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THE ROMANCE OF A VIOLIN.
Only a broken violin 1 There it lay in
the mud, a worthless piece of wood, rudely
snapped in twain, with a few loose frag¬
ments of string, soundless, voiceless; yet be¬
side it, as reverently as though bending over
something human that had died—with a
passionate burst of grief, as for some dearly
beloved friend, knelt a little lad of some 13
summers.
Oat from the mud, with tender, caressing
touch, he lifted up the shuttered remnants,
his tears falling the while thick and fast, his
slight frame convulsed with sobs which
would not be repressed.
He made no outcry, hut his face was white
with the anguish of despair. He had lost
his all—the friend to whom he poured out
all his woes; the companion who, until now,
. nevei had failed him, his second, better, no¬
bler self.
Not many paces distant on the sidewalk
stood the perpetrator of the outrage a sort
of undefined remorse gnawing within his
b east. For mere bravado he bad wrenched
from the hands of the little musician his
instrument and br(k-n it acrofi his knee,
throwing the pieces in the mud
.Realizing that he had done a coward’s
and a bully’s act, he tot k from his pocket a
small coin and tossed it toward the dot.
"Take that,” he cried, ‘and stop your
whimpering Y. u have got no business to
play your music in the public street. You’re
a beggar and a nuisance.
But in an instant, with flushir g eyes and
head thrown proudly back, the iitt e street
Arab had thrown the money back,
‘‘You think you can pay me thus!” be rc
' plied, in frenzied tones, "it is I who owe you
a debt i yet will lire to see wiped out.”
They stood one it.scant looking steadily
into each other’s the - ' senior of
eyes—one
the other some three or four years, tall and
powerful, clad in broadcloth and fine linen
—one a little, shrinking lad, his ragged
clothes bespattered with the mud of the
streets.
At this moment an open carriage rolled
by, but the little girl Reated within it had
with her quick eyes, discovered something
amiss.
She had seen the disdainful return of the
rejected coin; she had heatd the boy’s
words; she had marked the traces of a pas¬
sionate grief upon his face; and, with a
hasty command to the coachman to stop,
she called him to her.
“What are you about to do, Miss Selma?'
questioned the lady with her, her govern¬
ess.
“Nothing naughty, dear Miss Irwin,” she
replied. ‘‘This poor boy—see, his violin is
broken. I am sorry for him.”
The lad had slowly approached the car
riage, in obedience to her command; out
there was no light in his lace, no eager¬
ness in his step.
“How did this hnppsn ? ’ asked the little
girl.
Carl looked up. Was this an angel who
spoke to him ? He had never seen any one
half so lovely. Her hair floated down hc-r
shoulders in a shower of gold, and resting
on it was a white hat, with a long white
plume dropping far down behind; her eyes
, were like two purple pansies; on her cheek
- was the flush of the sunrise ; her lips were
ns red as the carnation, though they quiv¬
ered with her unspoken sympathy.
‘I he boy held up the brosen pieces of his
violin. ,
“It was my all,” he said. “I shall starve
now, but I am glad of that for I did not
love it only that it brought me bread. ,1
loved it—I loved it because it talked to me,
and with it I was never lonely.”
“But cannot you buy another ? ’
“I have no money, Miss, 1 can never
make enough, since this has gone. I bad
hoped one day to buy something better
than this, but now the day will never
come.”
A shade of thoughtfullness ciept over the
sweet, fair face. In the little gloved hand
she held a tiny purse, and within it, three
bright, glittering gold pieces shone. They
were to purchase a coveted doll, her fond
father's birthday gift,
She turned hastily to her governess.
"Please, Miss Irwin, do you think papa
would be displeased if I do not buy my
' doll ? No, no,—I know he would not.”
Then, waiting for no reply, she pressed
the purse into the boy’s hands.
“Go, buy your violen,” she said, “No
you must uot return this as you returned
the other money; but some day, when you
are a great musician, you shall repay me.
Who knows? You mav play at my wed¬
ding.”
And, with a little laugh, as the carriage
started forward, the child, with a wave of
her hand, disappeared.
The boy stood motionless, wrapped in a
a. rt of ectacy. No doubt that a veritable
• angel had visited him crossed his mind
Had he been dreaming ? No ; for within
his hand lay the dainty little purse. Open¬
ing it almost wilh reverence, the shinning
pieces of gold met bis gaze ; but something
else as well—a little piece of paste board,
and upon it written a name and addresses.
