The New era. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1865-1871, 1866-10-11
| said nothing, did NOTHING. Int onlv


right hands or left, entered not. THAT
world | had seen had breathed its air
and heard its voices.
My father heard of my misfortune.
and laid the strap across my shoulders
without hesitation, for in my younger
days boys We're boys until they were
eighteen or nineteen years old. I bore
1t patiently, llncomplainingly
What is he fit for?' every one
would ask, and no one could answer, not
even myself.
| wandered about the rectory in the
summer evenings and heard her sing 1
tried to get the old gardener frequently
to let me help him carry the Watering
pots, and when | succeeded, felt, as I
entered the rector's garden that I was
entering paradise. Oh, happy moments,
when, after the horrible labors of the
weary day, l used to follow the old gar
dener and hear her sing.
Ny old withered heart beats fuller and
freer when the memory comes back to
me now.
Alas! alas! my awlwardness again
banlshed me. She met me one evening
in the garden as [ was coming along the
path with my can full of water, and
spoke to me and said:
" You are the boy that broke the vase,
aren't you?"
Ibid not, could not reply; my strength
forsook me, dropped my cans on the
ground, where they upset and flooded
away in moment some seeds on which
the rector set most especial store.
''HoW awkward, to be sure" she ex-
claimed. "And how angry uncle will
be-"
l turned and fled, and from that time
the rectory gates reclosed against me.
led miserable, unhappy life for
the next three years; had only one
consolation during the whole of that
dreary time, l saw her at church, and
heard her sing there. l could hear
nothing else when she sang, clear and
distinct, above the confused nasal sounds
that came from the voices of others
hers alone, pure sweet and good. It
was blessed time. / would not miss
a Sundays service in church for all that
might offer. Three good miles every
Sunday there and back, did l heavily
plod to hear her, and feel we'll rewarded.
I shared erjoy and happiness. Iknew
when she was happy, when yhe oppressed
child's voice, the minutest shade of dit
was light and when sad.
One Sunday she sang as had never
yet heard her, not loud but tenderly, so
lovingly; knew the change had come
she loved; It thrilled in her voice; and
at the evening service he was there.
saw him. A soldier, I knew by his
bearing, with cruel, hard, gray eyes;
and she sang, I knew it. 1 detected a
tremble and gratitude in the notes. I
felt that she was to suffer as I had suf-
fered; not that sang. had no voice.
A harsh gutteral sound was all that l
could give utterance to. could Whis-
tie like a bird, and often and often, have
I lain for hours in the shade of tree
and joined the concerts of the woods.
One day l was whistling as was my
wont as 1 went through hestreet, when
was tapped on the shoulder by an old
man, the cobbler of the next parish.
I knew him by his coming to my father
for leather, occasionally.
"Sam where did you learn that?'
"Learn What?"
"That tune"
cat Church."
"You've a good ear, SAM"
"I've nothing else good, but l can
whistle anything"
"Can you whistle the morning hymn
for me?"
did so.
Good l very good. Know anything of
Nothing"
"Like to-"
cpd give all l had in the world to
play anything. My souls full ofmusic.
/ can't sing note, but could play any
thing if were taught"
80 you shall, Sam, my boy. Come
home with me. Carry these skins, and
you shall begin at once"
went home with him. found that
he was one of the players in the choir
of his parish, his instrument being the
violincello. l took my first lesson, and
from that time commenced new life.
Evening after evening, and sometimes
during the day, wandered over to his
little shop, and while he sat, stitch,
stitch, at the boots and shoes, l played
over and over again all the music l
could get from the church.
"You've beautiful lingering, Sam,
my boy, beautiful, and though it does
look little awkward, to see you bow
ing away with your left, it makes no
difference to YOU. You ought to be