Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1882-03-23

elapsed since the day when the father,
himself gifted German artist, madden
ed by jealousy and the unfaithfulness
and harsh criticisms Of erstwhile friends,
bitter to death against 4 rival yiolinist
whose fame soon threatened 20 eclipse
his own, and crushed by the loss of his
Young wife, had seized the two treasures
still left TO him, his two-year old child
and his violin-and with them had fled
away from all old associations and buri-
ed himself in one of the obscure streets
of an American city.
Here he had eked out scanty pit
tance by teaching his mother tongue to
those who would learn and here he
trained his daughter, his one music pu-
pil for he steadily and obstinately refus-
ed to impart aught of his skill TO others
from the time the baby fingers could
clasp the bow; and, in aiding her pro-
gress, had forgotten somewhat of his
own trial.
But the wound still ranked.
"Liebchen," he would say sometimes
to Marguerite, as she carefully laid away
his old violin, after hours of practice, to
busy herself about household matters.
"Liebchen, thou goest bravely. Only
see will tell thee secret. Some day,
when thou playest to the great people
and the critics." and the old eyes would
flash with scorn and the old voice trem-
BILE with bitterness, ''play not these in
spirations of the old masters. Makethy
violin to speak, whistle like bird, bark
as the dog, or scream as the bose kino
That is what these critics will like-that
will bring thee fame! Tricks, not music,
seest thou? Only, notion my Cremona,"
hugging the old instrument in his vast
ed arms; ''that would be profanation;"
his voice deep and impressive as roll
of thunder on the last word.
Marguerite would assent to all he said
her mind entirely blank as to the brill
liant career he seemed confidently to ar
range for her, her thoughts wandering
away, to the quiet, happy home life, the
loving words of a young mechanic had
pictured to her as their blessed future.
At last change came into the girls
uneventful life!
A great pianist, in his rambles about
the city, Glanced to hear the girl-artist
as she practiced. and, presto! the road
to the stage which had hitherto seemed
barred against her progress now open
ed Gear of all obstacles, alluring, en-
chanting.
Flattered, coaxed, petted by the per-
sons whose very name had hitherto filled
her with awe, urged on by poverty and
by the thought that she might win back
| the fame that had once cast halo
around her father, it was nothing to be
wondered at that her innate vanity and
slumbering ambition awoke to life-that
she forgot her lover and his happy plan
ming, that she consented to be taken un-
der her discoverer's patronage.
II must" she urged, in reply to all
young Earlston's arguments. Don't
you understand, Fred? Vaterchen is an
old man, he needs rest and comforts.
He cannot live with me much longer;
what else can I do to care for him, to
keep myself when he is gomez" and she
looked up into the frowning young face
above her, her blue eyes filled with
tears.
"Rely on me, Marguerite. Trust to
me-" the man answered firmly. "Do
you think that would ever let you suf-
| fer, dear? Come to me now, you and
your father"
The girl moved away from him, her
face almost sullen at this overthrowing
of her own good reason, with which she
sought to blind her own conscience and
the eyes of others, for wishing to leave
her old monotonous life. She walked
slowly over to the window and looked
out to where the lovely old elms were
being despoiled of their fresh Spring
foliage by an innumerable host of small,
black worms with which "all green
things were that year infested; glanced
from them in their writhing wearyine
hideousness, up to where swarm OF
gayly colored moths, newly released
from the groveling life and brief prison,
were fitting and futtering in the sun
shine, then turned back to the humble
room with its one waiting occupant
again.
Fritz" she said, going to him anG
laying q hand on each of his shoulders
II will tell you the truth. l am tired
desperately tired, of this stupid life.
will die if | remain in this awful stagna
ton longer" passionately. Il have
been crawling and held in check Ions
enough" with backward glance ou
at the marauders. "Now, I, too wan
TO try my wings, to futter about in tn,
sunshine for time 1t is cruel, crue
to keep me here!'
"Lcbchen," he answered. calling he
by her old pet name, though kind o
despair shone from his eyes-'Liebchen
I cannot keep you against your will;
cannot even ask you to stay now," ant
he took the slender hands from hi
shoulders and held them close in hi
own strong palms for moment, "ant
so good-by to you-and happiness"
"But I will come back" she urged
hurriedly frightened now at her owl
work. II will come back to you, som
time"
eyes" he answered with bite
smile, "as the moth returns to its owl
ways"
And then he left her, feeling that tn
light had gone from his life, while sh
after one day of fierce anguish, ha
again been soothed and stimulated b
her new friends to forgetfulness of a
| else but the thought of her new career
All during the Spring and Summe
she practiced more earnestly, more as
siduously than ever before; strong res
olution lending her physical strength,
boundless ambition guiding her finger
through the intricacies of scale and ar
peggio.
In the early Fall came the eventfu
night. The spacious opera house will
its rows upon rows of upturned faces
the faces of those upon whose smile o
frown hung the success or failure of he
artist-life; the idle, lack-lustre faces o