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===-= VARIETIES.

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===-= VARIETIES. THE WANDERING FIDDLER. BT ABRAHAM ELDER, ESQ. Two young- men wpre sitting", in the evenine, in a small well-furnished lodging in London, wine and glasses on the tnhte, and th" atmosphere redolent of c g>,rs. "John," Mid one of them, taking up a violin that was tyincbyhim. you seem dull and fht this evening, give us 'The spa the sea" and you shall have my best accompaniment ann thpn he nourishfd away the air upon his instrument, Dull and ftat," said the other: is it not enough to mnke one dull and flat to see one's best friend perfectly ruined?" You mean me, I sunpose," said the first. "Of course I do. You had a small independence yes- terd-iv, and to-day you have not a farthing." Not so bad as that quite. I have got twenty pounds— twenty pounds, well stretched, oug-ht to last some time." But what will you do then ? You must do something. How will you pay for your lodginar and your food ? "Lodging!—why, I must certainly give up my present lodging, but I suppose I shall find something else. Who ever heard of a gentleman being obliged to sleep in the street! And as for living-why, I know many men about town that have not a shilling, that wear kid gloves, and appear to enjoy themselves amazingly. I suppose their secret is not very obstruse." "Oh! not lit all," said the other: running into debt, and not paying,—cheating,—and spunging upon their friends." That won't suit me, Tom. What say you to teaching a class of young gentlemen to play upon the violin ?" Here he drew his bow across his instrument, and treated his friend to an air, with elaborate variations and almost impossible fingering. What think you of George Postern, professor of the violin,—T have it now, I will teach dan- ong: I can soon learn a few steps." Here he went through the pantomime of a dancing lesson. How grand that would be, Monsieur Postern de Paris.' Push the Madeira tlm way, my dear fellow; this jumping about makes me thirsty. But. what's the matter now ? you do not seem to be interested in my performances: you are in low spirits,—Love is it? I'll cheer you up then. I'll flay you the identical quadrille that you danced with lobelia, the night before last," and his violin accordingly went to work. How provoking yon are. To-day you are jutt a beg- gar, and you are as merry as if you had come into a large fortune." A beggar! I am the real and rightful owner of the property of Broadacre." W elJ, I believe you are the rightful owner; but ano- ther has legal possession." That's very true; but there is many a man wttb a large property that gets nothing to spend from it." But what do you intend to do?" asked the other; "tell me without any foolery." Well, 1*11 tell you what, Tom, I think I shall leave London, and travel; the very sight of your face makes me melancholy." What, you think you will be able to travel about, without money, in the same style that you have done the last five years 1 How do you intend to live? You ap- pear to have as much knowledge of real life as a novel- reading, boarding-school miss. Live I intend to eat, drink, sleep, and play the fiddle, and what can I wish for more.—Good night, I'm off to bed. Have you got a pocket-book with youT Just chalk down that you are engaged to dine with me at the Crown, on the 10th of September next,—private room— bottle of champagne—punch, and some of our old songs dished up again. It's some time hence, to be sure; but 1 am going on my travels: this constant smoke of London sticks in my throat." The next day, in a small town about ten miles from ^London, a man with a green shade over his eyes, was seen walking up the main street, playing upon the fiddle. He was followed by a few boys, and now and then he stopped his music to pick up a halfpenny. When he came to an open space that was less crowded by passers by, he leant his back against the wall, ana continued the simplest and most well-known country airs. The group around him gradually increased, for the musician had both the power and the will to please his audience and a handful of half. pence and two sixpences soon rewarded his toil. This flourishing state of affairs, however, was here interrupted bv a man in authority, of the constable, or beadle species, who acquainted our hero that he had orders to take up any trampers or beggars that were found within the parish. The Jmusician stoutly denied that he had ever begged. "We will soon see that," said the man in authority. The petty sessions is now sitting, and I will just take you before them." The accused was immediately ushered into the justice-room, where the magistrates were sitting behind a table, at which was seated the justices' clerk. I found this man, sir, collecting a crowd in