k in summer
weather. It was like as if theer was a livin' soul within the thing, and
sometimes he'd trick it and soothe it, and it'd laugh and sing to do the
heart good, an' another time he'd tear it by the roots till it chilled
your blood."

"You heard him often?" asked Reuben.

"Never but once," said Ezra, shaking his head with great decision.
"Never but once. He wa'n't a man to hear too often. 'Twas a thing to
know and to carry away. A glory to have looked at once, but not to live
in the midst on. Too bright for common eyes, lad--too bright for common
eyes."

"I've heard many speak of his playing," said Reuben. "But there are just
as many opinions as there are people."

"There's no disputing in these matters," the older man answered. "I've
heard him talked of as a Charley Tann, which I tek to be a kind of
humbugging pretender, but 'twas plain to see for a man with a soul
behind his wescut as the man was wore to a shadow with his feeling for
his music. 'Twas partly the man's own sufferin' and triumphin' as had
such a power over me. It is with music as th' other passions. % Theer's
love, for example. A lad picks out a wench, and spends his heart and
natur' in her behalf as free as if there'd niver been a wench i' the
world afore, and niver again would be. And after all a wench is a
commonish sort of a object, and even the wench the lad's in love with is
a commonish sort o' creature among wenches. But what's that to him, if
her chances to be just the sort his soul and body cries after?"

"Ah!" said Reuben, "_if_ his soul cries after her. But if he values
goodness his soul will cry after it, and if he values beauty his soul
will cry after that. I never heard Paganini, but he was a great player,
or a real lover of music like you would never have found what he wanted
in him."

"Yes, lad," his uncle answered, falling suddenly into his habitual
manner, "the man was a player. Thee canst have the music any time thee
likst to send for it."

Reuben knew the old man and his ways. The talkative fit was evidently
over, and he might sit and talk, if he would, from then till evening,
and get no more than a monosyllable here and there in return for his
pains.

"It will take a hand-cart to carry the books," he said; "but I will take
Manzini now if you will let me." The old man, contenting himself with a
mere nod in answer, he took up the old-fashioned oblong folio, tucked it
under his arm, and shook hands with the donor. "Th