The Somerset press. [volume] (Somerset, Ohio) 1873-1977, 1878-12-19

southeastern side of London. Both
walked YEARLY, as though they had
tramped for long distance; and once
or twice the young girl wiped away a
tear, though she strove hard to hide it
from her companion, and forced herself
10 speak with cheerfulness in strange
contrast with her sunken cheeks and
footsore gait. Every now and then, in
passing through the more frequented
streets, they would pause; and the man,
who carried the violin, would strike up
some old ballad tune with a vigor and
power Of execution which even his frost
nipped fingers and weary limbs could
not wholly destroy; while the girl with !
a sweet, though very sad voice, accom- /
panied him with the appropriate words !
But their attempts we're miserably un- |
productive. In such bitter weather few !
who could help it would stay away from |
their warm firesides; and those whom !
stern necessity kept out of doors seemed !
only bent on dispatching their several
tasks, and to have no time or thought to
expend on compile of wandering tramps
singing by the roadside. Still lhey
toiled on, every now and then making
fresh "pitch" at some likely corner,
only too often ordered to "move on" by
| d SltIn DOllCCludH' ~1o GLlC1 OiCN hSeiSl
to the city and the hour grew later, the
passers-by became fewer and farther be-
tween, and the poor wanderers felt that
it was idle even to seek for charity in
those deserted, silent streets. At last
the old man stopped and groaned aloud.
"What is it, grandfather dear? Don't
give in now, when we have come SO far.
Lean on me--do; Pm hardly tired at
all and l dare say we shall do better
tomorrow"
Tomorrow" said the old man, bit
terly; tomorrow it will be too late. |
don't mind hunger, and | don't mind
: cold; but the shame of it, the disgrace
after having struggled against it all
these years-to come to the workhouse
, at last 1t isn't for myself i mind
beggars mustn't be choosers; and, |
dare-say, better men than | have slept
in casual ward but you, my tender
little Lily. The thought breaks my
| heart! it kills me-" And the old ma
J sobbed aloud.
"Dear grandfather, you are always
! thinking of me, and never of yourself.
What does it matter, after all? It's only
the name of the thing. Pm sure l don t
mind it one Bit" The shudder of horror
q which passed over the girls frame gave
! the lie to her pious falsehood. al dare
7 say it is not so very bad; and after a. |,
: something may happen to prevent it
even nowW
{ What can happen, short of mir
! i acle, in these deserted streets%'
"Well, let us hope for the miracle,
! then, dear. God has never quite de
le ! serted us in our deepest troubles, and |
l, don't believe He will forsake us now
~ As she spoke she drew her thin shaw
!, more closely round her, shivering il
~ spite of herself under the cold blast
p which seemed to receive no cheek from
- - her scanty coverings. Again the pai
~ ~ crept on, and, passing beneath the lofty
y; ~ wall Of st. Winifred's Church, stood be
VI meath 1T for a temporary shelter from
- the driving wind and snow. While 81
10 standing they caught the faint sound
u u of the organ 5olemnly pealing within.
u, "Noble music" said the old man, a
~ the final cords died away; "nobl
u u music, and soul in the playing. Tha
ce man, whoever he may be, should have
" generous heart"
y, Hush, grandfather" said the girl
IN IL he is beginning to play again"
!c- Scarcely had the music commenced
IN however, than the pair gazed at eacl
III other in breathless surprise.
Lilly, darling, do you hear what b
ne is playing?" said the old man in an e.
ne cited whisper.
er A strange coincidence" the girl IT
e er- piled.
f. Strange! it is more than strange
~ ~ Lily, darling, who could play thatsong
Js The melody came to an end and a
I,1 was silence. There was moment
- pause, and, then, as if by a common in
- pulse, the old man drew his bow acro
Nv, the strings, and the girls sweet voit
nv caroled forth the second verse of til
w song. Scarcely had they ended, when
~ ~ door opened at the foot of the chure
81 tower Just beside them, and Micha
~, Fray, bareheaded, with his scanty loci
nd blown about by the wind, stood befo
ns ~ them. He hurried forward and the
,s2, stood still, ,shame-faced, bewildered. I'll
81 aa4 song had called up the vision of ga
Us, U liant young sailor, full of life and healt
on 1ad as Michael had seen his brother for tt
,T .n+ last time on the day when he sailed {
ON ON his fatal voyage. He had hurried fort
W. W. forgetting the years that had passe
mo- full of tender memories of happy bo
ia ish days, to find, alasl only coup
ow- @ of wandering beggars, singing for brea
nos 81 beg your pardon" he said, stri
mo- ing vainly to master his emotions; ''y'
,wn sang song just now which-which-
and song WHICH was la'orlIe vi d I ut
W you-will you tell me where you got it
5aa "By the best of all titles, sir" t
No. No. old fiddler answered with touch
"ur "ur artistic pride; "I wrote it myse
oaI- words and music BOTH"
ing "Nay, SIR said Michael stern
inn. you rob the dead. A dearly low
brother of mine wrote that song fol
avv years ago."
mas "We1l, upon my wordv' said the {
leri fiddler, waxing wroth-'' then yo
vet brother must have stolen it from II
me What might this precious brothe
irst. name be, prayT
lice 4" An honest nanle, a name am pro
and to speak," said Michael, firing up in
And turn; :" his name was Richard Fray !!
ss- The old street musician staggered
sup if he had received blow.
thus Whatr' he exclaimed, peer
ap- eagerly into the others face; " then J
hong are my brother Michael, for am Ri
1 an ard FrayW
n al Half an hour. later and the broth
pres SO long parted, SO strangely brought
later gether, were seated round a roaring
ick's in Michael Fray's quaint, three,
voice nered parior. Michaeps stores had b
only ransacked for warm, dry clothing
gain. the wanderers. Drawers long Gle
yielded, when opened, sweet seen