munion of Labor" to large audiences in drawing-rooms. Her letter to Lord John Russel, prefixed to the last edition of these lectures, in which she speaks from the calm heights of old age, displays the generous sympathy her heart ever gave to the cause. Irish in her temperament, full of vivid impulses and brilliant flashes, she was the light of every circle she frequented, and gave impetus to every cause she espoused. Suddenly cut off in the midst of all her work, her loss was irreparable. She went up to London from Brighton one March day to examine at the British Museum some points for her "Life of Our Lord," and catching cold, neglected it, which her sixty years made hazardous indeed; for inflammation of the lungs ensued, and in eight days after her arrival she died, at sixty-five years of age. Her high distinction in literature, her great and excellent social influence for good, was unbounded. A friend to art, and a contributor to it, and given to accurate research in philosophical thought, she was well prepared upon all subjects which she treated. Many households in Rome, Florence, Vienna, Dresden and Paris, besides those in her native land, regretted the brilliant talker, the loving friend, the energetic woman, who kindled into enthusiasm over all natural beauty as well as that of the antique memorials of Italian art. Not a cypress on Roman hills, or garden of the sweet South land, a picture or statue in the palaces, churches, or catacombs, which did not kindle flashes of eager delightful talk from her. She lived a busy, brilliant, helpful life, and dying left a legacy of high thoughts and purposes to her sister women. FEVER'S VISIONS. By A. E. L. AN attack of pleuro-pneumonia had suddenly prostrated me; the acute suffering had been relieved, but following it were some of the strangest experiences of mind and imagination. The visions were so lifelike and real; the dreams so vivid, so indelibly impressed upon my memory that while life lasts I shall never lose them; and wish, if possible, to convey an idea of them to others. To myself, at the time, they were not dreams or visions, but realities, awful experiences. I was out of the body, or rather was perfectly conscious of a dual existence. Physicians will explain it as being a state peculiar to that disease. I have since imagined it might be similar to the sensa. tions of the opium eater. Whatever the cause of them, or the truth concerning them, they form a chapter of my life invested with a deep mystery. The first of these visions I have always called my fishing one. It was late in the evening; my faithful nurse had made preparations for the night, the house was still, and after the most intense suffering, which had prevented rest of any kind, I had found relief, and the indications were that I would sleep. I did for a few moments; but was awakened, as I thought, by the voice of some one close by my pillow. I turned to answer; there was no one there; my nurse assured me I had not been spoken to. Again I closed my eyes; immediately I heard the voice, and felt the presence close by my head. Arousing myself again, I was told I was dreaming. Over and over again was this repeated, and I, unconvinced, gave myself up to the influence of my familiar, as I called this invisible presence. Often by stealth or stratagem I would endeavor to get a sight of this strange being that I knew was close by my pillow; but it always left the instant I opened my eyes; but no sooner were they closed than the conversation commenced. After long parleying I was induced to consent to go with it in a boat; it was a long, gondolashaped craft, and manned by invisible hands. My seat was out on the prow of the boat, and I held a short rod, with line attached, which was constantly being pulled by some invisible monster. Repeatedly I seemed to draw it near the surface of the water, being all of the time cheered on in my wearisome efforts by my familiar; but as often as I thought I was about to succeed, it would escape me; but finally, after a long night of struggle, just at dawn, I drew the huge creature into the boat, and lo! it was that fearful devil's fish of Victor Hugo's creation. But to me it was harmless, for it, with my familiar, was spirited away as the first faint streak of light came through the closed shutters, and I lay faint and pallid, conscious of my sufferings. pierce with my straining eyes. He seemed urging this vast crowd on before him; they came near and nearer, till the cloud of dust before them rose between my sight and them, and I could only hear their voices. Every language of earth, with sighs both of joy and sorrow, were mingled in the sound that became Again, as night drew on, a similar experience louder and louder as they reached me. And now was undergone with my familiar as on the pre- they were passing, and for the first time I looked ceding, except that I was personally changed. I away from the commander of this motley army, was an immense bale of cotton-batting, and was and into the dark and gloomy pathway beyond so fluffy