The mountain sentinel. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1844-1853, 1849-11-01

The Song and the Singer.
BY PERCY B. ST. JOHN.

1t was during the early days of the great
Revolution of 1889, in the year 1892,
when young officer, in delicate health
took up his quarters in the city of Mar
seilles for the six months of his leave of
absence. 1t seemed strange retirement
for young man, for in the town he knew
no one, and in the depth of winter Mar
seilles was no tempting residence. The
officer lived in garret looking out upon
the street, which had for its sole furniture
harpischord, bed, a table and chair
Little but paper ever entered that apart
ment, where food and fuel both were
scarce; and yet the young man generally
remained indoors all day, assiduously
writing, or dotting something on paper, an
occupation he alternated with music.
Thus passed many months. The young
man grew thinner and Paler, and his leave
of absence appeared likely to bring no
convalescence. But he was handsome
and interesting, despite his sallow hue
Long hair, full beaming eyes that spoke
of intelligence, and even genius and frank
ness of manner, all prepossessed in his
favor, and many a smile and kindly look
came to him from beautiful eyes that he
noticed not nor cared to notice. In fact
he rarely went out but at night, and then
to walk down by the booming sea, which
made kind of music he seemed to love.
Sometimes, it is true, he would hank about
the theatre door when operas were about
to be played, and look with longing eye
within; but he never entered: either his
purse or inclination failed him. But he
always examined with care the name of
the piece and its author, and then walked
away to the sea-shore to muse and medi-
tate.
Shortly after his arrival in Marseilles,
he visited one after another, all the pub
fishers and music sellers in the town, with
a bundle of manuscripts in his hand; but
his reception was apparently not very IA
vorable, for he left them all with frown-
ing air, and still with his bundle of manu-
scripts. Some had detained him a long
time, as if estimating the value of the arti-
cles he offered for sale; but these were no
more tempted than the others to try the
saleable character Of the commodity. The
house he lodged in had attached to it a
large garden. By permission of the land
lord, the young man selected it for his
evening walks, and despite the cold, would
sometimes sit and muse in a rude and ia.
dec bower under a wall a: one of the ga
bles. Here he would occasionally sing ir
a low tone, some of his own compositions
1t happened once or twice when he did so
female head protruded from window
above him, seeming to listen. The young
man at length noticed this.
Pardon, lady, said he, one evening
perhaps disturb your
Not at ALL she replied; i am fond O.
music, very fond, and the airs you hum are
new to me. Pray, if it is not rude ques
ton, whose are they?'
Cheyenne he answered diffidently
'they are my own
'Indeed!' cried the lady with anima
ton; and you have never published them!
Il shall never try-agaira,' he murmer
ed, uttering the last word in low ant
desPalrlns tone, which, however, reached
the ears of the young woman.
Goodnight, citoy en- said she, and she
closed her window. The composer sighed
rose and went out to take his usual walk
by the sea.beach; there before the gran
deur and sublimity of the ocean, and amie
the murmur Of its believing waves, to for
get the cares of the world, his poverty anc
his crushed visions of glory and renowr
the day dream of superior minds;