Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1888-09-22
Little Pierre.

In humble room in one of the poor
est streets Of London, Pierre, a father
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 his lone
illness 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 a genius
He went to the window, and, look
ing out, saw man putting up q great
bill with yellow letters, announcing
that Madame Malibran would sing that
night in public.
"Oh, if I could only go!" thought
little Pierre; and then, pausing mo-
ment, he clasped his hands, and his
eyes lighted with q new hope. Run
ming to the little stand he smoothed
down his yellow curls, and, taking
from little box some old stained pa
per, gave one eager glance at his
mother, who slept, and ran speedily
from the house.
"Who do you say is waiting for me ?"
said madam to her servant. II am al
ready worn out with company"
ut is only very pretty little hoy
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 mo-
ment."
"Oh, we'll, let him comet" said the
beautiful singer. with smile. II can
never refuse children"
Little Pierre came in, his hat under
his arm, and in his hand little roll of
paper. With manliness unusual for q
child, he walked straight to the lady,
and, bowling, said: II came to see you,
because my mother is very sick, and we
ere too poor to get food and medicine.
/ thought that perhaps, ii You would
only sing my little song at some of your
grand concerts, may he some publisher
would buy it for small sum; and so
I could get food and medicine for my
mother"
The beautiful woman rose from her
seat. Very tall and stately she was.
She took the roll FROM his hand, and
lightly hummcd the air.
did you compose it," she asked,
"vou. little child! And the words
Would You hike to come to my concert 2"
she asked
"Oh, yes!" and the boys eyes grew
bright with happiness; "but / couldn't
leave my mother"
II will send somebody to take care of
your mother for the evening. And here
is q crown, with which you may 90 and
get food and medicine. Here is, also,
one of my tickets. Come tonight;
that will admit you to a 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 dia-
monds, and rustling Of silk, bewildered
his eyes and brain.
At last she came, and the child sat
with his glance riveted on hei 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?
Breathless. he waited. The banc.
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. 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 as if he were
walking 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,