The Sentinel=record., 1915-05-02
THE OLD MINSTREL
lBY James M. Andersonl

Ile little village was crowded and buggies and conveyances of all kinds filled the streets, for notice had been sent all over the county that the ia. nous minstrels were to give bene- fit performance that night at the opera house.
 Many of the leading singers of the village and members of the church choir were down on the program. and many of the favorte old fashioned melodies were to be sung Soon after the house was lit up, crowds began to arrive. and long before the curtain raised, the house was crowded, the audience became restless, and ten minutes before the hon announced the curtain was rune up amid great applause
 As each singed rendered some old familiar song they were the recipi. ents of rounds of applause and numer. ous floral offerings from friends and aciS650rs.
 One of the singers had just con clnded the old and sweet refrain, The Sewanee River and was about tO retire amid great applause and stamping of feet, which was suddenly husled by the appearance of an old man, his form was bent with age. and a few white hairs fell over h1s threadbare coat. told the story that time had marked its furrows on his brow, and the cares and comforts of age had long ago deserted him.
 All eyes were turned on the stran- ger, as he staggered to the front. m. der his arm he carried an old banjo. which had seen better days Raising it above his head, perhaps as sign of brotherhood. he spoke aloud in feeble voice, 'Wlease sing that song once more, just once more for a poor old minstrels sake, don't turn me down, for as l sat back there. that song recalled rccolections of the long ago"
 ~The dear old home Of my boyhood rose before me, and sweet memories of happy days, loved playmatcs, boys and girls, days and hours of innocent joys and pleasures. which death alone can oblterato
 And a painted vision of dear old mother seemed to pass before me. and streaming from her angelic face. n all it's grandeur as her lips seemed to part breathing forth a mothers prayer of undyins love and devotion for her wandering boy.
 "Oh, think me not a fool. as | hear her voice, waited through the touch ing melodies and the plaiutive ring ing notes of the old banjo.
 Need | tell it? It's the same old story. Lured by the worlds false notes, I wandered away against my mothers tears and entreaties, and sought the worlds midway of pleas ures and gayety I sang and played for her yotares, who listened and ap- piauded. They Battered feasted and intoxicated me with fame aud- the pleasures and gayeties of life.
 Many years have passed since l Strayed away One morning | was sitting in my apartments, after a night of revejry and dissipation, when a letter was handed me. telling of mothers lassing away, but like all of mothers letters that had been sent and thrown aside unopened only read the words, Mothers dead, and cast it aside.
 Now, old and broken in strength. heart sore and weary. I am left with but one friend, My old Banjo Like myself it is crippled. old and broken, and fits strings are gummed with age, and its notes, no longer loud and me lodious, no one seems to listen to 1t now, for newer better and more at. tractiye instruments with silver rims and fancy brackets played by younger worlds fayorites, have come upon the scene, and the old minstrel is forgot. ten. for I have turned my eightieth page today
 Then for a birthday song. 10 an aching heart, sing again. in solo and chorus for it reminds me of the long ago, as with mothers hand claspng mine, we walked along the village lane. the soft and silvery bells of the village church ringing out ot the quiet Sabbath morn, and the fIowers Gods thoughts in bloom) waiting