Eagle River review. [volume] (Eagle River, Wis.) 1890-1927, 1916-12-22

y
scurvy dog!
Good lack! thou might'st have heard
| me call him dog
4 pebbles toss from this; but now that
thou art come,
Ny dagger-points of wrath do melt
| away
Before thy genial smile as icicles
Might ooze to nothingness at summer
noon.
That other flask, yo1 dog and have
care
Thou handle it more gently than the
first,
Lest I, as thou didst it, thy noodle
burst"
| Although expecting something after
the Shakespearean school. was not
prepared for this, and in reading it
aloud actually found myself endeav-
Oring to initiate the stage manner of
Hackett, whom years ago had seen in
''King Henry "" at the old Metro
| politan, Indianapolis. "Ah'' said the
old man, 'you are more familiar with
that, I see. Tell me, have you ever
seen those lines in Shakespeare"
There was such look of conscious
triumph in his face, SO self-satisfied an
expression, that although half be-
lieving was in some way being duped
could but reply that I 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 I, 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.
s'Must / again remind you that it is
not imitation: take no credit to my
self-how dare ], when in writing thus
E1y individual mind is gone, simple
chaotic? It 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
further exercise of this marvellous pow
er you possess. Here, sit down, rest
while; you seem almost exhausted"
81 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 I
thought as I 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
had somewhere read, mockingly re-
sponded
"Rains 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 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 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 Knight
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 surrounding 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
AS sad as the song in his bosom to-
night,
For the magical touch of his fingers
alone
Cannot waken the echoes that
breathe it Alright;
| T1,,+ oh o. +ho cnoi1o of tho T1onon mo U