The people's journal. (Pickens, S.C.) 1891-1903, 1897-07-29
Abel) Prize Song.

rate little,S replied Abel, smiling
brightly as he entered the room,
" But must practice If | am to be per-
fect.'
You are perfect now, Think" the
old lady answered proudly. You
make the piano speak"
What thing 1T is to have good
mother to talk well Of you, isn't it,
George?" and the speaker, slender,
dark-haired young man, looked play
fully across the tea-table at his friend.
She only says what is true in your
case, hcwevcr,' replied George. HUI.
10 here's tho postman what has he
brought?'
The young musicians eyes flashed
with suppressed excitement as Mary,
the little handmaid, brought in q
large Official looking envelope and
handed it to him.
Slowly and carefully tho envelope
was opened, and Abel glanced at it for
one moment only-then he said rs il
with u sigh of relief
" I've got the prize, mother !"
g knew my boy must get it," sho
cried, proud s., 81 told you how it
would be, Abel, you need not have
worried yourself SO muc!l.'
Z" "Ah but the music ought to be bet
ter, mother; | believe | can do better,
too, with harder work." he said, mod
estly.
Abel was a young musician, and,
like many1anothcr, he was poor, and
was gradually working his way up
ward, with but few friends and less
fortune. He had competed for q prize
offered for the .bost setting Of song to
music, and he had won it.
After tea he went back to his loved
piano, and his fingers wandered over
The keys and brought for such glad
and joyful strains that, as his mother
said, " the instrument seemed to be
telling his pleasure even better than he
could speak it himself"
In short time he went out with
George-fOr his friend had a long wav
to walk, and now, having got the
prize, Abel felt that he had earned a
little rest from work.
II wonder how often in days to como
shall take this walk" said George
when you are rich and great, shall
think of you, and ask myself:
Does my old friend remember me
expect you'll forget me-"
" Not l." replied Abel eff ever
do become rich and great as you cal,
1T, Heaven preserve me from becoming
SO proud-Ah that's the White Hal t., ,
ISM it? Let's go in have a 'pick-me-
up"
MOI Tor me, thank yOu," replied
George.
"Oh you still keep your pledge ?"
Certainly"
When Abel returned, George noted
how the strong drink had flushed the
delicate refined features, and how diff
ferent was the appearance Of his eyes
with what unnatural brightncsS they
shone-and impulsively he said, as he
linked his arm in that Of his friend,
nWhy WI y, don't you give up drinking
"Why should ~ asked his compan-
ion.
Because it's dangerous"
Pooh I'm all right, old man.
DON talk such stuff to me-"
Bnt others, thcn-think how great
your influence will be by-and- by
Every body has influence, and the more
distinguished person becomes, tho
greater is his influence. 1t is this
habit OF moderate drinking, that is
everywhere so rife, that makes the
drunkard. Example Is stronger than
precept."
"Oh, WE'LL" said Abel, impatiently,
"I can't help what others do. | can't
see why l should deny myself plea
sure because others abuse it. L am not
my brothers keeper
y
The moon was rising behind the old
church spire and Frightening the
dusky summer night as Abel Meredith, l.,
with a>young girl, climbed to the top
Of the hill. There they sat on a rustic
seat, and while the light breezes of
tho summer night murmured among
the trees, Abel told his love, and
learned it was welcomed by his fair
companion.
'Sing me your prize song" she
whispered, 81 like 1t so much, Abel :;
1 am so proud of you" And Abel
softly and sweetly hummed over his
piece of music which had gained him
the prize.
n Il
Seven or eight years afterwards, a
man, dressed in that shabby genteel
manner which tells that the wearer
has seen " better days." was standing
on the pavement of o poor street in
London. He was in front of public
house, and he had taken his stand
there, intending to play his cornet, in
the hope that 1t might earn few
pence from the passers-by or listeners
within the house. He placed the cor
net TO his lips and played q well-known
air.
A lady passing near, glanced rapidly
round at the musician, and saying to
the gentleman who was with her, "
must give that poor man something,"
began to open her purse.
why ?' asked her friend.
Don't you hear" she cried, she is
playing poor Abel's prize song"
Clearly the sweet strains rang out
above the roar and rumble of the noisy
street, until the lady coming near to
the player, the notes trembled, and
finally ceased for q moment, as she gave
him small piece OF silver and hurried
away.
In that brief moment did she recog-
niZe the musician He did his best to
prevent her from doing so, for he
slouched his hat over his eyes and
puckered up his face as though blow
ing hard at his cornet. but no sound
came, and in his eyes appeared an ex-
preston OF bitter despair, and cursing |
his hard fate he turned into the DIN. |