Minnette; A Pathetic Star.

And this poor young girl lived on the fifth floor of a New York tenement house, working night and day to earn enough to keep soul and body together, and a roof to shelter her. Her large gray eyes looked wistful and eager out of a pale face and masses of Jark b"">wn hair. She seemed to have but one friend in the world, an old opera singer, whose singing days were long since past, who came one evening each week and took tea with her. As sho carried her work to and from shop she caught glimpses of the great world, and it fascinated her. Oh ! if she could only become somebody—not a poor dull atom, that people's eyes passed over, as if she were space, but somebody, the very sight of whom should make the be holder's face look glad ; somebody whose very name should cause all hearts to thrill with a pleasant emotion. But it was only a far-away, impossible dream, for with neither time nor money, what could she become different to what she was —a slop shop girl ? It was Saturday evening, and her poor little room was in order, and the tea and toast, with tho addtional luxury of three dried herrings, awaited Madam Therese's coming. Sometimes the repast was varied by a little cheese, or a tiny pat of butter, or fruit or vegetables when they were in season, but nothing costing over a few cents, for to a woman earning but a pittance, even that little additional expense is quite an item, and she would not go in debt, even if sho had sometimes to almost suffer hunger. Soon she heard the old lady's step, accompanied by a gentle puffing, for four pairs of stairs were no easy matter for a stout person to climb. • Well, child, how d'ye do ?' and she kissed her on the forehead, and quickly sat down in the offered chair. ' Those stairs seem longer every time I come. I wish you could afford to move down a flight.' 11 wish I could, too, for your sake, but money is very hard to earn, so I'll have to be contented with what I have.' 1 That's why I say you ought, you must, find time to learn to be a singer!' Minnette smiled faintly. ' Ah 1 Madam Therese, who would wish it more than I ? Hut for every hour I stopped sewing to sing, I should have to lose a meal, and that would soon make it impossible for me to either sing or work, for one must eat, you know, even if they have to go half clothed, and live in dirt. I would willingly sow far into the night, if that would help matters, but light and fire are expensive items ; then the loss of Bleep unfits me for the next day's work ; I've tried it. But let us eat while the toast is warm; we can talk and eat, too.' So the old lady pulled off her worn gloves, and drew on her lace mits, laid aside her shawl and bonnet, and sat down with much cermony. ' You Boe, my dear, when I was in tho opera, I was young, and well —yes, I was considered handsome, too, but I never was leading prima donna, nor ever expected to bo, on account of a slight sore thuoat that I was always liable to ; it seemed to be hereditary. The tea is very nice to night, my dear.' • What a pity !' ' Tho tea ?' 1 Oh, no! but to think you should have had anythtng to curb your ambition. I believe it would have made mo perfectly miserable, for if l could not hope to be come bettor and better, and ono day reach the very top, there would be nothing to sustain me V ' And yet youlive and drudge hose every day, without even hoping for a better future.' 1 Ah ! but with you it was so different. You wore already on your road to fame, and free from the terrible chains that scorn to hold me down to poverty.' 'Yes, I had much happiness. My salary was sufficient to support myself and a delicate sister, also to lay by a little. I had learned to bo thoughtful for her sake. Wo had two pleasant rooms, within a pretty long walking distance of the theatre, and sister helped with the work. Many a timo when I had studied a difficult new part, and had taken extra care of my throat, tho manager would pot my shoulder, and tell mo I had done well. Ah ! but those were proud and happy nights for me ! And because I did not expect to be como great, the other ladies who all hoped one day to rival Jenny Lind, were not jealous or ugly to me. Ah ! those were happy days !' and Madam Therese sighed, and seemed to forget Minnette's very presence. Ail asfc she roused up : ' Why, child, my eyes were turned, and I was roading all over my book of memory ; but—half cup of tea, if you please— thanks. Let us finish, and then while you are clearing away, let us sing.' Oh! what' a sweet bird-like voice! so thrilling, too; no wonder the old lady wished her to become a singer, and no wonder the girl felt hopeless in the clutches of poverty, with such a gift, and not a dollar to cultivate it. Madam Therese would occasionally stop her, and show her how to correct a trill or prolong a note, for though her voice was gone, or rather tho dying embers only remained, still she knew tho theory per fectly, and even gave a few cheap lessons in the neighborhood where she lived. When the dishes were done, Minnette