. The lad lifted it to his lips.
‘‘Its another debt 1 owe," he said softly,
to .himself.
* * * * *
Ten years later, and < n a bright starlit
night in January, the New York Academy
of Music was filled from pit to dome. The
great violinist, Herr Carl Sieberg, was to
appear. He was very young, not tweuty
thri e, the critics said, and yet he had reach¬
ed the zenith of his fame. A great wave
of applause grieted him as he came for-
ward to the centre of the stage. He was
tall but slight, with large, dreamt eyes, and
a mouth whose sensitiveness fhe blonde
moustache could not wholly hide. With a
soft, caressing motion he drew the bow
across the strings. An almost human voice
of exquisit melody seemed to respond. The
house held its breath to listens *
• In one of the lower proscenium t boxe
sat a young girl of nineteen. She wore no
hat and in her golden hair g’eamed a golden
star. SUe was beautiful with a rare loveli¬
ness. There was no fairer face iff that
crowded assemblage. Behind her, leaning
on the back of her chair, a young man
whose gaze of rapt admiration never with¬
drew itself—a man of superb height and
breadth of form, with eyes and hair as dark
as the night—eyes which glowed with feel¬
ing as they dwelt upon her face, for the
hope nearest Fairfax Farley’s, heart was to
win the woman for his wife.
She turned to him as tfce music died, with
a quick indrawn g of her breath.
“Tell me,” she whispered, “was it not
perfect ?”
"I did not hear it, I was thinking but of
you.”
A vivid flush, almost of annoyance, rose
to her brow; but at that moment the young
musician, recalled by the thundering plaud¬
its of the audience, reappeared.
His gaze now wandered over the house,
finally resting on the exquisite face. He
gave a sudden start. 01 what, of wlu m did
it remind him? For a few seconds tbeir
eyes met; then, with a sudden inspiration'
he drew his bow.
What was he playing? It was a cadence
no man ever heard before. It seemed to tell
an unknown story,if one could but interpret
it. It began in a storm of grief, of passion
ate despair, unreasoning, hopeless; then
followed a lull, a nft in the clouds, a sudden
gleam of sunshine, then a heavy toiling of
weary feet, often torn and bleeding, butthat
rift of sunshine never quite bidden by the
clouds overhead, no matte- how dark or how
dense they gathered; then came a burst of
triumph, a song of victory, a transport of
passion’ then p»aee.
The last note seemed to have no ending
Its echoes lingered in a melodious hush
and rang in the psens of applause.
The girl in the box tore the violets from
her breast and threw them at Herr Seiberg’s
feet. Flowers rained everywhere, but these
only he stooped to gather. These he held
so very tightly that their crushed fragrance
was wafted to his senses as he bowed his
adieux
The young musician was the lion of the
hour. Fashionable ladies sought him out.
Invitations to fetes, and receptions, and
dinqers, rained upon him. It was at one of
these latter that he and Miss Laurence
met.
“I have pressed your fl iwers,” he said to
her in a low voice.
"My flowers?” she answered with a
blush.
, "Then she remembered the violiets, she
had so impulsively thrown him.
“I had almost forgetten,” she added.
“What was it, Herr Sieberg, that you
played ? It has haunted me ever since,
“Some time,” he replied, “I will tell you
Now you shall know only that you were its
inspiration.”
Were his words presumptious ? She could
not answer; neither could she know the
strange power, which ever sways her in this
man’s presence.
“You do not teach?’ Bliesaid to him, one
day.
“No,” he answered. “But if you will be
my pupil, it would be indeed a pleasure."
“And your terms ?”
His face flushed.
"I need no gold,” he responded. “It is
that some, day you shall hear my story.”
*****
“I see nothing of you, Selma," said
Fairfax Farljr, during this time. “Do yon
forget that I have some claims ?”
“No, I forget nothing,” she said.
But there was saddness rather than hap¬
piness in her tone.
“Are you not ready to give me your
answer, dear?" the man continued. “Why
do you hold me in suspense ? Why may I
not have the sweet promise that I crave?’
Did she shudder ? If so, but momentarily,
as the sweet young voice made answer.
