Year: 1862

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The Young Musician and his Mother.


The following passage in the life of an English
composer, copied from the Olive Branch will
thrill the heart of many mother who will read
it here, no doubt, for the first time.


Little Pierre sat humming by the bedside of his
mother There was no bread in the closet, and
for the whole day he had not tasted food Yet
he sat humming to keep up his spirits Still, at
times he thought Of his loneliness and hunger,
and he could scarcely keep the tears from his
eyes; for he knew nothing would be so grateful
to his poor invalid mother as good sweet orange,
and yet he had not penny in the world. The
little song he was singing was his own-one he
had composed with air and words, for the child
was genius, and fervent worshiper at the
shrine of music As the tears would roll down
his cheeks, and his voice would fater at the sad,
sad thoughts, he did not dare to let his sick moth
er see, bat hastily rising hurried to the window,
and there watched a man putting up great bill
with yellow letters, announcing that Miss NJ,
then favorite character, would sing that night at
the Temple.


cob! if could only go" thought little Pierre.
And then pausing moment he clasped his hands ;
his eyes lighted up with unwonted fire, and run
ming to the little stand he smoothed down his yell
low curls, and taking from his little box some old
stained paper, gave one look at his mother, who
slept, and run speedily from the house.


"Who did you say waiting for me-" said
Madam M to the servant. Il am already
worn out with company"


"It is only little boy with yellow curls, who
says if he only see you he is you will not
be sorry, and he won't keep you a moment"


"Oh well, let him come" said the beautiful
singer with smile. 81 can never refuse chill
dreu.'


Little Pierre came in with his hat in one hand,
and in the other roll of paper. With manli-
ness unusual for a child, he walked straight up to
Madam NJ, and bowing, said


81 came to see you because my mother is very
sick, and we are too poor to get food and medi-
cine. l thought that perhaps if you would only
sing my little song at some of your grand con-
certs, it may be some publisher would buy it for
a small sum, and so | Icoud get food and medicine
for my mother


The beautiful woman rose from her seat-very
tall and stately she was; she took the little roll
from his hand and slightly hummed the air.


did you compose t?" she asked" you,
child And the words-wonderful little genius
Would you like to come to my concerto she
asked, after a moment of thought.


n Il, lo.,s Eo,
with happiness. But couldn't leave my sick
mother"


81 will send somebody to take care of your
mother for the evening; and here is crown, with
which you can go and get food and medicine
Here is also one of my tickets, come tonight that
will admit you to a seat near me. My good little
fellow your mother has treasure in you"


Almost beside himself with joy, Pierre bought
some oranges, and many little luxury beside,
and carried them home to his poor invalid moth
er, telling her. not without tears, of his good
fortune.


Never in his life had Pierre been in such grand
place. The music clashing and rolling, the myriad
lights, the beauty, the flashing of diamonds and
rustling of silk, bewildered his eyes and BRAIN
At last she came and the child sat with his glance
rveted upon her glorious face. Could he believe
that the grand lady all blazing with jewels, and
whom everybody seemed to worship, would really
sing his little song? Breathess he waited the
band, the whole band then struck up little plain
tive melody; he knew it. and clapped his hands
for Joy. And oh how she sang it ! 1t was SO
simple, so mourful, so soul subduing many
bright eye was dimmed with tears and naught
could be heard but the touching words of that lit
tie song-oh how touching Pierre walked home
as if he was moving on the air. What cared he
for money now? The greatest prima donna of
Europe had sung his little song, and thousands
had wept at his grief.


The next day he was frightened at a visit from
Madam NJ. She laid heI hands on his yell
low curls, and turning to the sick woman, said:


Your little boy, madam, has brought you
fortune. was offered this morning, by one ofthe
best publishers in London three hundred pounds
for his little song; and after he had realized
certain amount for the sale, little Pierre here is to
share the profits Madam, thank God that your
son has gift from heaven"


The noble-hearted singer and the poor woman
wept together AS to Pierre, always mindful of
Him who watches over the tried and tempted, he