The Lambertville record. [volume] (Lambertville, N.J.) 1872-1968, 1894-05-23
THE SHOEMAKER.

In mountain grit Salzburg, noted If
only for being the birthplace of Mozart,
name Of Siebold Veit Notwithstanding
the. lowliness of his station, this disciple
Of st. Crispin burned incense assiduous-
y before the muses.. Like the village
Milton immortalized by Gray, Herr
Veit had been debarred in youth by
Chill perjury" from the acquisition of
knowledge, but maturer days brought
him many recompensing opportunity
for a glance at the pages Of wisdom.
All was grist that gravitated to our
shoemaker's mental millstones, and the
stores acquired thus promiscuously from
reading and hearsay were never lost or
suffered to molder for want of express
sion. Indeed his application of what
he CLEANED was frequently SO inoppor-
tune as to excite the hearty laughter of
his honest but critical neighbors. Yet
he paid little heed to their merriment,
and today was as ready to excuse the
shortness Of their boots with "brevity
is the soul Of wit" as to assure them
tomorrow that their old shoes were
brought never too late to mend. Z"
Siebold was a bachelor from choice,
but often let parts of the house, quaint
red tiled, low ridged, many gabled
dwelling at the end of one of the serpen-
tine streets characteristic Of Salzburg.
At the time we peep into his life we
find him landlord of Gabriel Stoss, a
student. Herr Veit's proximity to so
animated cyclopedia proved such q
stimulant to his love for learning as to
be well nigh inebriating. The mere
creak of the stair, as the scholar went
to and fro, was sufficient to make the
shoemaker's imagination reel in visions
Of the feast of reason that the very steps
groaned to support
Occasionally in the evenings the stu
dent would drop into his hosts cozy
workroom and read him versions of the
Greek and Roman writers, and, carried
along by his listeners whole souled at
tention and undisguised rapture, would
not infrequently continue the inspiriting
myths away into the night. At such
times the simple toiler's delight culmi-
mated in nothing short of ecstasy. Once
when the student had retired with his
little red margined volume Of legends
his admiring auditor actually stole into
the vacated chair to satisfy himself that
an exchange of seats did not entail, a
priori, o transfer of knowledge, and
fastened to bed, where before long he
lost sight of sordid and hampering real
ity in the blissfulness of dream that
brought in its sequence the attainments
of the professor of ancient languages in
the very college attended by his lodger.
One summer evening, having finished
his work early, the shoemaker sauntered
out upon his porch to smoke and medi-
tate the while ON q recent narration of
the students. The story took his fancy
30 much as to incite him to action. Dur
ing Herr Veit's musings the sun set
The retired street grew still and dark.
Lights appeared here and there behind
small diamond shaped panes and en-
phasized the descent of night. Suddenly
knocking the ashes from hismeerschaum,
the shoemaker entered his domicile, and,
acting upon his cogitations, took down
his time worn fiddle and drew from it a
few strains--a return to his former mis-
tress, music. Away back in his youth
he could recall the days when he han
died the bow with no mean skill, but
for many year he had neglected music
to delve in the more alluring field of let
tiers. Now again he applied himself to
his instrument with fervor which
made use Of every spare moment until
his old art returned SO ravishingly that
the wondering neighbors strayed in to
hear him at his new caprice. But they
withdrew ever with jocund faces, for
try as they would to refrain from smiles
Herr Veit was sure to elicit merriment
In the end by some such observation as,
"We're never too old to Learnt"
It was on a morning after he had been
practicing five months that the shoe
maker closed his shop locked up his
rooms, and mounting the steep, bare
steps that led to his lodger's quarters
left the key with Gabriel, adding that
he was not to be looked for until his re-
turn. Leaving the youth at the head Of
the stairway, key in hand, gazing won
deringly after him, our itinerant must;
clan covered carefully his violin with
his long gray cloak, drew his broad
topped wooden cap over his eyes and
passed into the street, free at that early
hour Of pedestrians He made his way
over bridge across the Salzach to the
brown meadows beyond the town. 1t
was a most exhilarating morning. The
Salzach, as it foamed between the peaks
sentineling its banks, tree clad Kapuz-
inerberg to the right, gloomy, rugged
Monchsberg on the left, seemed to brawl
more jubilantly than ever Of its descent
from the distant Tyrolese Alps. The sun
had not yet risen above the misty
mountain tops, SO the city lay in shad-
ow, but the color suffusing the sky, and
the glistening of the frost ON the fallow
meadows, and an occasional strain from
some stirring songster betokened days
advent. The fresh air seemed to impart
unwonted buoyancy to Herr Veit. He
strobe Justify ON and soon passed the
open country adjacent to the city. Up
lands and lowlands he traversed for sew
erai days, pausing often to break the
stiffness Of dell and glade with the dull
Get voice Of his violin.
At last he came upon a hamlet nes-
Ting, like his own picturesque town, in
stream threaded valley at the foot of
range Of hills. The dampness Of the
day yelled the hilltops heavily in mist,
circumstance which seemed to disturb
the simple villagers very much. They
were gathered in knot in front Of the
mountains regarding wistfully the sum-
mits Of the nearest range. The wander
ing musician, following the path that