“True,” it said, “you have been very patient;
but be so yet a little longer. Let me be
sure of myself. It is only for this assur¬
ance, Fairfax, that I wait.”
But underneath Fairfax Farly’s cour
fenous calm was a seething maelstrom, a
burning jealously.
Two weeks later he wated outside Miss
Laurence’s home until Herr Sieberg stood
on the steps in the moonlight. He had been
passing the evening with her. An hour
before, Mr. Farley bad made his adieux.
“Herr Sieberg I"
It was his voice, addressing the mu¬
sician.
“Yes,” he responded, his surprise show¬
ing in his tone.
“I have waited for you,” continued Mr,
Farley, “in order to ask of you a favor. It
is a great favor, but money need be no ob¬
ject between us. 1 am willing to pay you
any price, however fabulous ; and although
I know it is out of your line,, 1 want very
much that you should play a solo at my
wedding."
In the moonlight Herr Seiberg’s face
showed a strange pallor.
“At your wedding I You aro to be married
May I inquire to whom ?”
“Miss Laurence is my betrothed.
you not heard ?"
Both in question and answer rang
strained intensity; but the silence that
followed had an its dumbness more force
than either. Herr Seiberg spoke;
“To-morrow night at this hour you shall
have my decision,” he said, and rapidly
strode away.
Before noon, the day following, Miss
Laurence received Herr Heiberg’s card.
Penciled on it were these words:
“Pardon my intrusion, and. grant me half
an hour’s interview in which to bid you
farewel,.”
Farewell! There was a certain spasmod¬
ic fluttering of her heart, as she dimly real¬
ized its purport
What did this sudden departure portend?
and why—why did it cause this laint sick¬
ness, which stole through every pulse and
fiber of her heart?
“Show Herr Seiberg up,” she said to the
servant; then schooling herself to be calm,
sat awaiting him,
On the threshold of the room he paused.
“You asked me once. Miss Laurence," he
began, “the story my violin told on the
night we met. I answered you that some
time you should know. Would it weary you
to hear it now? ’
She bowed assent and motioned to a chair
but he stood still.
“I must go back many years,” he said,
"to the time when I was a little lad* loot
sore and friendless.^- Nay, not friendless
I had one friend—a poor little piece ot wood
with strings across it; but I forgot it was
wood. In my hoars of loneliness and grief
and sadness, I would talk to it, and then, by
idly drawing my bow across the stungs, it
would answer me. Ah I no one would have
believed it but myself, but it pointed to me
the future —it told me all that might be. It
whispered courage—it breathed hope. Well,
one day stroking through the stref to, touch¬
ing its chords, asking no alaas—I never
begged—a boy older than I, taller, stronger,
a boy richly dressed, and with a gold chain,
hanging at his vest, slopped anil mocked
me. I walked on silently. He followed
me, and, in an unprepared moment, snatch¬
ed my violin, and, snapping it aerosol his
knee, threw it into the filth and mud ef the
street.
“I was stunned. The magnitude of my
loss overwhelmed me. The surging tide of
my despair closed in about ray soul. I saw
neither earth nor sky—naught save the
shattered, voiceless wood. Then he who
had wrought the wauton, wicked act, threw
me a coin. It roused me from my stupor.
I caught and hurled it back. Not thus might
lie pay the debt that I owed to him.
“In that moment a carriage passed.
Seated within was a beautiful child—a little
girl. She ordered the coachman to stop.
She had seen nothing of what had happen¬
ed. She inquired the cause of my distress.
Then, with tender pity in her eyes, and a
voice like music, she put her purse'itift my
hands and bade me use its contents as I
would. ‘Some day,’ she said, ‘when you are
a great musician, you shall repay me. Who
knows? you may play at mv wedding.’ "
Herr Seiberg strode to her side. He put
his hand within his coat and drew some¬
thing forth. Instinctively she knew it to
be a little purse.
“It has never left me," he said, hoarsely,
“I owe all that I am to you. The gulf be¬
tween us is as wide now as then. I have
never hoped to cross-it. You are the heir¬
ess of a rich man. I, too, have wealth, but
that cannot wipe out the spot. Let me tell
you, though, what I did. I took your mon¬
ey and bought my violin. The man who
sold it to me had a kindly face, and when
I paid him for it I asked him for a fa¬
vor.
