Year: 1879

her teurS SIlll lOWeu ldSJ, sue shb uoWu
to reflect as calmly as she could, as to
how the daily bread" was to be pro-
vided for the morrow.


After moment these thoughts were
interrupted by the tremulous accents of
her father.


Bertha, darling, feel half inclined
to sleep go to your pianoforte and sing
me that sweet song of Weber's that
so much love it will lull me to rest"


" You forget, father dear, that our
piano isis disposed of"


"Eh disposed of, child Y-ah true
true did not remember it. l recol-
lect now. But you still have your poor
mothers guitar; you have not parted
with that? l always strictly forbade
you parting with it'll No; see you
have not. There it hangs in its old fa-
miliar place on the wall"


" Yes, father; myself would rather
starve than to part with this last relic
which we possess of my beloved moth
ed and of those dear old times we
were all so happy" said she, taking
the instrument down from the wall, and
tuning it with precision and truth of
intonation that betokened a thoroughly
practised hand.


Which song of Weber's am L to
singY You love them all, you know"


4" dol do. Sing me the one which
adapted to Lord Byron's beautiful
words ; the Farewell one, mean"


And she commenced the short SYM
phony of the Farewell song, and
managed the necessary variations in the
accompaniment and got out the light
and shade of all the main effects so ad-
mirably, while watching her fathers
poor withered hand unconsciously beat
ing time on the old gray dufile dressing
gown; and sang the words in a fine
mezzo-soprana voice with so much ex-
preston that it seemed as if Bernhard
Dillinger's prophecies about her future
celebrity would turn out to be no idle
dream.


At the end of the song she found him
fast asleep, with smile upon the rug
ged old face that absolutely made him
look young again.


She laid her guitar down again on the
old deal table, rose softly, and gazed on
his calm and apparently pleasant slum-
ber with ineffable fondness-kissed him
with scarcely perceptible touch on his
lips, and again sat down by the cold
fireside to reflect on the best means of
procuring crust of bread, if nothing
else, for the next mornings breakfast.


There seemed but one way. Although
it might expose her to unspeakable per-
sonal discomfit-to degradation in the
eyes of the world-there was nothing
dishonest in it; she would put it in prac-
tice that very evening.


1t was neither more or less than this !:
She would take her guitar and go into
some quiet respectable street in which
there were old fashioned gentlemen s.
houses-and sing one or two of her Ger
man songs, and trust to providence for
something from the residents.


Her father scarcely ever woke for
some hours after this parting of the eve
ing; and even if he did, he would only
think she had gone to get some neces-
sary provisions for the morrow.


She made her way at first towards
Oxford street, and soon found herself
near to Portland Chapel, two or three
doors from which she noticed several
good private houses on the right hand
side that she thought would perhaps
answer her purpose.


One of these had lights in the parlor,
and they all looked as if they belonged
to well to do occupants.


The street happened at that moment
to be unusually quiet. There was no one
passing as she brought out her guitar
from beneath her mantle and took her
station in the road, close to the curb
stone, Immediately in front of the house.
Her father had appeared so pleased with
her improvised accompaniment to the
song which she had just sung to him
before she left home, that she re-
solved to commence with it, and though
she felt no little tremor as she struck q
few preluding chords, yet that soon wore
off, and before she had finished the
short symphony which led into the
song,both hand and voice were as steady
as If she had been singing to her poor
father in the second floor back.