took her sewing and so continued her singing, Now and then her hands would pause and keep time with the music ' Oh, Madam Therese, if I only knew as much as you do, I would try to get a place as chorister in the opera to-morrow.' 'In the chorus ! No indeed, dear ; you could just as easily get a place to sing parts, and they would think a great deal more of you for aiming high. As for the chorus you could do that now ; then you would have time to study the theory of music without starving yourself to death.' But Minnette looked at her only best dress, a cheap black alpaca, without over skirt or ruffle, ornamented with only two bias folds, and a little white muslin at the neck. She looked at this dress hung behind the door, and sighed to think what a poo.1 appearance it would make even among the chorus-singers, let alone the more prominent performers. 1 No, Madam Therese, I will not try yet; I must get a little money ahead to buy at least a new dress and hat; you know there is a groat deal in appearances ; one feels more confidence, too, in a nice new dress.' •Ah! that is too true, child, in this profession as well a3 others. A manager would sooner help one who is independent of him, can dress well, and has a bank account, then he would give the pittance of a salary to genius in poverty. When I was young I knew of a case that made a lasting impression on my memory. ' A young singer who was a great favorite, and very popular on the stage and off, got married, and for several years left the stage. Her husband having a long fit of illness, and several little child ren claiming her attention, she could not resume her profession and help provide for her family as she so much wished to do ; 30 some of her friends proposed that she should have a benefit; she should attend to the details, and they would buy the tickets. That would be so easy, she thought, as she sung gratuitously for so many ; in fact had never refused when a brother or sister artist had claimed her aid- „ , , • They will do the same for me, she told mo joyously, ' for this will be the only time I have ever asked their help, and they are a generous set.' So she wrote pretty notes, and without waiting for the replies she told her friends her benefit would bo on such a night. I had already studied my part; she had been kind to me, and I was only too happy to show her I remembered it. I met her a few days after ; the joy had gone from her voice as she said : 'Ah, I have been so mistaken ; they all refuse, politely, of course—are very sorry, and all that, and one did not thiak it wortk her while to reply at all. And they knew I needed it so.' She wiped the tears from her eyes with a quick dash of her hand, and went homo to her sick husband.' ' And didn't she have the benefit P' asked Minnette very much interested. ' No, she gavo it up in despair, and by hard labor got a couple of scholars to whom she gave singing lessons, often with her delicate little fretful baby in her arms. I've had many a good cry about it, though she was so brave and never uttered a complaint. A short time after I noticed in the papers a lon^ !\st of names of those volunteering for some unknown person's benefit, and among them were the very ones who had such ready and flimsy excuses for not sining, when by doing so they would have been performing Heaven's divine mission of charity. It made her almost cynical when she read it, and she determined from that time she would ask a favor of no one, but depend upon her own hands and brain.' ' That's why I want you to leave this drudgery as soon a3 possible, and lay by a little so as to be beholden to nobody for favors.' Minnotto sighed; sho had no roply to make, but sho soon roused horsolf, and said ; • Dear Madam Thorose.ilct us sing again, for your story has made me feel quiet sad.' So she began a plaintivo aria from an opera that Madam Thorese had taught her, and sang it with all the pathos her young heart had felt. The old lady listened in pleased surprise, and let her finish without an interruption, quietly ' wiping the tears from her eyes. Out in the street sho had another listener —an old, eccentric gentleman, with white hair and a broad-rimmed hat, and clothes of the cut of a quarter of a century ago. He paused a moment, then walked on, then paused again, returned, and listened till the music had ceased ; then ho suddenly entered the house and assended tho stairs. After the first flight which was lit by the lamp in the streets, all was darkness, and the old gentleman stumbled heavily against a door ; it was opened quickly, and a shrill voice asked: •What d'ye want?' 'In what room does that girl live who sings so sweetly ?' ' You ought to bo ashamed of yourself, askig' arespectoble|womansuch a question; grey-headed, too! oh, you shameless old sinner !' The frowsy head disappeared, and tho door was slammed in his face. ' The vixen's crazy!' the old gentleman muttered, as he stumbled on his way up stairs. The next flight was lit by a broken, smoky lamp ! he stopped to listen, but all was silence ; so he knocked at the first door he came to. A pleasant faceappeared and he asked gently: ' Does the person who sings so sweetly, live here ?'