the streets, and stopping up the way," said the constable. There was no thoroughfare where I was playing," ob- served the musician, making a bow to the bench. He is just a common beggar, sir," said the constable. I never begged in my life." replied the musician. u Never begged in your life!" repeated the chairman 1n an incredulous tone. I never have begged," said the fiddler with rather a proud air, "T could produce a witness here in court that f have no necessity to ask charity of any man, and if playing upon a fiddle be a crime,1 the Lord help the wicked." "There is no statute against that," said one of the magistrates, smiling, Come produce your witness." "Oh sir," said the fiddler with a sigh, I fear that a poor man's witness will hardly be listened to here." "Rich and poor shall have equal justice here," said the chairman. What if my witness should take up ten minutes of your honors' time, would you hear him to the end without interruption t" "We promise that?" said the chairman. The fiddler took his violin from the case. Fiddlestick," said the clerk. "That's what it is," replied the fiddler, and, putting his Instrument to his shoulder, he played a few bars of a sim- ple air, then the same with wild and beautiful variations, then the same again with different variations, scattering thousands of little sparkling notes around the simple air, and giving a specimen of the most difficult fingering within the reach of art. I humbly submit to your worships," said the fiddler, boldly placing his hat in the centre of the magistrates' ta- ble, that my witness has proved that I have no necessity to be dependent upon chanty." What do you putlyour hat there Cor!" said the clerk crossly. In case any gentleman present should think that there was any value m my humble performance. The magistrates laughed, and there was! some silver dropped into the hat. Will your honors permit my witness to return thanks for the kind manner in which you have heard him ?** They nodded, and he played a plaintive tune, with the best execution that he was master of. Applause followed, and another shilling was thrown into the hat. The fiddler took it out and laid it on the table, saying, at) paid for before." This is a very unusual mode of giving evidence," said the chairman; however, my brother magistrates and myself are of opinion that it is satisfactory." The fiddler; bowed and retired. So I am now considered by the world," thought he to himself mere beggar, rogue, and vagabond, and such like. Fiddling the justices may do tor once. It's a bad look out, I am afraid." He took a turning leading into the country, while these •desponding thoughts were passing through hit mind. At length he saw a comfortable farm-house, distant about a field from the road, with some children at play before the door. He walked down there, and seating himself upon a fallen tree, began playing to his juvenile audienee, ac- companying his instrument with his voice. He sang them a song of Little Red Riding-hood." The child's voice in a high treble, while the wolf spoke in the deepest bass of his instrument. And when he sang High diddle diddle, the-cltt aDd the fiddle," his instrument mewed like a cat, and barked like a dog, to the delight of his hearers Mother I mother! mother! come and hear the funoy man." Mother was pulled out of the house, but the mother was as sad as her children were merry. We have nothing to give you," said she, you have come to a lone house and a cold hearth stone." Never mind," said the fiddler, I have made a good morning's work, and I will sit here for an♦ hour and play with your pretty children; but if you will give me a bit of dry straw to-night, to keep me out of the public-house. I will be grateful to you." There was not a child's song that the fiddler did not ting to them, or a queer sound that the fiddle could make, that they did not hear,—a pig was killed, first he grunted, then he squeaked, and then squealed, ducks quacked, tur- keys gobbled, the show-man blew his trumpet, the boy with the white mouse played his hurdy-gurdy. Such a de- lightful funny man was never seen before. The mother thanked him. You are kind, kind to my children We can give you nothing. Our last shilling wentfor Tent yesterday, the last rent we shall probably ever pity; but if you will share our dinner, you are wel- come, but it is the bare, bare potatoes." "Thank you kindly," said the fiddler. "Now, Johnny," said he to the eldest boy, "come with me, and I will trfl you a secret. He took the boy aside, and slipping some money into liis hand, said, Run and buy a piece of bacon, and we'll slip it into the pot without any one seeing, and when your £ addy comes home, he'll find a nice dinner. Won't that be fun V and he gave Johnny a poke in the ribs. Away ran Johnny. Where can he be gone to ? Nobody finds