and light that I constantly floated in theme, which it was entering, and which I could not upper air; and yet I was seated as on a throne, and had attendants and messengers without number, who were constantly coming and going at my command; but all my actions were controlled by my familiar, whose whisperings were unceasingly in my ear. I sent out to all the ends of the earth messengers asking reports of women's strife, and of her efforts to free herself from the bondage which is the relic of barbarism. And I sat, or floated rather, on this cloudlike throne, awaiting replies which were to reach me before midnight. With me, the hours passed in a fearful, wearing struggle to retain my power and hold upon my throne until these reports should reach me; for some enemy was grasping after me, pulling and tugging at the strong cords that held my fleecy throne and me from being lost in the distant ether. But again I was successful; the last messenger from the most distant sphere was received just as daylight appeared. Again night brought my familiar with its low magnetic whispers close above my head, but always beyond my reach and sight; although I felt sure I could reach it if I could have turned quickly enough. This time all was changed; I wandered far out into a wild and desert place, ever urged on by my untiring familiar, till weary, fainting, I laid down on a mossy hillock, refusing to go farther; and then and there I saw coming toward me, far, far in the distance, an ever-lengthening procession of men, women and children; some travel-stained, dust-begrimed, and clothed in garments of every hue and shade; others clean and lovely, with happy faces and bright apparel; and far behind them all, away on the edge of the horizon, on the top of a gentle acclivity, stood one glorious and beautiful in feature and mien, his outstretched arms and flowing mantle clear and well defined against the soft mellow light of the eastern sky. Oh! how dark and forbidding seemed the cavernous clouds which enveloped them all immediately they passed beyond the rays of light which streamed far out from the effulgent being whose pointing hand directed their steps. I was overwhelmed with awe at first; then there came such a sense of helplessness, of misery, that I crawled toward the crowd, groveling in the very dust, and soon was being trampled upon, torn and blinded by the surging mass. In vain I struggled and fought against them all, and was just about to give up in despair, when a gentle, loving hand grasped and lifted me up, and a sweet voice said in my ear: "Fear not, cling to me; I will lead you." Instantly I exclaimed: "Ah! but where? The path yonder is so dark I dare not go." Again with gentle, persuasive voice and hand I was urged on, and then I lifted my almost blinded eyes and saw the lovely benignant countenance and form of the commander, and instantly yielded up all will and struggle of my own; for I knew I had nothing more to fear, and at this moment daylight came to chase away both visions and familiar spirits. But with returning night and closing eyes came again and again this last vision; always the same weary wandering, the same struggles, fear and despair, and as surely the same happy relief by gentle voice and magnetic touch of hand. This was so often repeated that I longed for it, waited for it with closed eyes and quiet body, many times when it was supposed I was asleep. This last vision seemed so true, so sacred, so prophetic, that I kept it as a treasured precious memory. With returning health and strength I lost my familiar's nightly visits, and years have since passed without dimming my recollection of them and their weird and strange associa tions. THIS well-known composer, though his compo- | diate and rapid progress. A few years later the sitions, vocal and instrumental, number already nearly a thousand, is still quite a young man, having been born in Hanover, Germany, April 19th, 1846. His family came over to this country in 1851, and settled in Baltimore, Maryland-Albert, the subject of this brief sketch, being at the time but five years old. So, although not a native-born American, he comes so near to it—having no recollection of any other home, and taking a patriotic pride in our country-that, as a composer to whom we may well do honor, Mr. Rosewig certainly deserves a place in this series. From his very earliest years, Albert evinced a taste and talent for music, and this his parents saw with pleasure, and encouraged by every means in their power. At seven years of age he was put under the instruction of Miss Anna May of Baltimore, his first teacher in music, and made immeVOL. XIV.