Whig and tribune. [volume] (Jackson, Tenn.) 1870-1877, 1871-09-09
CAMILLA.

Paul Smith was a poor old man.
He had back room in the top of a
noisy lodging-house, where he slept
nights, and munched his meals of
bread and cheese (or Bologna seu-
sage, when he could afford it,) and
from whence he crept, as harmless
and unnoticed as a fly, down the
corner of the dingy street, TO the
little music shop of Carl Bertmann,
a German settler somewhere in
Soho.
There he tinkered all day on bro
ken violins and other musical in
struments, never absenting himself
for a moment, save on Saturday af-
ternoons, when he went to the house
of a small tradesman to teach the
piano to three or four very stupid
girls. Sundays he curled up in his
den, and amused himself, nobody
knew how, until Monday morning.
There are few certainties; he new
or went to church; but he picked
ragged children from the pavement
when they fell near him, and gave
them half pennies when he had any,
shared his dinner often with a man
gy, dirty cur, who acted as a sort of
escape-valve for the ill-temper of
half the men and women in the
street; and he reused Pat Ryan from
his midnight snooZe in the gutter
many a cold night, and literally car
ried him home to Norah and the
children"
As for his honesty, a neighbOr re-
mark, elf he found five shillings in
the street, he'd wear out ten shil-
lings worth of strength and shoe
leather to find the owner"
One cold night Paul was return
ing from his work, with alOaf bread
under one arm and violin under
the other, when at the street door
he stumbled, and nearly fell over q
small object crouched on the step.
"Bless usl What's this?" cried
Paul, striving to regain his equili-
brium.
"Only me, sirp' and the small OBJ.
iect stood up, and became very
pale, thin and ragged child.
care you hurt, little girl?'
''No, SIR"
"What are you doing out here in
the cold?"
Nothing"
"Why don't you go homer
81 amt got anyl'
"Dear me, Where's your moth
err"
"In heavenl"
At this Paul was dumbfounded
and seeing that great tears wer,
stealing down the child's wan face
he thrust the violin under the arm
which had held the bread, and put
ting the other around the tiny fig
ure, he said, ''Oh, I've got a home
a really jolly place! Come up an(
see."
And this is the way old Paul camt
to have a neat little house-keeper
and to be buying calico gowns ant
shoes out of his poor salary.
People wondered at the sight o
| this bent old man, hitherto alon
and uneared for; now walking dali,
to his work with his hand upon tn
shoulder of the odd, vet pretty
faced girl, looking ather with hon
est pride Frightening his eyes; ant
laughing as loud as she wheneve
| the joke came in. But old Pau
| looked unconcerned, evaded tn
questions of the curious, and learn
ed to love nothing better in thi
world than the little waif, Camilla
| There were many, many days
( when rheumatism drew Paul up b.
the fire in the old, back attic, an
/ drew the last penny out of the di
lapidated old purse; but brave littl
I Camilla, never forgetting how nea
death she had been on that bite
night of their meeting, always fOun
word to ward off hunger, an
courage to keep them both brigh
until help came.
The winter of 1856 came in like
lion, as many a poor wretch well re
members, and with the first bias
PauPs enemy. He turned one nigh
a sad face from his warm corner i
Bertmann's shop among the violin:
and hobbled up the cold street, fee
ing the approach of the old rheums
tic pains, and wondering wha
would become of his poor little Ci
milla.
His excitement carried him up [
the last flight of stairs, and hearin
Camilla's voice, he paused to re,
end to listen. She was singing i
that sweet and expressive manne
which made her voice seem TO his
the sweetest and purest he had eve
heard. At the end of the stanZa h
took breath, and another voice saic
"Child, you astonish me. Either
am apoor judge of music, or els