4 No, she is a poor sewing.girl, and lives on the fifth floor.' 'Thank you, madam,' and he pressed some money into her band. ' Oh! sir, don't pay me for such a little service. I like the young girl, and—and I'm sure you'll be kind to her, for you have a good face.' • Do you know her name P' 'I've heard the children in the house call her Minnette, and that's all I know. Again thanking her, helchmbed up the rest of the weary stairs, and as he paused at the top, tho singing commenced again ; he waited till' the song was ended,;then knocked at the door. Minnette started nervously, but did not delay to open it. ' Are you the girl that sings so sweetly r he asked her abruptly. She blushed deeply as she replied : ' I sing, sir.' 'Tut, tut! don't pretend you dont know you sing well. Who's your teacher P' , „ . • Madam Therese is so kind— -But Madam seeing perhaps a chance for business, said : ' Minnette, can't you ask the gentleman in, and give him a chair. He must need one after climbing all those The old gentleman looked at the grotesque figure that was a match to his own, snd smiled: • Are you her mother, madam r ? ' No, sir, I've not that honor; 1 m a ingle woman.' . « He entered, and Minnette handed him a chair. She quietly sat on the box that contained the wood and coal. 1 Are you an orphan ?' Minnette bowed her head.

'Ah, poor girl; no one to look after you. With that voice you'ought to make your fortune.' Hero Madam Therese thought to help her friend. ' She is very poo* , sir, and has no time or money to take lessons. I visit her once a week and we sing together ; that's all the instruc tion she has from me.' lAh ! how much do you earn a week by sewing P 1 ' About three dollars and a half; but I have to work every moment, and some times far into the night.' 'Three dollars and a half! And what do you pay for this elegant room; not much I should think ?'

1 Two dollars a week, sir; I could get it cheaper if I had furniture of my own.' 'I hope they don't call this furniture!' and ho looked at the carpet from which all color had fled, the broken stove, the leafless table, the bureau minus the little top drawers and looking glass, and the bedstead and clothes old and faded.

• Eent is very high in the city ; if it was not for that I could get along very well.'

'Poor girl, poor girl; with that voice, too ! Madam, could this girl live on with out working, and devote herself to music ?'

' Well, sir, do you mean to live as she does now ?\ 'Tut, tut; this isn't living, it's only existing \ no f in a better neighborhood and lower down.'

' Whore I live it's a little borter, but not so near the heart of the city ; there she could get a much better room for twelve dollars a month, and on the third floor too.'

' Then what Gould she board for ?'

' Well, sir, if my living would satisfy her, I could board her cheaper than any one else, and get a few extras for her; say three dollars and a half a week.' She had an eye to business. ' Well, you seem kind to her—' ' Oh, sir, she is my only friend ! Since my mother died, my life would indeed have been dreary, if it had not been for her.'

' Well, well, then you would like to go with her; you shall, and I will pay for your lessons.' 1 Sir, I hope you will excuse me, but I give a few lessons, being formerly connected with the Grand Opera.'

' She seems to have got along very well under your instrution so fnr. I'll give you five dollars a week till she gets beyond what you can teach her, then I'll sec what is to bo done. Mind, I'm not going to give you all this money, Miss— Minnetto, your name is, isn't it? I am only going to lend it you, till you become a great singer, then I'll trust to your word to pay it back.'

Minnette stood like one in a dream ; it was all so sudden, she could not believe but that it was some cruel jest, or that her hearing had deceived her.

1 Well, what do you say ?' asked the old gentleman.

' Oh, sir, what can I say P It soems like a glimpse of Heaven you have opened to me ! Oh, I thank you so —so —' but she burst into tears and could say no more.

So he gave Madam Therese a twenty dollar bill to commence with, got her receipt for the same, and told her to keep an account, also to got Minnette to ; took her address, gave his own and put on his hat.

' I shall come to see you soon; you had better move to-morrow. I leave her in your care, madam. G-ood night!' and he was gone like a good genius in a fairy tale.

The next day how different life appeared to Minnette, and how strange not to have to sit and sew all day long.

'Oh, Madam Therese, how good you are! if you had not spoken for me bo kindly, I could not have said one word to the gentlemen, and should still be in that poor room sewing.' 'No indeed, child, 'twas your voice that did it, and now you must not

