The Van Buren press., 1878-09-24
A Touching Iucis,ent.

ANthiil uii tht zoAIitiHCiilS iii luis roo
have a story attached to them" sa
to friend, rs she was admiring an G.
quisite little bust of Charles Dickens tn
stood on top of one of the hook cas-,
in my library.
One sunny day last Autumn, a Ii
tie Italian boy came along to my doc
with basket Of plaster of Paris wares o
his head
"Fhey were very pretty, and the chill
dren almost went wild over them, a
country children always do over any IN
usual display.
"Yoa have no bust of Dickens ~ sal
to the little fellow, after | had locke,
over the articles, and had bought love
ly vase.
Dickens I" he said, in his funny
broken English, looking puzzled at first
but presently smile broke over his tair
bronzed young face as he went on, Deck
ems busto--writc stories Little Nell
no."
Then pointing out Of the window, hs
said. "Snow COME bring him not then
Snow all go away, come again; then |
bling Dickens, lady
We were preparing grapes for preser-
wing, and when Minnie gave him a nice
large bunch which, running out into the
garden, she had picked from the trellis
purposely for him, and had given him a
few pleasant words, the qualification he
showed was touching to see.
lie sono intinitamente obligato' AS
We might say, IL am ever so much oblig-
ed to you'-he said, the tears glistening
in his shining black eyes. God bless
LADIES'! he continued, bowing and smil
ing, and turning around to bow again
as he passed out of the yard.
We spoke Of him several times during
the Winter, and planned, idly, as we then
thought, where our prospective bust of
the great story teller should be pla
ced.
One pleasant morning in May, as |
was assisting John in getting my flower
beds ready for the bulbs and seeds,
heard the latch in the dooryard gate
rattle, and, turning around, saw another
plaster OF paris vender coming up the
walk, smiling pleasantly as he placed his
long tray of busts and vases upon the
ground.
My thoughts Immediately flew to the
little Italian boy who had called the
Autumn previous, and seemed so CRATE
full for the bunch of grapes my sister
had given him, and had promised us to
bring the bust of Dickens.
But this young Italion man was not
the same person; although he resembled
him very much, he was good deal
older
~ haf bring re bust of Dickens
to re lady he said bowling, as | APP
preached him,
But you are not the one who was to
bring it."
No, no, lady," he replied, very sad
~; she vas my brodder. He now in
heafen. He died, it vas so cold. But
he say many times, some day re cold
snow 60 away, and | sal cary re busto of
Dickens to re lady where re grapes grow.
But he died, and l hat come to cary
it,"
How did you find the place 7" we
asked, as we brushed away the tears we
could not suppress at the touching little
recital.
"Oh, he tod me, my brodder, to come
to come by re church wiz re clock, and
re yellnw. LoDSe Aol j sal como
house wiz many grape vines-ono in re
apple tree wiz 70 scat under il"
How much shall | pay you for the
Dickens p | asked as handed the bust
to my sister and started to 60 for my
portmonnaie.
Noting, noting, you speak so kind
to my little brodder, and she," pointing
to my sister, did gif him re sweet
grapes, and he vss so tired and SO home.
sick-and he come here not again oh,
sal now go" And the poor Italian,
with tears streaming down his olive
cheeks, hurridly turned away.
Before we cold speak word of com
fort to him, he had replaced the tray up
on his head, and trudged along alone with
his grief A. A, Preston, in Youth s
Companion.