Shenandoah herald. [volume] (Woodstock, Va.) 1865-1974, 1874-09-17
and her dolls, and wbeneve he sank into

Inc CnllQfeD renamed on the 6LranO
until the stars came out one after an
othef, smiling alike on the serious eyes
| of Nicolo and the drowsy ones OF the
pretty Gianetta Then, indeed, tn ey
turned their steps homeward, their
arms wound around each other in the
innocent, loving embrace Of childhood:
After long walk, they turned down a
narrow lane, at the end of which stood
two humble cottages, overgrown with
vlnes-one the home Of Gianetta the
the other of Nicolo. At the threshold
of the former stood the mother of the
little girl, anxiously awaiting the return
| of the children, whom she tenderly
/ embraced as they came running up to
her; then, wishing esch other good
night, Nicolo crossed over to his home.
On entering his dingy little room, he
sighed deeply, raised the window to
let in the mild night air, and opening
a chest, drew from it an old violin.
Seating himself near the easement,
through which the silvery moonlight
flooded, he passed his fingers across the
strings, and drew from them the most
enhancing strains Of music. dying away
at times into wondrous melancholy,
then swelling into triumphant gladness
Scarcely had he commenced playing
when large spider srawled out of the
vines aud came on the shutter.
"W elcomc?" cried the young must
ciah, gayly; and as it advanced, he laid
his finger on the window sill, allowed
the spider to make its way over it, and
placed it in triumph upon his violin,
where it remained, during the whole
performance, as if enchanted by the
wonderful magic of the music.
Nicolo continued practicing until his
eye-lids closed in sleep, and hot until
the sun shone into his eyes did he
awake from his sound slumbers. He
arose, and replaced his mute, istill
sleeping companion carefully upon the
! vine leaves.
Every time that he laid aside his vic
lin, when inspiration or strength failed,
he sank in,o his habitual morbid revery
The absence OF the spider increased
this feeling of solitude, for he was at
| taclaed to the creature with all the pass
ion of fervent and unhappy DISPOSE
ton. His father was a hard and relent-
less master-his dead mother he only
dimly remembered as having smiled
upon hum with ineffable sweetness as
she sung him to sleep with her gentle
lullaby. But that was so long ago, and
now he had no friends; for the children
of his own age avoided the dreamy,
reserved lad.-Only little Gianetta was
good to him, coming often to his room
and listening in silent admiration to
the inspiring music Of bis violin. But
Gianetta detested his spider. "There
is witchcraft in it," she would say,
with dainty little shudder, and so the
insect was never admitted during her
visits. When his fingers grew stiff
with exercise. Eicolo enlivened the
hours by telling fairy tales, romantic
adventures and his own hopes for the
future to his delighted little conpan-
ion, who would listen without daring
to interrupt, her eyes cleaning with
joy, as she pressed the feverish hands
of the of the agitated narrator. Some
times Nicoio told her of Mozart, who
was already famous at the tender age
of six. ''Oh, Gianetta he would ex-
claim, show small l seem beside him! J"
And hot tears chased down his atten
uated cheeks. In vain the plying
Gianetta tried to console him-his
was the jealousy common to genius!
One day the young musician, under
the direction of his father, had been
performing series of monotopous ex-
ercises, so that his arms seemed paraly-
zed = Utterly worn out, be laid aside
his violin, and leaned his weary head
against the window, when all of sud
den he heard sharp cry. 1t was the
mother of Gianetta who called to him.
Springing up with alacity,he ran across
to his playmates home. He found the
little girl lying on her bed, her breath
coming hard and slow, and her bright
eyes looking fixed into space. On
recognising her friend, she looked at
him with supplicating glance, which
Nicolo readily interpreted. With tears
in his eyes, he ran swiftly for his dis
carded instrument, crying as he came
back:
ssMy sweet little Gianetta, ! will
play lullaby, it will make you we'll
again!" He sat down by her bedside,
aud forgetting his fatigue, played with
all the fervor of his soul: his anguish,
hit hope, his love- seemed to breathe
from the wondrous tones, and like the
voices of angels descending to earth,
they eased with their sublime harmony
the pains of the sick child; who, at first
listened with wild, feverish eagerness,
which gradually gave place to calm res
pose. The restfulness of her soul was