Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1890-02-27

In an humble room in one of the poor
est streets of London, Pierre, a faithful
French boy, sat humming by the bed
side of his sick mother. There was NJ
bread in the closet, and for the who'll
day had not tasted food. Yet he sa
humming to keep up his spirits. Still
at times he thought of his lonelines!
and hunger, and he could scarcely keel
the tears from his eyes; for he knew thai
nothing would be so grateful to his pool
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, both all
and words-for the child was genius.
He went to the window, and looking
out, saw man putting up great bill
with yellow letters, announcing that
Nine. Malibran would sing that night in
public.
"Oh, if I could only gor" thought lit
tie Pierre; and then pausing moment,
he clasped his hands, his eyes lighting
with new hope. Running to the little
stand he smoOthed his yellow curls, and
taking from little box some old stain
ed paper, gave one eager glance at his
mother, who slept, and ran speedily
from the house.
"Who did you say was waiting for
me?" said madame to her servant. 1 am
am already worn out with company.
ats only very pretty little boy,
with yellow curls, who said if he can
just see you he is sure you will not be
sorry, and he will not keep you mo-
ment."
"Oh, well, let him come," said the
beautiful singer, with smile, 81 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 a
child he walked straight to the lady and,
bowling, said: II came to see you be-
cause my mother is very sick, and we
are too poor to get food and medicine.
1 thought, perhaps, that if you wOnld
sing my little song at some of your
grand concerts maybe some publisher
would buy it for small sum, and so 1
could get food and medicine for my
mother"
The beautiful woman arose from her
seat. Very tall and stately she was
She took the 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 concert?" she
asked.
"Oh, yes," and the boys eyes grew
bright with happiness; but 1 couldn't
leave my mother"
81 will send somebody to take care of
your mother for the evening, and there
is crown with which you may 60 and
get food and medicine. Here is also
one of my tickets. Come tonight; that |
will admit you to seat near me-"
Almost beside himself with Joy, |
Pierre bought some oarnges, and many
a 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 great
a place. The music, the myriad lights,
the beauty, the flashing of diamonds,
and rustling of silk bewildered his eyes
and brain.
At last she came, and the child sat |
with his glance riveted on her glorious
face. Could he believe that the grand
lady, all blazing with jewels and whom
seemed to worship. would
really sing his little song?
Breathlessly he waited-the band, the
whole band, struck up plaintive little
melody. He knew it, and clapped his
hands for joy. And oh, how she sang
til 1t was so simple, so mOurnful.-
Many bright eye dimmed with tears,
md naught could be heard but the
,ouching words of that little song-oh,
10 touchingl
Pierre walked home as if he were
moving on air.
What cared he for money now? The
greatest singer in all Europe had sung
his little song, and thousands had wept
1t his grief.
The next day he was frightened at
visit from Madame Malibran. She laid
her hands on his yellow curls, and talk
ng to the sick woman said: "Your little
BOY, madame, has brought you for
tune. l was offered this morning, by
he best publisher in London, $500 for
MS little song, and after he has realized
4 certain amount from the sale, little
Pierre, here, is to share the profits
thank God that your son has a
gift from heaven"
The noble hearted singer, and the
poor woman wept together. AS to
Pierre, always mindful of Him who
watches over the tired 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 more tender hearted, and she,
who was the idol of England's nobility,
went about doing good. And in her