Wauwatosa news. [volume] (Wauwatosa, Wis.) 1900-1948, 1916-12-22
Deseves more Draw than Draf.z. r..

Deserves more brays than praise. the
scurvy dogl
Good lack! thou might'st have heard
me call him dog
A pebbles toss from this hut now that
thou art come,
Ny dagger-points of wrath do melt
away
Before thy genial smile as icicIes
Might ooze to nothingness at summer
noon.
That other flask. you dog! and have a
care
Thou handle it more gently than the
first,
Lest /, as thou didst it, thy noodle
burst"
Although expecting something after
the Shakespearean school, was not
prepared for this, and in reading IL
aloud actually found myself endeay-
oring to initiate the stage manner of
Hackett, whom years ago had seen In
king Henry Nv" at the old Metro
politan, Indianapolis. "Ah" said the
old man, you are more familiar with
that, / see. Tell me, have you ever
seen those lines in shakespeare %
There was SUCH look of conscious
triumph in his face, so self-satisfed an
expression, that although half be-
lieving was in some way being duped
could but reply that was most thor
oughly convinced the lines did not oc-
cur in any of the works of that great
master.
'"They do not" said the old man
briefly.
''But how" said ], sis it possible for
you to initiate his style so perfectly,
not only in language, but theme, ex-
preston, force, character, grotesque-
ness"
stop, my son; stop!" he broke in.
Must l again remind you that it is
not imitation: take no credit to my
self-how dare !, when in writing thus
my individual mind is gone, simple
chaotic? 1t is not imitation; it is
Shakespeare"
could venture no further comment
without fear of offending, and he al
ready stood as though hesitating to
depart.
'Stay, then" said I, until I see a
further exercise of this marvellous pow
er you possess. Here, sit down, rest
while; you seem almost exhausted"
II am nearly So" he replied, ''but
there is no rest for me until this in
fluence is entirely subsidized. No rest
for me yet; no rest no rest !"
He was again pacing his old walk,
now like a weary sentinel, and 1
thought as gazed upon him, 'What
riddle of the human kind is this?"
Over and over again came the ques-
ton; and over and over an old rhyme
I had somewhere read, mockingly re-
sponded--
"Rain, rain, and sun a rainbow in the
sky!
A young man will be wiser by and by !;
An old mans wit may wander ere he
die"
And lulled by the mild monotony of
this. was fast drifting into a dreamy
train of thought, when the old man
halted suddenly, and with one elbow
leaning on the counter and his head
resting on his hand, he began humming
a tune-a strangely sweet and tender
air; low, and just little harsh at first
and indistinct, but yelling softly into
cadence wonderfully rich and pure !;
then quavering again in minor swoons
of melody so delicately beautiful l can
but liken the effect produced to that
ethereal mystery of sound unraveled
from the zithern by master hand
"a slender thread of song in saddest
tune"
had leaned forward with my own
head resting in my hand, that 1 might
listen the better, and was not aware,
until the song abruptly ended. that the
old man had been writing as he sang.
There" said he. handing me the
scrap, 'you have heard the tune; here
are the words, perhaps"
1t may have been a very foolish
thing, it may have been weak and
wOmanish, yet as my eyes bent over it
and read. the lines grew curiously
blurred toward the last; nor did /
guess the cause until tear-a great
ripe tear-drop-fell upon my hand.
And, reader, could present the song
to you just as it came to me, with all
the strange surroundings-the stranger
experience of the hour; the solemn ST
lence of the group; the wailing of the
wind outside as though the world,
weary of itself, could only sigh, sigh,
sigh could prelude it with that low,
sweet murmuring of melody that
haunts me even now, your own eyes
needs must moisten as you read:
The Harp Of the Minstrel.
The harp of the minstrel has never a
tone