14S 
FOREST AND- STREAM. 
[AvQ. 23, 1902. 
The Organ Grinder* 
A Day in His Life. 
NicoLo Brignati was tired. He had traveled miles 
over a tiusty road beneath the blazing sun. Beads of 
perspiration stood on his swarthy lean face, and he limped 
along laboriously with his organ strapped to his back and 
his monkey perched above. 
Suddenly he stopped and looked about him. The place 
was inviting. A great cool umbrageous tree stood by 
the roadside, while underneath was a cai-pet of rich green 
grass, bedecked wth daisies. And hark! What was 
that? Yes, it was a gurgling stream, which presently 
revealed itself along the fence as it reflected a sunbeam. 
Nicolo's eyes brightened and he heaved a sigh of satis- 
faction. Uttering a word of command, he glanced up at 
the monkey, which instantly jumped to the ground. 
Then Nicolo unwound his organ and proceeded toward 
the stream. Taking a little tin cup from his pocket, he 
filled it three times with the pellucid water and drank. 
It refreshed his weary soul and he muttered his thanks 
to "Sancta Maria." Before putting the cup aAvay he filled 
it once more and held it to the monkey's lips, with a 
"Chico, amico !" Chico took a little sip and turned away 
his head. Nicolo then put up the cup and seated himself 
on the grass with his back to the tree. Diving once more 
into his capacious pocket, he took out some nuts, which 
he gave to Chico. who expressed his feelings with a great 
chirruping and began to crack the nuts in, such a comical 
way as would have made any one smile but his sombre 
master. Having furbished in his pocket for the third 
time, Nicolo produced some stale bread and an onion, 
with which he began to regale himself, with eyes fixed far 
away, as one in a dream. His frugal repast ended, he 
stretched himself on the grass and was soon wrapped in 
slumber. As he lay there he presented a spectacle at 
once odd and pathetic. His hair was matted and covered 
with dust, and his careworn face was covered with several 
days' growth of beard. As for his clothes, they were not 
much rriore than an assortment of rags patched together, 
while his stockingless feet were encased in a pair of heavy 
rawhide shoes, studded with nails. 
The birds came to look at him. First a robin cried 
from the tree: "Who are you? Who are you? Wake 
up!" Then a vireo cried: "What is it? Great Scott! 
Hi, there! Do you hear me?" Then an oriole (that 
exquisite among the birds) cried : "Oh my, oh my ! How 
really very shocking, don't yoit know !" Then a yellow 
warbler cried: "Tut! Tut! Asleep on such a day as 
this!" Then a song sparrow chipped in: "Wake— wake — 
wake ! Get a move on you !" And then a crow flew past 
and laughed a hoarse "Haw — haw — haw !" as it espied the 
queer, unkempt figure on the grass. 
The insects, too, were filled with curiosity. First came 
the flies and mosquitoes and lit on the face and hands of 
the sleeper. Then came the ants, and wandered all over 
him. Then came a darning needle and lit on his nose. 
Then came a bee and buzzed in his ear. And then came a 
butterfly and lit on the collar of his. red flannel shirt. 
But through it all Nicolo slumbered undisturbed, for 
he was tired, as we have said. At length as the sun began 
to decline and was gilding the trunks of the trees, the 
sleeper started up and rubbed his eyes. One glance to- 
ward the west sufficed to tell him that evening was nigh, 
so he hastily arose and .strapping his organ about him 
and bidding the monkey mount, set off at a brisk gait, or 
at least at a gait that was brisk for him. 
In half an hour he came to a little village. As he 
entered the slumberous street children seemed to spring 
out of the ground and set up a great shout as they ob- 
served the monkey. Crowding about it, their eyes shone 
. with mingled fascination and fear, and though some 
were bolder than others, the majority hung back as if 
ready to flee at a moment's notice. Nicolo, blase with 
many a similar scene, paid no attention to all this, but 
selecting a likely looking cottage, unslung his organ and 
began to grind away, while Chico, who was held by a 
string, jumped up on the veranda. A woman with a 
babe in her arms was the only occupant of this. The babe 
at sight of the monkey gave vent to a cry of terror and 
clung to its mother. It was in vain that the latter used 
reassuring words, so Nicolo was ordered away. He had 
better luck at the next cottage, where Chico, cap in hand, 
collected three cents from as many young ladies, _ who 
were not so much taken with the attentions of the Simian 
gallant as melted at the strains of Nicolo's organ, wheezy 
and dismal though they were. At the third cottage a 
maiden lady, apparently, of severe aspect, put her head 
out of the window and declared shrilly that if "that 
hideous beast," referring to the monkey,_was not taken 
away instantly she would send for the village constable. 
