December 24, 1914.
Miss Lillian Bartlett, one of Wrightsville's most popular young ladies of the town, wrote a piece for the newspaper. "The rhetoric is excellent and the pathos beautiful.", stated the editor. It was entitled "The Old Man And His Violin." Its a very touching story.
It was a cold gray afternoon in November, and a stiff wind was blowing that fairly chilled you to the bone. I was coming down the street at a rapid pace, and as I reached the front of a drug store, I noticed that a few people had gathered there, and I wished to see what had drawn their attention and went into the crowd. Before them stood an aged man, with the frost of many winters on his head. His snowy locks were tossed by the wind and in his shaky hand he held a violin.
As I came up, he raised it to his shoulder and drew his bow and began playing such sweet and plaintiff music I had never heard before. It would have stirred a heart of stone. All that listened to him were spell-bound. He played until the wind had numbed his fingers so that he could play no longer. He had his hat sitting on the ground in front of him; the crowd put in a few dimes and nickels and moved on, but I saw that he was an aged man; that his suit was thread-bare, and his shoes were mended in many places. I walked up to him and asked him where he intend to sleep that night. "I don't know" he said in a faltering voice. I have no relative anywhere in the city." My heart warmed towards this folorne old man and I said to him. "Come with me." I put my hand on his arm and led him away, and I never can forget that old man if I live to be as old as "Methuselah."
When we reached home, a bright fire was burning on the hearth, and the table had been laid, and we went to the table, and after having satisfied our appetites, we fell into conversation, and this old man told his sad story.
"As a boy, I came of wealthy parents, I being the only child, my parents were very ambitious for me, and wanted to give me all advantages possible.
They sent me to school and also gave me music on the violin and piano, and I was a shirtless kind of a boy and did not care for my books, but I was fond of my violin, and advanced rapidly. At the age of 18, I had finished college, or had gone through, no one knows how. My father put me in his office, in hopes of learning me some kind of business, but I had no talent for business; all that I cared for was to play on my violin.
My father soon realized that I was a worthless dreamer, and he told me that if I did not do better that he would make me leave," Here he stopped and looked into the fire, his features twitched as though the memory was painful even now. Finally he resumed his story. "An opera came to my home town about that time, and the violinist had been sick and laid off.
I knew that I played the violin fairly well, and applied for the place: strange to say! I got it. I never said a word to my parents, but packed a few of my belongings in a grip and took my violin, slipped to my mothers room and kissed her for the last time. I stole quietly out and took the train that night I never saw my parents again. I broke my mother's heart, God bless her! no boy ever had a better mother."
Although he was an old man, the calling to mine of his mother, caused tears to course down his withered cheeks and I could not refrain from brushing a tear from my eyes. The old man concluded his story by saying: "I went on the stage and played before crowds of people. At first I had a hard time, and wanted for something to eat many times, but I decided, as I had chosen this profession, I would make my father and mother proud of me and so I saved my money and studied hard, and by saving and many self-denials, I had money enough to go to Germany to study. I went there and finished up my course and after many trials, I became famous and words renown and I was proud of my success.
I then went back to my home town with the determination to tell my father and mother of my success, and ask their forgivness--but alas! when I reached my home, I found that my father had been under the sod for three long years and that my mother had been dead for five years, and this was my home-coming. My father left me a good fortune but I was a spendthrift and soon ran through with it; then I was thrown on my own resources again and lived high, never thinking of a rainy day, infact, I could not be satisfied anywhere, any length time; I never cared to marry, and finally my popularity as a violinist subsided, as I grew old, and I could no longer get places and it went from bad to worse, until this is why I am poor, with no relatives, no one to take an interest in me, no one left but my old violin." patting it gently. "And I long to rest now in the old cemetery at home by my mother and father, and I hope the day is not far distant when I shall."
His story was finished and, as it was late, I asked him if he didn't want to rest, and he replied "yes" and I saw him to his room.
The next morning we found him with a peaceful smile on his thin face, and we knew that he had passed to that great beyond, and he looked happy in his last rest. I have always treasured that old violin, as it is a reminder of that forelorn old man."
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