The Republican., 1894-02-15
THE OLD PIANO.
Other and Better Days Had Been Seen by
Both 1t and the Performer.


Both 1t and the Performer
1t stood in the show window of a
large music store on much frequented
avenue, and as its extreme old age and
ugliness were accentuated by a price
mark some of the passers-by paused to
inspect the valuable ruin.
Papa, did they make ugly little
trights of pianos like that for people to
play on?" asked happy child of her
young father.
Not in my day, child" answered
the father, gently amused.
rs that the thing my grandmother
played when she was young?" asked a
gracelcss youngster of white-haired
man beside him.
Your grandmother was not born
when that thing was made, boy" re-
torted the grandfather disdainfully
No one admired the ancient outlawed
thing that was jeered at for its awk-
wardness, and it stood there alone of
its kind, stiff and clumsy, showing
through its cracked coat of veneer all
the landmarks of time, the pitifulhelp-
lessness of age.
Presently quaint old woman with
basket on her arm hobbled up to the
window. In earlier days she had been
known as a character now she was
Stunned as crank. Her dreSs-iff&S'sl,r-
it could be called-was the sraez .9s
gentlewoman. Her face resembled
those porcelain lamps in which rose
light burns. But her light had gone
out, leaving an ash color. When she
saw the Old piano with its yellow keys
set far apart like the sentinel teeth of
age. she clasped her shriveled hands
and gave great cry.
where did they find it? and how
dare they exhibit it here? When | saw
it last twas in grandfather's room
with the tall clock and the old har-
monium. 1t was old, old then. | used
to play for the poor old man when
was home from school-that was be-
fore ran away with handsome Harry.
All, me, ah, me, there is something
wrong here'-she tapped her head
lightly-''it's all wrong-a mad world,
my masters.
Then she laughed shrilly, and the
/ crowd cheered her good
at won't speak for you but | can
make it sing-listenn she shrilled
The crowd made way for her to enter
the store and the dealer, thinking to
advertise his antique possession, helped
the little old woman Up into the win
dow and seated her before the old
! piano as if she had beena prima donna.
Selfishness, my brothers. 1t is at the
root of many a kindly action in this
world, but then
Tinlletinkle-tink The sounds
| produced from those yellow keys were
not as musical as a sheep bells jangle,
but the crowd laughed and cheered,
and the frail old fingeis-it was said
they had done the business for hand.
some Harry, but that was when she
was mad-struck cnorl and ''Auld
Lang Syne" foated out in weird
melody that was full of passion and
pain, and the sobbing of the loneliness
of life Then a pause, and the accus-
I TONED nngers strucK an ar, i.
and mournfully sweet voice sung the
words of an old love song:
Once you said you loved me dearly"
The people whispered to each other
that she mad been great musician in
her day, and pressed forward to hear
, her and-no one smiled.
III buy that old piano, said a gruff
voice; its got more music to the
square inch than any of your new
tangled instruments-it's got soul in
it, 50 it has
Did they tell you was false, Harry darling"
ln old 4
broke off to give them 'Bonaparte
Crossing the Alps" They could hear
the very tramp of the martial feet as
her fingers struck the loose keys that
responded with their last thrill of har-
mony to her compelling touch
Its trick to sell the piano-the
music-dealer stands in with her-but
she and the old instrument are mates"
said man in the crowd.
Aye" answered his frier,I: 'lile
those bird-whistles the street fakirs
sell-no one ever can make such music
out of them as those fellows do. It's
one of the tricks of the trade"
The old woman turned white, tired
face on them.
Ghosts, ghosts, all of ye: but this
is real, and she touched the keys, that
answered with a plaintive air.
Mad, they whispered to each other.
But the music She played held them
spell-bound. 1t was the cry of the
homeless, the desolate, voiced like a
prayer. Men took off their hats and
bowed their heads; women sobbed.
The music became a chant-a requiem:
There's no place like home,
There's no place like home,
Home, sweet, sweet home"
As the last note died away, the singer
laid her head on the keys, and-did
not lift it again.
This piano is sold," said the dealer,
as he stepped to his show window and
dropped the curtain. n.-Detrot Free
Press.
The Height of Chinese Fashion.
The wives of the wealthy Chinese of
San Francisco now dress in faSbio,,hlo