The Democratic sentinel. [volume] (Cadiz, Ohio) 1852-1853, 1853-12-21

ueuL'-DHtos
PaganinfS bones, being weary of pei:ioning the
Cardinals for decent SepuIture, determined to hold
a conversation with Ole Bulbs fiddle as to the
cnuSe of its msfortunes, and by means of the myS-
terlouS Odlc force, was soon en rapport with the
familiar spirit of the Norwegian.
"Ah J." said the Bones "Souy to see you in
limbo--how are you off for resin ~
"Loosen my pegs" replied the Fidde--which
has habit of swearing genteely-'ff do not feel
as miserable as If never had breathed the air Of
Cremona."
"Well, prison is a cold place." said the Bones
fand would not object to have little flesh my
self while communicating with you, for cold is
contageous-but it was fated that never should
know the pleasures of the flesh May be broken
up into bone castanets and pay d by the Camp
bells the Bones swear, too, il will be perceived,
il do not wish for cosy tomb, snug grave, or
luxurious coffin, this icy cold night. But what
has happened TO you, old Norway | thought you
were snug at the colony when your polite bow
:0pped to me the fact of your imprisonment
"Ah you don't know my story, then !"
"No; but, OF course, you must have committed
crime. Prisons are for criminals, and criminals
for prisons. In this just world you could but be
arrested and separated from your wv without some
lenous offence being proved against you"
every true. l have been guilty. deserve
my fate. | believed in the Beautiful. wins
l.
minded him that money was OF no avail, unless as
an agent of good. he Northern mind, told him,
is strong and brave. 1t has the courage Of the
Vikings with the genius Of the ScaldS. 1t is S, ek
ing fame. II has con.m 5nced 10 travel abroad
1t has heard in the divine notes of Lind; it
hes spoken in The musical words of TegueI; il has
been cherished in the books of Frederika Bremen
| and Emile Carlen, and has it not been recognized
with sympathy even in me? Help the grand old
efforts raiI &.
cencep'
"Whrr-r," went the Bones in something like
nigger soO-"yOu were fool for vpur pains, and
Ole was tool 10 listen to you. You were really
guilty Of good action, and deserved your fate.
You should have told the man to hoard up his mon
ey; to buy costly carriage; clap some old frudal
cIeSt on the back of il; dress up his funkieS in
crimson and gold; Dive slowly and respectfully
by the houses of the rich, and drve OUer the bod
| les Of the poor, and you would be wrapped this
| moment in satin, instead Of being SO eezed into
an old green bag, while he We uld enjoy the appro-
baton of the whole Anglo Saxon family, from Mrs.
Potphar to Mrs. Smallw
The fiddle was silent. A few notes of sorrow
aud repentance arose from It's heart after awhile.
They shot up into the sunlight, which spread into
| a golden banner above the prison walls, and then
descended slowly into melancholy cadence, and
were still. AS you listened you might have fancied
they were few deserted birds, whose mates were
dead taking .arewel of the skies before their
| flight into that land where there Is no music and
no sunlight! al did my master grievouS wrong"
said the Fiddle; 81 induced HIM to think f his
poor countrymen; to help them with his purse; 10
found colony for their good, instead of arring
the imn emorlal chimes OF nature by the chlnking
of the dollars and the dimes! Alas, have ruined
qim!"-and as the faithful creatures poke, there
was sudden, sharp snap. One of the strings Of
lis heart had broken.
- III
string. Their kind sympathy aroused the Fiddle
once more, and it asked what had been the fate of
| the friendly BoneS-had they been baried-were
the Cardinals appeaSed, and was their tomb COM
modous and pleasant!
The Bones became suddenly Infatuated "No,"
said they; eve are StlllIUnbuned. We are crmi
nails We are the bones of an ArtiSt--and Art is
crime in modern Italy. We came before the Col
lege of Cardinals and asked for Sepulchre. 'No,"
ssd the Cardinal, "Y"u played licentous music.
The souls of women were led captive by your gon-
| doher-rough and rugged as lie was--ln the Car
niva Of Venice. You never played hymns"
"Because," said |, call music is a hymn. II is
the God III us s)eaking to God. 1t is the language
of the DeitleS. Jove wooed Juno with its spells,
and she bowed her naughty head TO listen Music
only ceases to be hymn when 1t CRATES through
the, nose Of some psalm. singing by. ocrite."
My judges were silent and frownlng. Isaw that
their thoughts, dark and gloomy, following each
other IN a hideous loute.
"Like the witchesr' said the Fiddle, uttering
few notes of its lavorlte Witches Dance o..
"Ay," said the Bones, "their thoughts brought
up the weight of a thousand ingredients of clme,
like witches fastening with their gifts 10 the caul-
dron on a WalpUrgls- night"
"But you worshpped the Beautiful, said the
College; "you loved your art better than your TO-
saTy."
"Ayp' said |. the artist worships God with his
soul, and not with his iiugers. God gave me genius
and repaid him with m lslc."
"Sl tie College would not hear" said the
Bones, "and we are yet unburied. We deserve
our fate. We were guilty Of a love of art"
So ended the conference, or rather what we
heard of it.