New Orleans daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1851-1866, 1860-04-02
Going Homo.

Such miserable den twas, so dark and dreHry;
how could he take his little wife there! Smoke
dried and begrimmed, the charred beams poking
out their black muzzles in every direction to ter
rify her, and the heavy, shattered buildings oppo-
site frowning down their eternal dark frown upon
her timid face. Dusky garments, iuttering out ON
strings and poles, for sale-garments of nameiess
shape and quality and color for daylight had
hard work to peer down, at any time, into Tibb's
Old Court.
And as he raised her from the ragged bed, she
chung about him with her burning arms and
moaned out, feebly, Home, Paolo, 4 want to 60
home, across the sea !; it is cold here, and never
Cold! Why, it is summer, little wife, and hot
oh 50 hot, as tramp the weary streets, and grind
out my tunesn ~
!. Poor boyl Poor Paolo!t
. But when am tired think Of coming back to
thee, little one, and that gives me strength,
Then he took the small hand again, and started
to see how thin and wasted it was: and again she
murmured out yearning after home, away from
this cruel place, where there was no sun-where
dirty old men peered in upon her, and called her
my dear" She could die there some day, and
| then he would be all alone.
Die?-whatl die and leave me? How he ciasped
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'pron1ised that tomorrow
ney, and then, If she were strong enough, they
would go away to some SUMMER place.
But she put her finger on his lip, and cried out.
e Home, home.'
So he promised that, too they would go home.
In the early morning he kisses her quietly, for
she is still sleeping; he takes up his organ, and
starts briskly upon his round, for he has long way
to walk. And when the sun pours down upon the
dry, white houses and the very air that stirs family
il hot and arid, where is she? Poor lad what no.
thing yet? The whole long morning gone, and no
thing gained. But he grinds away, and his mario
nettes dance and frolic, as though there were no
such things as dropping little wives and sunless
lodgings. Noisy urchins gather round him, and
dance and shout too, and sometimes fall to kicking
4I,av NA.y.
French piano sets up in opposition and spoils his
music With sigh he looks up at the balcony,
under which he played SO long. A lady sits there,
eating grapes, that must have COST don't know
!" Datensi qudlche cosd,H murmurs the lad in his
own tongue; and his sad mouth and wistful eyes
echo the words.
But the lady puts her delicate hand to her ear,
in horror at the jingling piano. which will keep on
| screechng out about its E Own Mary Ann,
| shakes her head, and keeps on feeding her lap
dog with dainty morsels of cake; for the poor
spaniel has been sick, and is delicate in his eating.
Then Paola turns away heavily, and stumhles
| against few perambulators which is nothing
| new since those inventions have a wonderful
knack Of holding their own, and refuse to diyerge
hairs breath from their line any account. All
| down another row of fine houses for nothing; and
when he murmurs out some mournful words about
sick wife, the answer is that he has no business
with wife, which is very true and comforting.
But when one little girl throws him a ha'penny, he
is grateful that he grinds out his whole stock Of
tunes again for her. More crows, and more failures;
it is hours since the milk went below, and the
young watercreese'sn are slowed away long
ago; it is SO late that Paolo can stay no longer
A hot tear rels down his cheek as he looks at his
one halfpenny, and in his abstraction he stumbled
| against knot of gentlemen.
"Datemi qualche cosa,h cried out the lad, with
sob in his voice; for he was thinking of the little
| wife he had no business with
He was answered in his own tongue-oh joy to
hear it almost as good that as the bright sove-
reign with which this true countryman had an
swered his broken story. Yes, sovereign, a
whole golden sovereign-oh little wife!
Going home going home,'' murmurs Paolo, as
lie hurries through the Streets and thinks how lone
| they are tonight. 'Going home y
i Shall he show his treasure at once, or keep il
back a little, that the rejoicing may be greater
4 Now he draws near the end Of his walk; he enters
that dreary place, where the dark frown hover.
eternally, and the sun never comes. He stands OF
the threshold, stretching forth his oyully To
his little wife. There is nothing the bed but q
heap of clothes and bit of clay-cod, quite cold.
She has gone home without him