The age-herald., 1898-02-25
The Fiddle Stayed

Dreamer in Carrolton News.
 am reminded of an incident which came under my notice some years ago. There was an old preacher, a good old man. but whose idea of religion was total self-denial of all forms of amusement. He looked upon all musical instruments as the enc mics of God and often asserted from his pulpit that the fiddle was the handiwork of the devil. He was particularly severe about the fiddle. In the neighborhood lived a musician. man of about S5 years or age He had an only chlld-a delicate lit- tie girl of 10. They had come from northern state in the interest of the health of the child, whose mother had died of consumption. Soon after locating they began attending the only church conven- iently near their residence. The church was in charge of the preacher referred to- After two or three visits the father ceased his attendance. He was an ardent lover of music, and he could not bear to hear himself and his favorite instrument the violin-abused in the harsh terms of the we'll meaning old minister. The little child, however, was frequent attendant But after awhile her visits became less ire quent and finally ceased altogether. Then came word that the little girl was very i'll. Neighbors came in and offered Christian aid and sympathy. One day when the little girl appehred worse than usual O good old mother of Israel asked permis- sion to send for the preacher to pray. Con- sent was given, and soon the father, daugh- ter and the few Christian ladies gathered there were listening to beautiful appeal from the lips of the man of God to the Most High to prolong the life of the little sufferer. But even as the supplcation as- cended to the throne of Grace the surging of the tide of the Dark River could be heard. The livid spots which marked either cheek were fast giving way to a death pallor. The hush of death has set tied upon the watchers After few mo- ments of sleep the eyes of the little suf- ferer open in an expression of ecstacy. Her eyes meet the anxious ones of her father. "Oh, papa, I saw the pretty angels! and mamma was there with lovely wreath of flowers for me! They are waiting for me papa, and they're singing-oh, so sweet ly They say they will take me to God hear the music now, papa Goodbye. The tired eyes close again. tremor passes over the fathers frame. Mechan- ically he walks to table and uncovers his violin. He takes it up and returns to his place at the bedside. In a moment the room is filled with the inspiring strains of that sweetest of all divine melodies, "Nearer, My God, to Thee" As the clear, sweet notes rise and fall in gentle cad- ence, now soft and low like the murmur- ing of summer zephyr, now loud and grand, but ever in the sweetest harmony. the little spirit steals away as softly and as calmly "As a snowflake on the river" The music ceases. The father lays his instrument aside to print few last kisses on the face of his dead child. As he bends over the couch the aged minister, his face streaming with tears, places his hand on his shoulder and asks, My Good friend, will you not bring your violin and play that hymn at my church next Sab bath morning? The angels will hear it in Heaven" Little Dora was laid to rest. Next Sabbath morning the congregation was wonder struck at the announcement of the old minister, '"Thank God we've got fiddle in the house of God this morning." Soon the entire congregation was trans ported as the beautiful melody filled the edifice. At the conclusion a good old dea- con rose and said. Please God, we have" It is needless to say that fiddle remained in that church.