!
lMffil
UNIVERSITY OF NEBRASKA.
' ME
QJ JL J- J
Vol. XXVI I.
LINCOLN, NKBRASKA, JANUARY 7, 1898.
No. 14
an;
AupiNl.
The quiet of the summer afternoon
Is broken only by the faintest sigh
Of breezes as thoy come to rest awhile
Among the cooling shades. The hills
wrapped
In one wide sweep of sunshine, and the skies
Are blue; yet hardly does the star-lit night
Sleep on so calmly as this golden day.
F. B.
lumlXMiux.
Lambeaux stood at the window of his little
dingy studio, humming parts of Arias. But
ho was not thinking of the tunes, for he was
ing voice came from the open door.
There sat a small boy, a rag-a-mufiiu. The
bright spring sunlight was dancing on his dark
hair. Large tear drops fell from his deep
brown eyes and as they rolled down his dusty
cheeks, they left little paths. With the
sleeve of his torn faded yellow jacket he tried
to hide the traces of his weeping.
Lambeaux gave a grunt and with a look of
surprise went to the door.
"What do you want? " he asked half pleas
antly. "Monsieur, music, more more!" Little
Gecko walked to the case then with a cry of
,. . , , . . delight "Let me play ! Oh let me play ! "
tapping on the window and his eyes were , , , ,, , ,, , ,,
. , . .. ., . i.ii .x Lambeaux looked sadly at the boy, then
looking lar over the eastern lulls away into .,, ,, ... ,
wuii a siiuuen passiouuic emurace, ne garn
ered up the slight form in his arms and cried,
looking lar over tno eastern mils away
the mysterious home of the rising sun. As if
returning to present surroundings he tossed
his head back and thrusting- his hands into
his pockets, walked back and forth through
his little room, sometimes stepping over yel
low sheets of music scattered over the floor.
Now he pushed his violin ease aside with his
foot now his bow.
Thoughtlessly he picked up his old scratched
clarionet and began playing a mournful mel
low tune. Soft and low the tones (Mime forth,
now he was playing with them, now ho was
teasing them, and again the sad sweet melody
began, for Lambeaux was forgetting this ma
terial world and with closed eyes and body
bent slightly forward ho appoared to bo listen
ing to the tones of' his clarionet. His soul
was wrapped up in its language, for its music
was telling that which mere words win never
say.
Soon the song changed to a wild thrill,
emotion after emotion poured forth. The old
musician bent further forward with eyes still
closed and the clarionet trembled in his white
wrinkled hands. Was ho dreaming of a lovely
past? Was ho happy? no, with a feeling of
disgust ho places tho clarionet into its case.
"Oh, monsieur! more, more " the plead-
"Mil voces! mil voces! so like my own little
boy ! so like my own little boy ! my wife
my child both gone. Your souls yes, boy.
play, play, for old Lambeaux for his heart is
diul and lonely. He has no one to love him
for his wife and boy, his only loved oues, arc
deud-Mlead ! Play then, play my boy ! "
Taking A rosary from the pocket of his large
flowered jacket, he sunk into a deep old-fashioned
chair and counted his beads while little
Gecko blew sad, sweet, simple melodies upon
the clarionet for tho old musician Lambeaux.
IIlXKK FjJAXClS IjANIIKI!.
Tlio IVyIiif I'tin.
Boys have no rights which a lady is bound
to respect. It does not take a Chief Justice
Taney to make this truth apparent. A little
observation will prove it to an unprejudiced
mind. For instance, consider the lot of cer
tain boys who have somehow been dragged
into spending their multitudinous spare mo
ments in furnishing amusement, for, the young
ladies of their sot. Tho boys show signs ,of
studious intent occasionally. But there at
the long table the young ladies sit, and watch
and watch and watch until tho fly appears.
Cameras Dry Platen Films Cards Printing Paper at
LINCOLN PHOTO SUPPLY CO. Ml So 11th street.
