683-died, 1764.

IF Jean-Philippe Rameau was a great composer, it must be owned that music was his mother-tongue. His father, who was an accomplished organist, taught him to sing even before he taught him to speak. As soon as he could make use of his fingers, they were placed upon the keys of a harpsichord. It was, therefore, without trouble and without being conscious of the difficulties of his art that, from day to day he made rapid progress in the science of music, the study of which was an amusement to him, rather than a labour. As his taste developed, music was the only thing he took pleasure in; he thought of nothing but becoming a great performer. Neglecting all his other studies, he was sent away from the college at which he had been placed by his father, for his mind was so incessantly haunted by one idea, that he sang, unconsciously, even in class, and replied in singing to the questions put to him by the professors. His exercise books were more like a collections of airs, set to music,

than a series of themes and translations. The Principal of the college requested his father to take him home, and give up all idea of making anything but a musician of him. The organist, who wished to have a scholar in his family, begged the Principal to try whether punishment would not change the unstudious habits of his pupil; little Rameau was, therefore, whipped, as was the fashion in those days; and the chastised pupil, who at a later period related this circumstance, declared that even under the rod, so incorrigible was his musical tendency, he cried in measure. He was put in confinement; but he thought of nothing but composing a song of despair, which he afterwards inserted in his opera of " Dardanus."

The father perceiving, according to the prophecy of the Principal of the college, that his son could be nothing but a musician, wished at least to make him a distinguished one, and by the time he was eight years old, he had become a remarkable performer. He then sent him to Italy, to study the works of the great masters, and when twelve years old, having become a very skilful organist, he went to Clermont, in Auvergne, where he was appointed organist by the chapter of the cathedral. From his first entrance on his duties, his success was so great that an engagement for several years was proposed to him.

The young musician joyfully accepted the offer: but

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he had not then seen Paris, and he soon learned that it is there only that a great reputation can be placed on a solid basis. He then asked permisson to give up his appointment, but this the chapter unanimously refused, not wishing to lose an organist who did them so much credit. Rameau, impelled by an imperious thirst for fame, and feeling himself destined to shine upon a wider theatre, endeavoured for a long time, by prayers and supplications, to conquer the resistance of those who wished to detain him against his will, but the chapter persisted in its determination, and the child could not even have recourse to flight, for he would have been sent back under a safe escort from Paris to Clermont, had he dared, in defiance of his engagement, to resolve on obeying that thirst for glory, which urged him toward Paris.

Seeing that the chapter continued unmoved, and daily more and more carried away by his ambition, Rameau saw no means of setting aside his engagement, except by having recourse to a coup d'état, very culpable, doubtless, but which he afterwards expiated by the force of his genius.

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It was Thursday, the octave of the feast of Corpus Christi in the morning, Rameau had again solicited permission to depart from Paris, and again had this permission been refused. At the hour of divine service he took his seat at the organ; the crowd was