it out; farmer comes home,—out tumbles the bacon with the potatoes—great surprise and rejoicing: Johnny calls it a grand potato, and then tells all about if. Farmer s wife affected, and almost makes a scene; farmer calls the fiddler a right good fellow, but adds there is only one thing about hrm that he does not like, which is his fiddle. My fiddle said the traveller witb surprise, "why. that is my better half, What harm can it possibly have done to offend you ?" Nothing," said the farmer; but our landlord spends all his time in fiddling, and leaves us to the mercies of his agent; who, because we would not graze his horses for • .nothing, has raised our rent, and we are just ruined." Spends his time in fiddling, does he?"_said the tra- • veller, I'll fiddle him. Where does he live." Farmer and fiddler spent the evening together like old friends, and in the morning the traveller started forth on his expedition to fiddle the landlord. It was with unpleasant feelings that he found himself entering the landlord's groundt in the guise of a mere vagrant trespasser, momentarily expecting a rebuff from constable or pampered menial. However, undisturbed and unnoticed he reached the front entrance. As he stole his way up to the front door, he certainly did hear the sound ofawotia. A window on the side of the front door partially open, and though there was a gauze blind behind it, this was not sufficiently close to prevent our wanderer from getting a tolerable view of the performer within. He was a short man, with a bald heacl, bowing and jerking his head and body in time with the music, and at times drawing his head up to the full height, when he thought the music favored such a position. At length he took the opportunity of a pause for turning over a leaf, to treat himself with a pinch of snuff. Our fiddler seized this opportunity, and taking up the air at the point where the little gentlemen broke it off, he con- tinued with scarcely audible loudness. The effect upon the litlle man was singular enough: the pinch of snuff was interrupted in its way from the box to his nose by gesticu- lations in tune with the music. At first the little man ap- peared to be thinking he was humming the tune himself, for he showed no surprise at the music continuing without his agency, but as the music grew louder he started and looked a little about him; at length he got up and went to the door; the music all the time getting louder, and. as the door opened, the traveller's violin gave out its full volume, like a burst of sound rushing in by the opening of the door. Emma, who is that playing the violin in the house 1" Nobodv but you, papa." Indeed all was silent now. He sat down again, and as he looked at the notes the nusic again stole into his ears. Again he bobbed and sl towed, with the pinch of Muffin his hand still iinsntlffed. Again he walked to the door. 0 Emma, who is that playing- the violin in the house? e Nobody but voti, papa," was again the reply. r; A (rain he walked back again. The music was heard \-t jently stealing upon him aeain. He flourished again his 5 k a<!i-^n hands, and again put his hand upon the door, h but did not open it, apparently thinking that Emma would b repeat the same story. He fidgeted about the room. At d leneth he went to the window, not with the expectation of p seeing any one there, hut apparently merely to look out 1 it the landscape, while he enjoyed his pinch of snufFi tl which he held between his finarer and thumb. His eyes w now fell upon the wandering fiddler, who had just stopped il playing'. The squire threw up the sash, and, stretching c out his bald head out of the window, cried out, You are b a wonderful man—a very wonderful man. Play that d again." # d Upon which the fiddler began, in the very worst style of f street twang, There was an Old Woman in Rosemary ti Lane." 11 "Stop, mv goood man; for Heaven's sake, stop." The c violin was silent. v Would your honor like to hear Cherry Ripe?' it is a a wery fashionable tune in London." 11 Play this," said the little man. leaning out of the win- s dow with his violin, and playing the tune he was employed at before. 