Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1881-11-30
Little Pierre.

III u nunDie rOotD, III Ou6 OF bne poorest
streets of London, Pierre, a fatherless French
boy, sat humming by the bedside Of his sick
mother. There was no bread in the closet,
and for the whole day he had not tasted
food yet he sat humming to keep up his
spirits. Still, at times, he thought OF his
loneliness and hunger, and he could scarcely
keep the tears from his eyes for he knew
nothing would be 80 grateful to his poor in
valid mother as good sweet orange, and
yet he had not penny in the world.
The little song he was singing was his
own, one he had composed with air and
words for the child was genius.
He went to the window, and looking out
saw man putting up great bill with yell
low letters, announcing that Madame Mali
bran would sing that night in public.
"Oh, if [ could only gol" thought little
Pierre; and then, pausing a moment, he
clasped his hands, his eyes lighted with
new hope. Running to the little stand, he
smoothed down his yellow curls, and taking
from little box some old stained paper,
gave one eager glance at his mother, who
slept, and ran speedily from the house.
"Who did you say is waiting for me ?"
said the lady to her servant. I" / am already
worn out with company"
"It's only very pretty little boy, with
yellow curls, who says if he can just see you
he is sure you will not be sorry, and he will
not keep you a moment"
ooh well, let him come" said the beau
tiful singer with a smile. al can never re-
fuse children."'
Little Pierre came in, his hat under his
arm, and in his hand little roll of paper.
With manliness unusual for child, he
walked straight to the lady, and bowling
oa;I g IN, hao
is very sick, and we are too poor to get food
and medicine. thought that, perhaps, if
you would only sing my little song at some
of your grand concerts, maybe some pub.
Usher would buy it for a small sum, and so
| could get food and medicine for my
mother"
"Did you compose it ~ she asked" you,
child And the words Would you
like to come to my concert 2" she asked.
"Oh, yes and the boys eyes grew
bright with happiness; "but | couldn't
leave my mother"
al will send somebody to take care of
your mother for the evening; and here is
crown, with which you may go and get food
and medicine. Here is also one of my tick
cts. Come tonight; that will admit you to
a seat near me-"
Almost beside himself with j,y Pierre
bought some oranges, and many little lux
ury besides, and carried them home to the
poor invalid, telling her, not without tears,
Of his good fortune.
When evening came, and Pierre was ad-
mtted to the concert hall, he felt that never
in his life had he been in so grand place.
The music, the myriad lights, the beauty,
the flashing Of diamonds and rustling Of
silk, bewildered his eyes and brain.
At last, she came and the child sat with
his glance riveted upon her glorious face.
Could he believe that the grand lady, all
blazing with jewels, and whom everybody
seemed to worship, would really sing his
little song?
Breathiess, he waited. The band, the
whole band, struck up plaintive melody.
He knew it and clapped his hands for Joy.
Pierre walked home as If he were moving
| on the air. What cared he for money now?
The greatest singer in all Europe had sung
his little song, and thousands had wept at
his grief.
The next day he was frightened at visit
from Madame Malibran. She laid her hand
on his yellow curls, and turning to the sick
woman, said, "Your little boy, madame,
has brought you fortune. l was offered,
this morning, by the best publisher in Lon
| don, three hundred pounds for his little song
and after he has realized certain amount
from the sale, little Pierre, here, is to share
the profits. Madame, thank God that your
son has gift from heaven"
The noblehearted singer and the poor
woman wept together. AS to Pierre, always
mindful of him who watches over the tired
and tempted, he knelt down by his mothers
bedside and uttered simple but eloquent
prayer, asking Gods blessing on the kind
lady who had deigned to notice their Attic
ton. The memory of that prayer male the
singer even more tender-hearted and she,
who was the idol of England's nobility, went
about doing good. And in her early, happy
death, he who stood by her bed, and
smoothed her pillow, and lightened her last
moments by his undying affection, was the
little Pierre of former dsys-now rich, &C.
complished, and the most talented composer
of the day Children's Museum.