-19 family removed to Philadelphia, in which city. they have ever since resided. Here young Albert was given the benefit of a thorough musical edu cation from those experienced masters, Professors Meignen, Thunder and Barili; but to the first mentioned, the late Professor Leopold Meignen, is he mostly indebted for his knowledge of composition, counterpoint, harmony and orchestration. Naturally his ambition soon turned to composition, and in course of time, when he was but twelve years of age, he had the satisfaction of seeing his first song in print. This was a quartette, "Good-night, Sweet Love," and was meritorious enough to have had a considerable sale. It is related of him that when, such a mere youngster, he first heard this song in public, he was so overjoyed that he could not restrain himself; but turning to those nearest him in the audience, he exclaimed, "I wrote that song; its my own!" But he was only laughed at on this announcement, as they could not believe it to be anything other than a mere boast of the boy. Some time afterward he published "Maid of Athens" to Byron's beautiful words. Many composers have written to this celebrated poem; but this is without doubt the most popular version of them all. Its sales were enormous, and the song had the effect of bringing our youthful composer into prominent notice; besides, what was quite as satisfactory to him, creating a demand for his productions from the various music. publishers throughout the country. Compositions of every description now followed in quick succession from Mr. Rosewig's fertile pen; songs, dance music, salon pieces, church music, etc. His first orchestral work, "A Summer Evening Reverie, Op. 39," was first performed in Philadelphia in 1870, and was highly commended by all who heard it. His operetta, "Matrimonial Sweets," was first given in Baltimore in 1874, being well received. Another of Mr. Rosewig's most popular songs is "The Diver," written for Mr. George Conly the great basso, ranking in popularity next to his "Maid of Athens." Following closely after these are the familiar songs, "A Mother's Vigil," "Different Pathways,' "Never Old are Words of Welcome" (Duet), "Evening Hymn to the Sacred Heart," ""Sad Mourner," "Old at Last," "My Mother's Bible," "Till we Die" (written for Mr. George Ford, Philadelphia's popular basso), "I do Love John," sung by Lotta, "In Future Years," "Speak as of Old," "The Flag that bears the Stripes and Stars" (composed by order of Post 2, G. A. R.), "Loved and Lost," "Safely Over," "All is Quiet," "All Alone," "One Angel more in Heaven," "Tis so Hard to Forget, ," "Smile Again, my Bonnie Lassie," "The Last Good-by," "I'd Love to be a Twinkling Star," "O, Lead me to the Rock," and very many others. Mr. Rosewig never writes to his own words, as many composers have the custom of doing, but prefers to make judicious selections for this purpose. He says he has tried it, and knows just how it is; for somehow or other music won't go to his words. In piano music our composer has not been at all backward. Among his most popular pieces of this description might be enumerated: "Joyous Chimes," "Forest Echoes," "Rapid Transit," Kenwood Schottische," "St. Alban's Grand March," "Mt. St. Joseph's Grand March," "First Dip Schottische," "Through by Rail Galop," "Idle-Wild Waltzes," "Little Queen Redowa," "Sweet Rest," etc. Recently Mr. Rosewig issued his "National Nursery Songs and Games," a music book, illustrated, especially adapted to the requirements of the little ones. During the holiday season just past, it formed an attractive gift-book for the young. Of course, like other composers, Mr. Rosewig has written much under other names than his own, and frequently some of these would be so well received as to cause him almost to regret not having used his own name rather than a nom de plume. As a thorough musician Mr. Rosewig is a performer on almost every instrument, but the church organ has always been his favorite, and that instrument he has made his specialty. For a number of years he has been connected with the most prominent church choirs in Philadelphia as choir leader or organist. He was first associated for five years with Professor H. G. Thunder, as a member of St. Augustine's Roman Catholic Church choir, where, from that excellent musician, he received much useful information, more particularly as to church organs. Subsequently he went to St. Philip Neri's Roman Catholic Church, where for seven years he had sole charge of the choir, which, under his administration attained an excellence equal to that of any in Philadelphia. Here, following in the footsteps of Mr. Thunder, whom he had succeeded, he successfully produced the glorious masses and other compositions of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Weber, Gounod and other celebrated masters, the pastor of the church, Rev. Nicholas Cantwell, evincing a great interest in his efforts, and aiding him in their achievement to the best of his power. In 1876 he voluntarily severed his connection with St. Philip's choir, having been invited to take charge of the music at the West Arch Street Presbyterian Church, in which position he remains at the present time. The Rev. Dr. Willitts, an eminent divine, pastor of the church, takes a great interest in the music; and, all working in sympathy, the choir to-day, consisting of some twenty voices, is considered as one of the best of which Philadelphia can boast. |