disappoint the gentlemen, but study hard, so that whem he comes he shall notice how you have improved. So she studied long and faithfully each day, and helped Madam Therese m the work of her two little rooms, for she said she must do something for exercise ; then why Mr. Fredericks did not come that was the good old gentleman s name. More than two weeks had passed, and the twenty dollars was nearly gone, so it seemed as if it was going to turn out worse than a dream after al, for to go back to her old life now, would be cruel 10 One day when she felt particularly well and happy and had been singing m very foyousness, her cheek ft™hedand her 'eyes sparkling, some one knocked at the door ;it was Mr. Fredericks. How glad she was to see him ; she grasped both his hands, and thanked him again and again for his kindness. 'What! is this my pale little girlr1 Look at the roses! and how nicely she s dressed, too'—it was the poor alpaca. • Where's the old lady?' Madam, Therese hastened from the other room. Madam, you've done well; I thank you. 4Oh ! but hear her smg !' and the old lady sat at the ancient piano, and proudly played the prelude to one of the grand Masses by Beethoven, and Minne te sang ; and how she sang ! The old gentle man fairly embraced Madam Therese m G(lf thought I should not live in vain ! Why I'm a Christopher Columbus. I've discovered greater than a continent—a perfect human voice ?' Then he kissed Minnette on the forehead, and told her she was a good girl, and was proud of her. Ho went .away soon after, leaving more money, saying he would not let it be so long before he came again. And Minnette studied and grew prettier. In little over a week, Mr. Fredericks came again, but Minnette noticed that, although he was so glad to see her, and was as lively as ever, yet he appeared to be suffering. She did not like to ask him if he felt ill, but when he went away it troubled her, for she began to love the old gentleman like her own father, whom she had lost when quite young. Two weeks passed and no Mr. Freder icks, then a few days, still he did not come. • Madam Therese, I feel as if something was the matter with good Mr, Fredericks, and lam determined I will go and see. So they both put on their things and taking an omnibus were soon at his door. After ringing the bell, <hey waited some timebefore theyheard a sound. Minnette s heart turned sick- Suppose ne were dead I But shuffling footsteps approached the door, and after much fumbling with the key, it was finally unlocked and opened. •Is Mr. Fredericks ill ? Oh, I fear he is!' The woman looked at her strangely. 1 Bo you a relation ?' she asked slowly. 1 .No, no ; but 1 love him like one ; he has been kind to me ; tell me he is not dead.' A faint voice called : ' Mrs. Watkins, let her come up;' and. Minnette fairly flew to where the sound came from. What a sight met her eyes ! The old gentleman lay white and thin almost to a skeleton.

• Oh, my dear friend, why did you not send mo word you were ill ? I am so sorry '

1 Well, child, I hope to get well without clouding your first bright days, but—but I'm not so sanguine now. I'm glad you've come; it seems to have eased my pain already.' And Minnette with the quick instinct of a woman, saw how desolate the old man was ; no wife or child cheered that house, she knew immediately; so taking off her hat sho made herself at home, and with Madam Thercse made tho room more homelike and cheerful, letting in a little fresh air and sunshine, for which the old man thanked them.

She told Mr. Fredericks she intended to stay there as long as ho was ill, if he would only let her, and she begged he would. His eyes filled with tears and he said ;

' Yes, yes ; I shall die happier.' Poor Minnetto choked her tears down, and tried to speak cheerfully. 11 pray God that you will soon be well, dear, dear friend.'

She flattered and petted the surly old housekeeper, till even she began to wear a pleasant face. But the doctor gave her no hopes of the old gentleman's recovery. How hard it is to watch day by day for death to come, without the faintest hope of being ablo to delay his dreaded visit.

Each day he made her sing for him, and said it repaid him a thousand-fold for what he had done.

On a beautiful clear day, as Madam Theresa sat sewing, and Mißnette* was gently fanning the invalid, he said very faintly :

1 Give me your hand, Minnette.. and— and sing to me that plaintive song I listened to in the streets.' She knew what he meant, for he had often told her how he came to be her friend.

She sang, but the tears ran down her cheeks so that she had to cease.

'Don't cry little one. Ive —I've not forgotten you. Sing on.' And she sang till he seemed to doze, then she stopped; but he opened his eyes. ' G-ood-by, Madam Therese—take—take care of her—kiss me, Minnette—good girl —' and as she kissed him his spirit fled. We have all sorrowed for the dead ; we know the sickening pain ; Minnette was nearly heartbroken.

When all was ot^J^ on her, and saying he was M> p .^ lawyer, read her his will. Sh/ heiress, and he congratulated h *a! possessor of money and estates»°? Si three hundred thousand dollars S ei« Theresewas not forgotten 1«a **^ was the ugly old housekeeper < *S left her several charities to attend f^i said she could do as she nleaq oi i l• H future, but that a public ?feSSftl» father or brother was full of gn H temptations. So she took this &w ing wish, and only sungf or ekrif to make her own and her fri^ty"! happy. nends H?ei She kept a magnificent ps^kr i and placed Madam Therese a; it |S her dear second mother. '"^daj And the rain fell on the old mm1 and Minnette's tears watered tt, a^ that grew there. Qe fl»Wet,

As to Professor Huxley.

