The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1881-06-03
His NEXT ENGAGEMENT.

The glories of the entertainment have
faded, down goes gas, out scramble al,
dience. 1t is the last night of the sea-
son, and the band, sorrowfully, gloomily
every one, from the big drum down to
the piccolo, are playing the national an
them over said seasons grave to give ii
decent burial. Even the first fiddle feels
out of sorts. The bassoon has tear
drop trembling on his left eyelash, and
lets it hang there, unconscious OF the
fact that all the while it glistens visibly
In tiny ray from the footlight. AS for
the violoncello next him, that cliff
proved, set-faced, hoary- headed old vet
eran of a score or two of pantomimes,
surely this particular pantomimes death
grieves him but little. Why should it
while he can Irvine his bony left arm
it lived and loved him; when he can
bend his gray head to its strings and
hear the sweet pathos of their tones;
when he can pass his long, skinny must
clans fingers fondly over them to draw
forth rich, soothing, swelling, falling,
beautiful melody? Why should there
be quavering lip and trembling eye
lash when the last chord comes?
The chord is struck and over. Ont Of
the orchestra, and already on his way
home, is the first violin; the cornet has
brought up the rear with cadenza mo-
rdndo; the big drum has closed his last
roll; the second violin has packed mp his
fddle-case; bassoon and violoncello re-
main alone with the dying lights in the
hall.
Dick p said tho bassoon, quietly.
Poor old white-faced violoncello never
needed. The left arm in its rusty sleeve
still clasped the Instruments neck in
that loving way the old gray head bent
down over the strings, with the eyes
closed.
"Poor old chap p observed the bas-
soon, pittyingly, as he turned up his
coat-collar and tucked his instrument
case under his arm. Bowed If he
ain't q playin' now l'
Dick--Dick ~ he repeated, tapping
the old violoncello good-naturedly on the
shoulder. This old man opened his eyes
and awoke TO the silence.
"Hallo, Tom Horribly What--all
gone? Though" lookedaroundh him
in disappointed inquiry, and spoke in q
tone of sadnesS-"I thought he repeated
that second strain. Well we'll How
deaf I'm getting, to be sure - The rusty
black coat heaved with sigh as its
wearer rose and shut his music.
"All gone but you, Tom?" he said
sorrowiully. "Well. I won't deny j
thought they might ha' wished me
goodnight, or 'good-by, or something
of the sort, for the last night; but
won't grumble. An old fellow who's as
deaf as a post and has nobody to mind
him amt no place III an orchestra. He'd
better get ont Of the road rs quick as he
can, and make no fuss about it. Friends
amt in his line."
"Now, come, Dick, old man." ex-
postulated the bassoon, don't go for
TO speak like that. You knows there's
one chap as is sorry tor you-dash my
hide If he amt Yes, says /, Dick:
count me as your friend whenever YOU
like. There's bed for you, and the
same fare as / has myself, whenever
you like to claim 'em: and, if we can't
find you another sit somewheres
directly, it's pity. Blow me, it's
pity
Tom Hornby, you're good-hearted
fellow" returned the violoncello, CRATE
before the bassoon's reuial smile. a
useless, old, worn-out blessing like mine
amt much to give any body" he con-
tinued, "but such as it is, Tom, take it
for your kindness; and may you never
have such black world before you as
I've got now"
They shook hands; the bassoon
stepped through the little narrow door
l.,
bearing his unwieldy violoncello, ex-
tinguished the last gas-ie as he followed
him.
Goodnight, Dick; and don't be
down-hearted, old man. Your next en-
gaGement III make amends"
Goodnight, Tom Horribly; God
bless you.'
Again they shook hands; then bas-
soon whistled off into the hurrying
crowd at the stage-door, and violoncello
turned to face the wind the other way.
Out into the bleak street, where tiny
yellow flashlights of lamps cast melan-
choly glimmer or two upon crowds of
hurrying faces, some fat and round,
some red and well-favored, some blue
and ill-favored, all hurrying along
through the little snow-dots which the
wind blew about.
Old violoncello buttoned his rusty
coat close, and turned up the collar as
If the wind might find that an obstacle
IN its attacks upon his scraggy old
throat, while he Rugged that dingy big
fiddle of his tight against his body, and,
settling his eyes straight before him,
dragged his trembling knees in the di-
rection they pointed. Up one street and
down another; along wide, white
road, lined with tall white mansions
down a narrow, wriggling, dark alley,
lined with rickety lodging houses. On
he trudged through the gray, pulpy
mud of trampled snow.
On and on to that dreary blank OF fu-
ture which lay before him, the old lack
luster eyes fixed in that straightforward
look of despair, the cold loneliness
ufoadilu aaftlinn down nnon hia anod