New Ulm weekly review. [volume] (New Ulm, Minn.) 1878-1892, 1891-09-09

SdlStlIS ucIStli, puIS III blOlu6r, VINO
winces under the heavy charge he had
been compelled to give for those notes,
yet dared not let them 90 past him,
to fill some rivals Golfers.
t'Dare say dey do wish dat now,''
the signor would remark, with an
eloquent shrug; "la povera would sing
her very soul out for de love of it, and
just. keep life and soul together
as dey say, BAIL dey tink noting
noting at all of no one unless YOU
make dem pay. De angels Of heaven
singing in de street would not stop de
pathway; but you only puff enough
and charge enough, and-bah! I know
II know"
Again he persisted that she must
adopt style in accordance with the
| eminence she had so suddenly at
tanned in her profession.
"It is all nonsense" he said, in an
swer to the objections which Ida had
urged against the needless extrava-
gance, as she deemed it, of carriage.
"What for should you go here and
| there, in a nasty, much-used livery
coach, what a poor musician would
take for his trombone, or a. ballet girl
tor her boxes? l tell you 1t is not de
ting at all-for my sake, for your dear
moder's sake, for all our sakes, if you
will not for yourself"
"Well, we'll! if it must be, signor, you
know BEST"
This was generally the finale to such
| disputes, when the signor, as last re-
source, would appeal on the score of
her mOther-a course which he had
found to be successful.
So the carriage was had.
The signor had had a hired one long
since. And bowling smoothly along
the suburban roads behind their sleek
chestnut horses, wrapped in her dainty
shawls and luxuriant nlantles, might
be seen the successful singer, the little
| unattractive, thoughtful-eyed child of
the garnet in Goswell-road-now a fine,
majestic, soulful woman. By her side
the pale, pensive, soft-featured moth
er, in her widows weeds and soft silks
and velvets, surrounded by every COM
fort and luxury which wealth and
taste could plan or procure.
"Oh, if we could but know what
became of poor Agnes Chaunce,"
Nelly would sometimes say, eve
might do much for her now, Ida; she
was a kind-hearted creature, and you
loved her then"
Ida did cause all inquiries to be
made, but in vain; nothing was ever
heard of the singular girl who had
quilted her poor home so suddenly.
But a heavier thought was at Ida's
heart, and often embittered even her
most triumphant hours with regret
and doubt.
Where was Tom-the earliest
benefactor and companion of her
exiled life-Tom Grejous?
1 wonder he does not come. He
cannot have forgotten us, ida would
often mediate. And then the con-
seriousness OF how others of his sex
had viewed her sad affection, would
send the blood to her cheek and the
tears to dim her fine eyes.
II will not think IT, she would
passionately exclaim; "more likely
that he fancies we are too high for
him, and does not care to mix with
those who visit US. Dear old Tom, as
if he were not worth a hundred OF any
OF them! 1 will write to him."
Yet day after day passed on, and
no letter was sent.
All! If she had but known, as she
SCARED out her hour Of triumph, night
after night, before her appointed iudg
es, when, crowned with flowers and
radiant with exultation, her soul
seemed borne upward in a very ecsta-
cy Of harmony, and she reigned the
gorified queen Of q hundred hearts-if
she had but known how, in the dark
est and cheapest corner with rapt
senses gazing upon her, drinkingin her
tones, entranced beyond the power OF
memory or consciousness, sat her old
playfellow, "good, dear Tom," as she
was wont in those days to call him,
patting the rough, sunburnt face-and
how, after the vision had vanished,
and darkness had fallen upon his soul,
the hard worked, unsuccessful man
would creep to his solitary lodging to
dream OF the past, and recall those
words of the little prattler, as she
talked OF the future and it's prospects
-ah, if she had but known!
/ TO BE CONTINUED.