The Savoyard looked at me wistfully. I wished to enter into conversation with him. That was not easy. However, I began.

Pisistratus.—“You must be often hungry enough, my poor boy. Do the mice feed you?”

Savoyard puts his head on one side, shakes it, and strokes his mice.

Pisistratus.—“You are very fond of the mice; they are your only friends, I fear.”

Savoyard evidently understanding Pisistratus, rubs his face gently against the mice, then puts them softly down on a grave, and gives a turn to the hurdy-gurdy. The mice play unconcernedly over the grave.

Pisistratus, pointing first to the beasts, then to the instrument.—“Which do you like best, the mice or the hurdygurdy?”

Savoyard shows his teeth—considers—stretches himself on the grass—plays with the mice—and answers volubly. Pisistratus, by the help of Latin comprehending that the Savoyard says that the mice are alive, and the hurdy-gurdy is not.—“Yes, a live friend is better than a dead one. Mortua est hurdy-gurda!”

Savoyard shakes his head vehemently.—“No—no, Eccellenza, non e morta!” and strikes up a lively air on the slandered instrument. The Savoyard’s face brightens—he looks happy; the mice run from the grave into his bosom. Pisistratus, affected, and putting the question in Latin.—“Have you a father?”

Savoyard with his face overcast.—“No, Eccellenza!” then pausing a little, he says briskly, “Si, si!” and plays a solemn air on the hurdy-gurdy—stops—rests one hand on the instrument, and raises the other to heaven.

Pisistratus understands: the father is like the hurdygurdy, at once dead and living. The mere form is a dead thing, but the music lives. Pisistratus drops another small piece of silver on the ground, and turns away.

God help and God bless thee, Savoyard! Thou hast done Pisistratus all the good in the world. Thou hast corrected the hard wisdom of the young gentleman in the velveteen jacket; Pisistratus is a better lad for having stopped to listen to thee.

I regained the entrance to the churchyard, I looked back; there sat the Savoyard still amidst men’s graves, but under God’s sky. He was still looking at me wistfully; and when he caught my eye, he pressed his hand to his heart and smiled. God help and God bless thee, young Savoyard!