1 3 j. Oh, that's a wery easy one," said the fiddler, running [ over the air in his very best style of execution. You are a wonderful man. Come in here, come in r here, and we'll play a tune together. Will you have some- f thing to eat and drink first? Thank your honor kindly," said the fiddler; it's all t that a poor fellow like myself gets to live upon." "A poor trade that street fiddling, is not it?" asked the little man. 1 Not so very bad," said the fiddler; I had rather he I a fiddler than a farmer any day. I had rather have this I little violin than twenty thousand farms." That's a very odd sentiment—a very odd sentiment. j Now, why would not you like to be a farmer ? « I'll tell you for why," was the answer. It was only yesterday that I fiddled up to a comfortable farm-house. The old people were not about, so I played and sung little songs to the children for half an hour or so. At length out comes the wife and says, 'You're a wery good man to play like this to the children; but we have no money at all to give you but if you like to share our dinner, yoa are welcome; but it is only the bare—bare potatoes.' So I gives one of the boys some money (for I had made a good morning's work of it), and sends him to buy some bacon, and slipt it into the pot without any one seeing. Now, sir, when the bacon tumbled out of the pot along with the rest of it, and they heard where it came from, the wife took my hand in both of her's. I heard a sort of choking sound in her throat, and a large hot tear dropped upon my wrist. Don't know, sir, whether it was gratitude for the trifle, or whether it was shame in receiving charity from a tramper, or whether it was that her heart was just a bursting,—and a wery little made it bubble over." And what did the farmer say ?" asked the little man. The farmer, sir, said very little; but if he were rich, and I in distress, I should just know where to go to." Did you ask them what made them so poor t" I did, sir. They said that their father and grandfather had had the farm before them, and just because they would not graze two of the agent's young horses for nothing, he had rose the rent upon them, and they were just ruined. Their last farthing they paid in rent the day before, and next half-year's rent they had no hopes of being able to meet." But where was their landlord all this time ?' "That's just what I axed, sir. They said that he was a good enough sort of man, but that they could not get to see him. He left all to his agent." Do you remember the farmer's namet" Not very well, sir. It was Toddle, or Poddle, or some suchthinar; but the name of the farm was Two Elms. I remember that well." "Two Elms!" exclaimed the little landlord. Ay, that's the name, sir, sure enough. It mikes my heart ache to think of it. I have a great mind to teach their little boy to play the fiddle; it would be a sort of rise in the world to him, to what his prospects are now." Then putting his violin to his shoulder, he played and sung in the regular street twang— And then he'll be rewarded, and have his heart's delight, With a fiddling all the morning, and a drop of gin at night." That's a very vulgar tune," said the little man. "It is, sir; most of my friends Is wulgar. It's the wulgar people that shells out the the coppers; twenty cop- pers goes farther than the gentleman's sixpence. That style of music, sir, costs a little more in resin, but It pays better." I wonder that a man of your musical talents should ever think of playing on the street." Tried playing in a room once, but it did not answer." How so 1" Baker got troublesome, sir, and the furniture, though wery accommodating in their own way, would not help me out with the rent." Let me hear whether rou can play this piece of music," said the little man. The fiddler performed it with great execution. You're a wonderful man, and here Is five shillings for you." Don't want the money," said the fiddler; it is easy enough for me to pick up a shilling or two. 1 had rather that you would promise to speak to that poor man's land- lord." I'll do both," said the little man. So the fiddler took his departure, playing a merry tune, while the little man put his bald head out of the window, and watched him till he was out of sight, repeating to himself, That is a wonderful man." After passing through several villages, our fiddler came to another town. He was Just taking his fiddle out of its case to commence operations, when a gentleman with several ladies passed him. One of the ladies offered him sixpence. I thank you, madam I never take any money that I have not earned by my fiddle." Let's have a tune, then, said the gentleman. He played them a Swiss air in his best manner. That was beautifully played," said the gentleman. It's worth more than a sixpence," said the first lady, changing it for a shilling. I think so, too," said the gentleman, giving another. The fiddler picked up two or three halfpence in going down the street. At length he made a stop before a supe- rior description of house, with a porch before the door, and a row of evergreens in front of the wall; but the owner, a large fat man, made his appearance at the win- dow, called him an idle vagabond, and told him to be off, at the same time throwing out a half-penny, of which the fiddler took no notice. Why don't you pick up the half-penny, you fool ? u If you do not want my music, I do not want your money," was the reply, a sentiment that was received with great applause by the few idle people that