The Union and journal. [volume] (Biddeford, Me.) 1858-1882, 1860-04-13
GOING HOME.
IAN Incident in the Life Of an Italian Music
Grinder.1

IAN Incident in the Life Of an Italian Music
Grinder
Such miserable den Il was, 90 dark and
dreary how could he tako his little wife
there? Smoke-dried and begrimed, the char
red beams poking out their black muzzles in
every direction to terriiy her, and the heavy,
shattered buildings opposite frowning down
their eternal dark frown upon her timid face.
Dusky garments, huttering out on strings
and poles, for sale-garments Of namcless
shape and quality and color; for daylight
had hard work to peer down, ut any time,
into Tibb's Old Court.
And, rs he raiscd her from the mgged bed,
she clung about him with her burning arms,
and moaned out, fecbly, " Home, Paolo, /
want to go home, across the seq 1t is cold
here, and never sec the sum-"
"Cold Why il is summer, little wife,
and hot-oh, 10 hot, us tramp the weary
streets, and grind out my tunes.'
:" Poor boy Poor Paolo!"
But when am tired think of coming
back to thee, little one, and that gives mo
strength"
Then he took the small hand again, and
started to sec how thin and wasted 1t was !;
and again she murmured out q yearning after
home, away from this cruel place, where
there was no sun-whcre dirty old men peer
ed in upon her, and called " my dear" She
should die there some day and then he would
be left all alone.
Die?-what die and leave me? How he
clasped the poor thin hand now, and pressed
his lips upon it /! how gently he laid her
head upon his bosom, and soothed her how
he promised that tomorrow he would try
harder than ever to earn little money, and
then if she were strong enough, they would
60 away to some SUMMER place.
But she put her lnger on his lip, and cried
out" Home, home."
SO he promised her that, too, they would
60 home.
In the earlier morning he kissed her quiet
ly, for she is still sleeping; he takes up his
organ, and starts briskly upon his round, for
he has a long way to walk. And when the
sun pours down upon the dry, white houses,
and the very air that stirs family is hot and
arid, where is she? Poor lad what, moth
ing yet? The whole morning gone, and
nothing gained. But he grinds away, and
his maronettes dance and frolic, as tho there
are no such things us dropping little wives and
sunless lodgings. Noisy urchins gather
round him, and dance and shout too, and
sometimes fall to kicking one another, for
variety; and now miserable French piano
scts up in opposition and spoils his music.
With sigh he looks up to the balcony un-
der which hc has played so long. A lady sits
there eating grapes, that must have cost
don't know how much.
" Daiei gudlche cosd," murmurs tho lad,
in his own tongue and his sad mouth and
wistlul eyes echo the words.
But the lady puts her delicate hand to her
ear, in horror at the jingling piano, which
will keep on screeching out about it's Gown
Mary Anne" shakes her head and keeps on
feeding her lap-dog with dainty morscls Of
cake; for the poor spaniel has been sick and
is dainty in his eating.
Then Paolo turns away heavily and stum-
blcs against few penmbulatOrs-which is
nothing new, since those inventions have o
wonderful knack of holding their own, and
refuse to divcrge hairs breadth from their
line on any account. All down another row
of fine houses for nothing; and when he
murmurs out some mOurnful words about q
sick wife, the answer is that he has no busi-
ness with wife, which is very true and CON-
forting. But when one little girl throws
him half penny, he Is so grateful that hc
grinds out his whole stock of tunes again for
her.
Moro rows and moro failures it is hours
since the milk went below, and the "young
water eresc's" are slowed away long ago; it
is so late that Paolo can stay no longer. a
hot tear rolls down his check as he looks ut
his one halcpenny, and in his abstraction no
stumbled against u knot Of gentlemen.
"Datemi qualche cosa," cried out the lit
tic lad, with cob in his voice for he was
thinking of the little wife he had no business
with.
lie was answered in his own tongue-oh,
Joy to hear it /! almost rs good that as the
bright sovereign with which this true coun-
try man had answered his story. Yes, q
sovereign, n whole golden sovereign-oh, lit
tic wife!
"Going home. going homc," murmurs
Paolo, as he hurries through the streets, and
thinks how long they are tonight "going
homo 2"
Shall he show his treasure at once, or keep
it back little, that the rejoicing may be
greater? Now he draws near the end of his
walk; he enters that dreary place, where tho
dark irown hovers cternally, and tho sun
never comes. He stands on the threshold,
stretching forth his arms joyfully to his little
wife. There is nothing on the bed but a
heap of clothes and bit Of clay-cold, quite
cold. She has gone home without him!