The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1883-10-11
Little Pierre.

est SlTeetS ol LolluOu, l. ltITt, ~ ldbHcT-
less 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 bis loneli-
ness and hunger, and he could scarcely
keep the tears from his eyes; for he
knew nothing would be so grateful to
his poor invalid 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, ond looking
out saw man putting up great bill
with yellow letters, announcing that
Madame Malibran would sing that night
in public.
"Oh, if could only go" thought
little Pierre; and then pausing a mo-
ment he clasped his hands; his eyes
ligl I'd with a new hope. Running to
the little stand he smoothed down his
yellow curls, and, taking from little
box some old stained papers, gave one
eager glance Mt 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'm al
ready worn out with company"
1T is 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
moment.
ooh we'll, let him come" said the
beautiful singer, with smile; Il can
never refuse children"
Little Pierre came in, his hat under
his arm, aud in his hand little roll of
paper. With manliness unusual for
child, he walked straight to the lady,
and bowling said, Il came to see you,
because my mother 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, may be some publisher
would buy it for small sum, and so /
could get food and medicine for my
mother"
The beautiful woman rose from her
seat; very tall and stately she was; she
took the little roll from his hand, and
lightly hummed the air.
Did you compose it?" she asked
you, child And the words? Would
you like to come to my concerto" she
asked, after few minutes of thought.
"Oh, yesw and the boys eyes grew
bright with happiness; but l 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 so and
get food and medicine. Here is also
one of my tickets; come tonight; that
will admit YOU to II seat near me"
Almost beside himself with Joy,
Pierre bought some oranges, and many
little luxury besides, and carried
them home to the poor invalid, telling
her, not without tears, of his good
fortune.
When evening came, and Pierre was
admitted 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 rushing Of silk bewilder-
ed his eyes and brain.
At last she came, and the child sat
with his glance riveted upon her glori-
Gus face. Could he believe that the
grand lady, all blazing with jewels, and
whom everybody seemed to worship,
would really sing his little song?
Breathless he waited-the band, the
whole band, struck up little plaintive
melody; he knew it, and clapped his
hands for Joy. And OH, how she sang
it 1t was so simple, so mournful, so
soul-subduing many bright eye
dimmed with tears, and naught could
be heard but the touching words of
that little song-oh, so touching!
Pierre walked home rs 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 a
visit from Madame Malibran. She laid
her hand on his yellow curls, and, turn
ing to the sick woman, said, Your lit
tie boy, madam, has brought you q
fortune. / was offered this morning,
by the best publisher in London, f300
pounds for this little song; and after
he has realized certain amount from
the sale little Pierre, here, is, ITO share
the profits. Madam, thank God that
your son has gift from heaven"
The noble-hearted singer and the
poor woman wept together. AS to
Pierre, always mindful of Him who
watches over the tried 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 af-
Fiction.
The memory of that prayer made the
singer even more tender-hearted, and
she who was the idol of England's no.
bility 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 un-
dying affection, was the little Pierre of
former days-now rich, accomplished,
and the most talented composer of the
day.
All honor to those great hearts who,
from their high stations, send down
bounty to the widow and to the father
less child.