had collected round him. When he had gone through the town, he went to try Ms luck at the Manor House that was situated in a small park behind the church. He never liked going up a gentleman's grounds; he always felt that he was then a trespassing tramper, probably in the eye of the law a rogue and vagabond,—liable to be ejected by dog, consta- ble, or liveried menial. His first notes, however, before the door, brought to one of the upper windows the bright black eyes of the young lady that had offered him the sixpence as he came into the village. He determined to give diem a sample of his best. The same party that met him in the road had now come down to him, some standing on the steps of the door, some at the lower window. Pray what's your name ? asked a fair-haired laugh- ing girl, after his performance had been sufficiently ap- plauded. r fidcUer ^nowu by no other name tlian the wandering nddler." And he avoided further questioning by playing another air. It required no great observation on his part to ob- serve that the dark-haired lady, that first noticed him in the road, appeared to take great interest in him and his performance. He detected her more than once stealthily attempting to look behind or under the green shade that he wore over his eyes; and when he played, her interest in the music was intense. It was clear that the suspected him to be in disguise, and something superior to what his dress showed. The squire also was probably of the same opinion, for he invited the fiddler to join his family in the drawing-room. After he had played two airs in his best style and most careful execution, the little fair-haired girl, who had ques- tioned him before, renewed her attack. "You are quite a different sort of person from any wan- dering fiddler that I have seen before. You really must tell us the history of your life." With great pleasure, madam. I have got it to music, and I sing it as I do when I go through some of the vil- lages." Then assuming the vulgarent street twang, and playing with the worst possible taste, he gave the follow- ing account of himself:— I was born respectably all in the town of Rye; Mother she sold sausingers, and father sold pig's fry. Then we lived in happiness and in prosperity. But one Mrs. Dorothy Fudge, who lived just hard by, She had a tabby cat, and dog, and a monkey. One day this tabby cat nobody could spy; She swore 'twas put in sausingers by mother, dad, and I. And nobody our sausingers any more would buy, They were afraid of eating Dorothy's tabby. 80, straightway of a broken heart my father he did die, And mother upon that account very much did cry; And I bought me a fiddle to live melodiously 5 With a titum, tiddle, tiddle, little, turn te ty and he concluded with a number of quaint md extraor- < dinary Aourishesjupon hiatviolio. (To be continued in our next.) ] THERE"S NOTHING IN VAIW* J Oh 1 prize not the essence of beauty alone, And disdain not the weak and the mean in our way » For the world is an engine—the Architect's own- Where the wheels of least might keep the larger in play. j We love the fair valley, with bloom in the shade;. We sing of green bills, of the grape and the grain; But be sure the Creator did well when he made The stark desert and marsh, for there's nothing in vain. ) We may question the locust that darkens the land, And the snake, flinging arrows of death from its eye; But remember they come from the infinite Hand, And shall man, in his littleness, dare to ask why ? ) Oh! let us not speak of the useless or vile;" They may seem so to us, but be slow to arraign < From the aavage wolf's cry to the happy child's smile, r rom the mite to the mammoth, there's nothing in vain. < There's a mission, no doubt, for the worm in the dust, As there is for the charger, with nostrils of pride f The sloth and the newt have their places of trust, < And the agents are needed, for God has supplied. 1 o could we but trace the great meaning of All, r And what delicate links from the ponderous chain, r From the dew-drops that rise to the star-drops that fall, Ð We should see but one purpose, and nothing in vain < ELIZA COOK. 8 Mister, your sign has fallen down!" cried a temperance I man to a grog-shop keeper, before whose door a drunken man was prostrate. We do not know whether this tem- perance man was the same into whose store a customer reeled exclaiming, Mr. —— do you—keep—a-ny thing ¡ —good to take here t" "Yes, we have excellent cold t water—the best thing in the world to take." Well, I ( know it," was the reply, there is no one—thing—that's done so much for—navigation—as that."—Yankee. A man with an orchard full of apple-trees lately adver- p tised for a lucky fellow with the fever and ague, to shake f hit; fruit down for him.—Jonathan. a

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