Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1875-09-10

citation had appeared and hidden her. She
went instantly TO the piano, though Belle
ran before her TO play the accompaniment
Belle had TO play the prelude twice over,
though, before Jessie could command her
voice and in the first measures II trembled
so that she was afraid she would have TO
stop, and she was pale as death.
Courage, courage, my child" cried the
signor, and she took little and went on
and soon she forgot the signor and her
fright, and was singing as freely as a bird
In the wild wood.
at is grand it is dellciousr' cried the
signor, in his own tongue, which Jessie and
Belle understood tolerably. ut is voice
in thousand. In thousandH A voice in
millions 1t is the nightingale'sl and 1t
must have care, study, training-It alyr
Jessie shook her head, and felt very
much like crying. She knew If she ever
showed the least desire for Italy, her father
would cramp himself, her mother forego
her comforts, the children deny themselves
everything; they would SILL the piano,
move into a meaner house, live on little,
give nothing away. She had never intim-
ated that she thought the thing worth while.
Now she shook her head and ventured 10
say in such Italian as she had at is i'm
possible. Please don't speak oft ; it would
only make grief here. But thank you for
the kind words"
And then the signor gazed hard at the
lovely iBce with its Madonna-like oval, and
its great, soft, dark eyes, and said:
"Nothing is impossible. Now 1 must
seek my violin. Ii was to come by express,
but has not, the good house- mother says"
No; it had not come, and, what was
more, it never would come in its cid shape.
The express had met with an accident, and
all its contents had been shattered. The
violin that the Queen of Holland had given
Signor Pazzsni, that Jacques Stancr had
made himself in the Tyrol two hundred
years ago and more, was nothing but a
handful of chips. 1t would have been lu-
dicrous, if it had not been in reality harrow
ing, TO see the signor's grief and rage when
he heard of the destruction of his darling,
and had the broken bits put into his hand.
He remembered nothing more about Jes-
sizes voice, about the evening concert; he
sat down among the fragments, like Marius
III huo rufus Vi NdrbndSes anu DeNdlleu
himself.
1t was an intensely cold,and still winters
day; there was not sound to be heard
in the village, save now and then a distant
sleigh-bell, the dropping of some huge
icicle, or the loud report of some nail as it
sprung with the frost in the raflers. As the
signor sat there now with the broken vo-
lutte of his violin in his left hand, and the
other hand wound in his hair distractedly,
one of these nails went off, as you might
say, with more of an explosion than usual
upon the frosty silence Of the afternoon,
followed by clear, resonant note that for
half moment seemed to fill the house
with a silvery vibration. They all heard
it, and looked up bewildered and sudden
ly Jessie, with a joyous cry, sprang to her
feet and darted from the room. The gar
ret door had been LEFT open by somebody,
she found. In moment she was back,
and had placed in the hands of the sig.
nor, whose mood of frenzy had been sue
little black fiddle.
"It fell from its nail" she was saying.
at was that we heard. 1t wanted TO come
and comfort you, you see. Is it good for
anythingf Can you mend your own with
it2 1t is so oldr
"Why do you bring me this, my child p
he asked, sadly, but took it, and ran his
eye over it. Something seemed to strike
him as he did so. He bent his head quick
ly, lifted the violin to his ear, and tapped
it and listened, ran his finger down its lines,
iaf nd .
minutely. His hands began to shake; he
was holding his breath; he was comparing
the measurements of the little black fid
die with certain figures in memorandum
book drawn from his pocket. He peered
into its every dimension in a sort of a mad
haste. He took magnifier, and then with
a bit of chamois leather began rubbing the
end of the little black fiddle as if he were
polishing a Jewel. All at once he cried
out:
"Aha! Behold it! 1t is herei Read it,
A. +
Stradivarius, Cremona. l II S. Ii is his,
the Giuseppe del Jesus when the great An
tome was his master. That is his seal,
Il II s. Oh, the rougue! But he knew
music And Antoine Stradivarius has had
it in his hands has looked at its sides, its
table, its ouies, its lustrous varnish has
drawn the bow across II has said II was
good Quick where are my strings2
We will see we Will see. There is no
bridge. Tina. is all right. The bridge
would not have answered. My Sainer
bridge is whole yet"
He was silent in a long but hurried I'M
rolling and fastening of strings, an endless
tuning and hearkening and tuning again,
and then the walls of the room were vibrant
about them, and Signor Pazzani was play
ing on the little black fiddle and the sweet,
powerful sorority, the suave, silyery, in
tense tone, the mellow but majestic
strength, were ringing in their ears ''like
the humming of a swarm of angels WINGS"
said the signor, suddenly leaving off, with
his bow in the air.
"Ah, look at i'll What grace in the
curves how severe the vOlute how elias
tic and bounding the tone and the color
How purple and rich and full of lusters it
will come out when shall restore it 1! Oh,
L shall restore it ~ he cried, gayly smiling
on them one and all. at will be mine:
you will not think of keeping it: you can
none of you play on it," he began TO i'm
plore.
cts a Guarnerius, the Giuseppe del
Jesus. 1t is worth money-it is worth
more (; you shall have thousand, you shall
have fifteen hundred, you shall have two
thousand dollars for itP'
sob, hush, indeed2 ?" cried Jessie. "Of
course you shall have it, sir. 1t is value
less TO rs: Il is YOURS ~