The weekly herald. [volume] (Cleveland, Tenn.) 1876-1888, 1881-11-04


gushing the last gas-jet as he followed
him.
"Good night, Dick; and don't be
down-hearted, old man. Your next en-
gagement II make amends"
"Gool night, Tom Hornby; God
bless you"
Again they shook hands; then bas-
soon wListled off into the burrying
crowd at the stage door, and violoncello
turned to face the wind the other way.
Out into the bleak street, where tiny
yellow rush-lights of lamps cast a
melancholy glimmer or two upon
crowds of hurrying faces, some fat and
round, some red and well favored, all
hurrying along through the little snow
dots which the wind blew about.
Old violoncello buttoned his rusty
coat close. and turned up tie collar as
if the wind might find that an obstacle
in its attacks upon his scraggy old
throat, whilst he hugged that dingy big
fiddle of his tight against his body,
and settling his eyes straight before
him, dragged his trembling knees in
the direction they pointed. Up one
street and down another; along wide
white road, lined with tall white man
sions; down narrow, wriggling, dark
alley, lined with rickety lodging-houses.
On he trudged through the gray, pulpy
mud Of trampled snow.
On and on to the dreary blank of
future which lay before him, the old
lack-lustre eyes fixed in that straight
forward look of despair, the cold lone
liness steadily settling down upon his
aged heart to brood there, For the
season was over, and old violoncello had
struck his last chord at the hall.
"You see, Dobbs," the lead or of the
orchester had said, "now the full
seasons over, it's unreasonable to ex-
pect the management to keep up such
band, so, much as it goes against me
to say it, VIC must part"
"Quite right" had chimed in the
manager with the ferocious moustache.
Establishment expenses must be cut
down, my man ; everybody can't stop
on ; so there you are Might rs well
ask me to keep extra bandsmen out of
my own salery !"
So old violoncello struck his last
chord, and went with leaden heart.
Good hearted Tom Hornby comforted
him with hopes of that next engage
ment. But who would have him
poor, old, worn-oUt, deaf as he was,
Nobody, he said. And his heart sank
like lump of cold lead as he thought
of that answer.
The pulpy slush changed to white,
untrodden snow upon the path the
streets were quieter and darker. Old
violoncello reached his humble lodging,
admitted himself by his latch key,
climbed the three flights of ricketty
stairs. In the tiny garret at the top
of them was a fireless CRATE, square,
white bed, table, chair, and a win
dow-one broken pane of which was
stopped with brown paper. As he
lighted his two inches of lean candle
and showed these, the old man sat down
upon the chair and bent his gray head
upon the table. No tear was in his
eyes when he lifted them. He drew
his violoncello closer to him ; he hugged
it as he might favorite child then he
bent his head once more upon the little
table, and his bow slipped to the floor
from the numbed fingers which olasped
it.
Lower and lower burned the candle,
whilst outside, upon the bars of the
window-panes, white snow gathered
higher and higher as the fakes kept
falling.
When the blanched face was again
upturned the eyes were moistened.
$50 we've come TO it at last, have we,
old fiddle?" the old man moaned in
apostrophe of his loved violoncello, as
he stopped to pick up the bow. "We're
old now, both of us we're no use now
You're patched and cracked, and your
masters deaf they don't want pair
like us now a-days. We're ready al
most for our last engagement. Yes, old
fiddle; you've been good servant to
your old master, and you could do
something, too, in your day; but not
much longer-not very much longer.
We're old now; they cen do without
u.s."
A tear dropped upon the 6nger-board,
and the old man wiped it carefully Off
with his coat-sleeve.
Eyes, old FRIEND" he continued,
gazing afIectionately on his battered
companion of wood and strings, we've
been friends for long, but we're coming
to our last engagement.
Whilst the snow fakes fell thicker
against the window, softly and noise
lessly, the old man drew his bow across
the strings of the violoncello in a half
unconscious way bending down his
head TO the instrument lust as he ALWAYS