The Wheeling daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1865-1903, 1894-08-18

"TinkIe. t!nkle. tinklel"
A sorry looking tinker that indeed.
Move him on, blnGtOring English
"boobieI" spurn him one and ALL
Heart Of q ttue heaTl, soul Of martyr,
life OF saint, may 10; but form and
face Of I'M accursed and outeast race!
"flnkie, linkle, tinkleW Ginning ever
on the air; but always and over, while
"Days viii psss Tlsh long boHn dseGiy,
Nights ali aleeplesA, ELGflcss grow"
rises tho hopeless cry in tho tinker's
Loretta, raeHkt--Oh, LorOttal'
II.
You could not have said whether
Professor Poppett was old or young.
Other performers in the theatre orches-
ira, whore no literally played "sccOnd
fiddle" had long deJpaired oil conclusion
whether no should be despised or re-
yered. Whatever camo, no complaint
ever escaped the lips OF Professor Pop.
petL He had never been known to live
anywhere. Tho directory was silent rs
to his lodgings. No human outside oil
the theatre had bOen seen with him.
The most curious had found no key TO
his nature.
He seemed 10 have but the one object
in life Of existing in an atmosphere OF
music. Study him as they might his
fellows discovered only this: Sometimes
in tender passages OF the play, or when,
in opera, pathos or passion spoke from
the spGechloas instruments, q tear
might be Eeen coursing down beneath
his glasses. But this was quickly
brushed away with the end Of his bow,
no motto being lost; for no was too con-
scientious for that.
just this, aud strange, ycarning
look in his face when his dog, Nose,
from under his chnir, tuEged ut tho
frayed onds OF his trousers, and, look.
ing up in his masters eyos. EXPRESSED
mute Joy ia tho melodies, were all that
wero seen and known In his inner life.
But Nose, the dog, more than human
in this, always understood the professor.
1t had oven boon hintod that they
wore both tramps. But, all told, the
two lived only for and with each other,
and they were not al unhappy couple.
Professor Poppett was an interpreter
Of music Nose had soul for music.
Each, in his way, worshipcd. Perhaps
this Is what held them so closely to-
gether.
BY and by tho curtain rang down for
tho last time upon the Grand Star Com.
binntion Theatre. Then tho professor
and MoHe knew tho misery OF beggary
in great city. At Last there was moth
ing behind; there seemed nothing be-
yond 80 they took to the road together.
Professor Poppetrs voice was melan.
cholY at best. Tho old violin was tuned
to moro and moro mournful cadonces.
By pleasant Maine farm-houses; at the
sooty doors OF musical crossroads
smithies; noar groups Of sturdy plough
men, drawn from the fields TO the road
side; in brisk aud pretty hamlets; at
busy stage stations, the Professor sang
and played, while hel pful Nose brayoly
presented the ragged hat But thore
had grown to be that hating in Pop
potts manner, that trembling hesltancy
in his singing, and, more than all, that
lessening faith in himself, which so
voiced in ballad and instrument, that,
though all griuniugly listened, only q
few rewarded.
Ono autumn evening, ponnilesa, sup.
perless, hopeless, tho two had been
hooted out OF q lovely, leafy Maine viii
lago, q few miles to tho north OF old
Portland BY the sea. Reaching a forest
edge, well beyond pursuit, poor, simple
Poppet fell among the leaves exhausted
and straightwsy burst into tears.
Faithful Nose, truo and helpful to
the last, cropt up beside him, pushed
his face against his master'a, kissed 1t
in his dog fashion and whined comfort
ingly. After little time the professor
potted tho brute tondorly, but could
"Mose, Mosel You miserable, loving
dog! Wo're in hard, hard luck! oh,
MosoY
Nose could not deny It.
Suddenly Nose brisLcd up, listened
moment, and then snapped out Q quick,
sharp growl Of alarm.
Tho professor quoted him, looked
timorously away through tho night to
the far lights Of the distant town, and,
With bittes sigh OF encouragement,
said to his loyal companion:
God only knows whcro to Nose; but
como alonGW
Nose seemed to insist that somebody
or something requiring looking into was
near them; but they crossed n near lit
tie stream, followed an unused road up
hill. aud were presently confronted by
IN old rail cato standing half opon.
Hero Poppett looked in vain for some
sign Of human habitntion beyond, but
could descry only the dark iaco OF deep
woods, and. above them, the yellow
horn OF IN autumn moon.
He sank drearily upon fallen log be-
side tho gate, succeeding onlyln bring
ing Nose TO his side by sharp word Of
command-he seldom spoke to tho dog
in this wuy-and thon leaned against
tho fcnco. giving himself up TO the
direst forobodings, which wero quickly
succeeded by tho stupor Of utter ex-
haustion.
Was no dreaming?
There came to him in reality, or dream,
tho voice OF n maiden in song:
days will pass with long hours dtonry;
Nights all slecplCsS. stAriesS grow"
Tho old violin fairly flew to the Pro-
icssor's shoulder. Tho bow. poised
aloit, trombied in his hand. Ills head
reached lar out and sidowiso, as il his
whoio being thrilled in anticipation;
whilo tho dogs tail beat lively TATTOO
upon tho log
"And Thy Nrirt'H lover. dcnrIC,
All the pain vi waiting know;
Waiting, longing, with thGIr woe"
Oh, how that old violin kept accom-.
paniment! Tho violin led, rather than
followed, The last limo was given by
tho singer in q weird, sad minor. When