The eminent Engheh scientist, P, ftf Huxley, made but a short stay inV.l*** but his arrival was the cause of 1 Yo^ sation between one of her amateur «& and a matter-of-fact friend, that K J!, "* worth reporting. The amateur uT *» *• siastic admirer of Huxley, and j,.,*?"* extravagantly about him that the frill finally became curious, and asked ! h0 ja ander! s Huxley, any^yj. . 'you don' of Prof. Huxley, the great scientist?' N ' Yea, Ido though. Never heard hi. before. What has he done?" l* ll ' Why, man, Hnxley made the immw*. discovery about protoplasm ' mW*n\ 'About what?' ' Protoplasm.' there and tell me you dou't JJJ 5! protoplasm ig ? uir "Ml ! w s julb ifc; Nary Prot°pW ... W?U.. Protoplasm is wbatwemiyciUtt. life principle. J«wttj ' Anything to do with insurance? 1 • Oh, nonsense; the life principle h mfe-, the starting point of vital action. «J speak.' w w 'He discovered that, did he V ' Yes a few years ago, in Engird,' And what good is it go i Dg to for ' Good ! A great deal of good. JL-j the circle of human knowledge, wdfaVj able in bearing out the theory o fer2' It ia a noble contribution of sclsace inS has made Huxley one of the few'lmmorfa namej that were not born to die,' ;So Huxley knows all about the 1 principle, doss he ? "• ' Ye», all about it.' ' And the starting point of final MtUji ' Exactly.' ' Well, see here now, caahe tikeiomod that protoplasm and goto work and mikt! man or a horse or an elephant with it?' 'Oh, no ho couldn't do that.' ' Can he take it and make anythln&itJ of It, even a gnat or a fly ?' '"""■*"«,j 'I guess not.' 'Well, then he may just goto th^ with hia protoplasm. 1 don? 6 beHarolh3 worth ten cents a pound, anyhow. Teal to me these scientific fellows put on ihkW of airs about very little. Protophsni, *| | Shouldn't wonder if Huxley cameor^ai to get up a company to work it. Dj m say the mine is in England?1 Tne scientist gave him up in despair.

Jefferson.

Jefferson was an excellent performer onttt voilin, and every week a .party of nmjal amateurs, of whom he was one, assemble! atFaaquier'i palac9 to play. His fondues for tho instrument lasted very nenljj throughout his life, and, in spite of tb! maxim of Lord Chesterfield, thit do gen',l* man should play the fiddle, he remained h faithful votary. It consoled him in th weary hours of age, as it had amused himis the bright days of his youth. At thistatm, as afterward 3, he read extensively in til vatious departments of belles lettres, tknji rarely a novel. Sterne, Fielding, Smoltol, Marmontel, La Sage and Cervantes exhaust his romantic reading. Don Quixote he red twice iv hia lite, aad greatly admired, bit books of this kind were never favorites wi him. He laughed at Mrs. Radcliffe lateili life, and clung to the classics, in all langai ges, with immovable tenacity. The gtat Greek and Litin writers, with Tft Metastasio, and the minor Italian posts, were his preference ; and in his collegediji he loved Shenstone, scraps of whose pox were found scribbled over many ofhiaeulj manuscripts. But while he waß at Williimi-f burg, the god of his literary idolatry, wu [ Os ian, then just given to the world] ttj read and studied the eloquent rivinj|! «j Macpherson with vivid admiration. Sogmj was his passion at the time, that he resoked | to make himself master of the Gaelic;W| in order to read the poems in the originu,s» actually wrote to a relative of Miopte"* in Scotland, once a resident of VirgmiM procure him a Gaelic grammar and flictW and have a copy of the original BMiwjlf taken and sent to him. ' The cost need« no obstacle,' he wrote, • the glow ot« warm thought' being ' worth mon»" money.' 'He was not ashamed, "•'^J •to own that lie thought this w«, f' the North the greatest poet that M»w existed.' As late as April, 1782,^" fortieth year, he and the Marquis fog tellux, with a punch-bowl beWW;*' at Monticello, contended which am* to the other their favorite pM»g* }A may easily fancy with ■, wh«t t «"W enthusiasm the young man "^ij William and Mary, upon fellow-students to his faith in* ' bard of the North.—['Harper's Msg««

' Where is the East?' inquired* very little pupil. ' Where the morning »»<■ i was the prompt and pleasant reply

Printed and Published by the F™V^vjM Bkktt. of ParneU, at his General SK^M Office, Wyndham-street, in the Oily « *^{; Now Zealand : - „ , 0 .. I Saturday, Deoember 2,1878,

EVENING STAR SUPPLEMENT, DECEMBER 2, 1876.



BY ALICE KINGSBTTBY.