“The money with which I purchased this
was lent to me, I said. I would like—oh,
o very much!—to keep this same gold. Will
you lay it aside for three months, when I
may redeem it? I do not know that 1 tan,
but I will save every penny I earn, if you
will but do this for we.”
"The man smiled and consented.”
“He marked the gold within my sight and
laid it away. Within the time I had re¬
gained possession of it. It is here, Miss
Laurence. It seemB a trifling Bum, now, to
both of us, but remember that it hi.s made
me all that I am. Yet its payment does not
pay my debt. You said that perhaps 1
might play at your wedding. Command me,
and I obey, even though I thus forswear my
second debt to the boy, who, a second time
in my manhood, causes me the deepest mis¬
ery my life has known.”
“Of what aro you speaking?” she said,
gently. “Whom am I to marry?”
"Last night he told me you were his be¬
trothed.”
“He? Who?”
“Fairfax Farley.”
“It is not, true. He has wished it so, but
I did not know my heart, and asked that he
should wait. I know that it can never be.
Carl, you spoke of a gulf between us. Is it
one that love will not bridge?”
The next, night, Faifax Farley and Herr
Seiberg met.
“You have decided ?" asked the for¬
mer.
“It is impossible,” Carl replied; “but since
you so kindly have asked ige to play at,
your wedding, may 1 not ask you to dance
at mine?”
“Ah! you are betrothed, then?”
“Yes.”
"And to whom?”
“Miss Laurence,” the young musician
answered, proudly.
Two little words—a name soon to
B erged into another identity; but tbeir mo¬
mentary utterance had cancelled his
fold debt—redeemed his boyhood’s vow,
FAT AS YOU 60 !
£Jome unusually and see full for and yourself. complete. My stock is
T
T5 emember, too, that I keep every article
of country trade kept in a store.
0
Tpverything selecied with is of the best single quality, and the
an eye to
trade of this section.
M
P 3 -* n if 9 55 ^ »—« g-s- JT 3 '-'i ■ o Sr
o 1 _ *3 <jT r*
Jshall make the CASH trade a specialty,
FOTGying, with what influence I have, to
•w suppress the ruinous credit system.
IT
M p. P b & 3 j* & II ®. f I 2. 2 . Os e:ct £
O' 5 S 9? 5 2 o eo I o o — s»
s
GJay you will adapt your business to a
cash system this year of plenty, where
credit is not an absolute necessity.
T
A ft.er considering these facts very care
*•* fully,
^•all on me, and I will show you plainly
W that
M
▼Unless W the cash system is more gener
ally
•li '
It i !„• JS 2 o x> 9 H. -
M
C! ure enough, this is where my low prices
M will come in.
s
ip very body will find it to their interest
■■I to see me and my goods, hear my plan
and LOW prices before buyiug.
Very respectfully,
P. E. BOYD.
TlilL LI,Vi i/ASOS
ON WHEELS—
IS MANUFACTURED BY
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RACINE, Wfi WIS.,
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_
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The Pop 6 .
How many people are there who know
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however, and there is reason to believe tha
his holiness makes a good thing of it. Leo
XIII. goes in, however, neither for the
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nicely fattened, when they are killed and
cooked in a Vast kitchen. The laborers on
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island. This is yet another instance of the
strange use to which land may be put.
A Fafiguing Occupation.
“I feel so tired this mornin’ I can hardly
lift me arrum to roe head.”
“Why, you seemed to sleep-soundly,-Mr.
O'Fagan ; you ought to feel refreshed'"
“Yis, Colonel, I ought to be feelin’ re
frished, but I ain’t. Its sawin’ wood that’s
the fatagin’ occupashun ?”
“Sawing wood I Why, when have you'
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“Whin have I, is it? Shure an’ I dhreamed
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night, an’ I didn’t have aven a piece av ba¬
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intirely.”
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a cases 25 cts. cash or stamps.
Mailed by John Parham, Atlanta, Ga.
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BUifUtL \ 1 . ;:.*xcrstc.* -;j- -- 5C_i.
o PAs;c.~iro Z'. j
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mH 1 IB w.ll known home ta situated near the
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nod li .Wtl kept by Merrlok Barrie.. tee. It. «m
Inal owner and proprietor. It* haB
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provided, and otuuge. modemto.