The Forrest City times., 1896-12-25

no other effect than to i1rrease the preparations of the old man. Two or three runs were essayed before an an- swer was volunteered. Under the touch of the resined bow the old instrument gave out right, melodious and some what sweet tones. The hand that played the strings, too. showed some genus, and as he noted these facts, the face of the director wore less vexed look.
 Now, mister, I'm CT goin' to tell yer a story, tell yer a story. It is sumthln that happened to me ter day, ter me an mine an its none O yer classical either. Its death, mister; my girls dead" A great sob welled up in the throat Of the old man and he hesitated moment Then he continued slower than ever:
 ''She died this mornin'. l got ter bury her, mister, an I'm here ter make ther money" Wiping away the tears from his eyes, the old man took up the violin and bow.
 Deftly his hand went back and forth a few times and glad tones broke from the instrument. Babbling and laugh ing brooks, glens in shaded woods, nod ding flowers and romping, gleeful chil- dren were all conjured in the mental vision. The tones grew louder. more jubilant, until they were flied with gay ety and life and the wonder of the di- rector grew apace.
 This was not death; this was life of the best kind, for it was youth. When they reached their height, the sounds began slowly to die out until the bow scarcely moved. Then all was as still as death.
 "Thet's my gurl, she were young, then, she were young. then" spoke the old man, and his eyes plainly told that his mind was back half score of years and had no realization of the present.
 ''She were young an she were merry" he finally added when the fit of abstrac- tion had left him.
 Then he commenced again. His face wore look of contentment, of love, of happiness. It was serenely peaceful, and the vibrating strings echoed his feelings, his innermost thoughts. There was complete harmony and everything good was told-duty of conscience, self denial and life lived for others. Sor- row was completely shut out, and to the mind of the director there involun- tarily presented itself the face of young woman. Her brown locks were pushed back from her brow and fell in soft. clinging tendrils about her temples. Her eyes were large, round and deep blue, and shone with a depth of soul, with franlIness and innocence, yet fathomless as the ocean. Each sep arate vein could be traced in the pure, white brow. The lips were parted with welcoming smile. But the director had hardly outlined the picture in his mind, when the old man spoke again, rouSing him from his reverie.
 "Ihet's she, she were my angel, she were always an angel ter me-" He drew his coat sleeves across his eyes, and wiped away the tears.
 She were my angel, she were so good.'
 The violinist commenced for the third time. There was no sweetness in the music. The first note was a long, drawn, despairing cry of anguish. A soul in perdition could not have emitted one more heart-rending or penetrating ly inhuman. The face of the player was transformed, it was ashy-hued and the eyes were intensely sorrowful in their expression. Tone after tone followed the sorrow and misery depicted increas- ing each instant. Anguish gave way to bitterness. Then, when the climax had been reached, the music changed It was now soft and low again, com ing from afar off, the very sweetest that could be brought from the strings by mortal hands. It became sweet, then soothing, quieting, and finally broke forth in chords of happiness from above. The player was using muted strings, and the story he told was of the heart. He looked up as he played. and his face was radiant with pleas ure, with fathers love; it shone with happiness.
 She were my angel" he murmured softly.
 Strings told of the supreme pleasure beyond the earth, while the eyes of the player began to wear that dimness of the passing time, when earth is behind l and Heaven is before. Director Batz noted this and sprang to catch the man. With weird, sobbing, e%ulting strain, the old instrument fell from Dole's hands, and he was prone on the floor before he could be reached. The di- rector clasped the head in his hands and raised it up, that respiration might be the easier.
 The faded eyes opened.
 See her, see her; she were my angel" he whispered, softly, "an' see um now. l love her"
 They were his last words. Tn his pocket they found the address, and they bore him to the poorer section of the city. On the one poor excuse for bed they found her. and they laid his inani- mate form beside here. On the face of the one shone peace, purity and in- nocence, and on the face of the other