With varying luck like this Nicolo, without any dis- 
play of emotion, made his tour of the village, until he 
came to the poorer quarter. The crowd of children 
here was much greater than at the upper end, but the 
pennies were few and far between. At length Nicolo, ap- 
parently discouraged, ceased grinding and slung his organ 
over his shoulders. Then he looked about him inquir- 
ingly for a few minutes, and finally approached a man 
who sat on his doorstep. 
"Italiano mans liva here?" asked Nicolo-, evidently with 
the object of finding a lodging for the night. 
"Eh? Haow's that?" drawled the man, condescend- 
ingly. ... . , , -JJil 
"Italiano mans liva here?" repeated Nicolo. 
"Oh!" exclaimed the man. "You want to know if 
there be any Eytalians here?" 
"Si, signor." 
"No. No dagoes, no monkeys, here," adding in a lower 
tone, "Thank God !" 
Nicolo received this rude rebuff without any open show 
of resentment, though a keen observer would have seen a 
lightning flash in his dark eyes as he turned away. 
There was a little provision store across the street, and 
to this he made his way and purchased five cents' worth 
of bologna sausage. Then he plodded down the street, 
the children continuing to follow him to a little stream 
spanned by a rustic bridge, which marked the limits of the 
village,, Here the youngsters gave the stooped, retreating 
figure, or rather we should say the monkey, a parting 
cheer and returned to their play. 
Onward Nicolo plodded through the dust, while the 
shades of evening began to fall around him. The village 
was left behind, the shouts of the children died away and 
he once more found himself alone with nature. His mind, 
singularly enough, ran on the rebuff he had just received, 
and to his customary mood of vague melancholy was 
added the bitterness of wounded feelings. It is triie he 
had not been used to much consideration in his own 
country, but in even the contempt of an aristocrat, or rich 
man, of his own race, there was a certain sympathy. 
Here his portion was scorn unmixed. Once he had re- 
belled against it, in his fierce fiery way, with the only 
result that he got felled to the ground. As he thought ot 
it all, his heart swelled with bitterness and a sob rose 
to his lips. 
Suddenly a woodthrush began to pour forth its vesper 
hymn from a grove by the wayside. The rich, measured 
cadence of the notes, instinct with serene joy and happi- 
ness, floated on the evening air like a divine summons to 
troubled mortals to be at peace. Nicolo halted and 
listened. His eyes were fixed on the western sky, where 
the after glow of the sun, full of a gracious sentiment, yet 
lingered. For some time Nicolo continued to gaze and 
to listen, and then with a sudden impulse he raised his 
C3'es, welling with tears, and crossed himself reverently. 
It was the tribute of this poor, unlettered soul to the 
beautiful, beneficent Mother Nature. 
The thrush ceased its song, and Nicolo, calmer in mind, 
resumed his plodding march through the dust. But night 
was glooming apace across the country, so the wayfarer 
began to look about him for a lodging. He had not gone 
far before he espied a little rivulet which ran by a wood. 
His eyes lit up with pleasure: this was the very spot he 
had been looking for. Unloading his organ at once he 
proceeded to quench his thirst, as well as that of the 
monkey, and then lifting himself and his belongings across 
a rail fence, entered the wood. The fireflies flashed in 
the gloom and lit his way to an open space, which was 
covered with moss. Here the weary wanderer threw him- 
self down with a sigh. How sweet and cool it was here 
after the hot dusty highway! And how solemn and still 
and suited to repose. When he was a little rested he sat 
up and made a sop of bread and milk (the latter he carried 
in a small medicine bottle) for the monkey. The animal 
appeared not to be hungry, but Nicolo coaxed it as a 
mother might her babe, and finally succeeded in having 
the sop eaten up. Pleased with his success, he took out 
his bologna sausage, with some remnants of bread, and 
fell to himself in a manner very different from that of 
the monkey. The world might be hard on Nicolo, but 
his appetite seldom failed him. The sausage and bread 
disposed of, he filled an old black pipe and lit it. With his 
back to a tree he smoked on pensively and gradually there 
stole over him a sense of comfort and contentment even 
which only the old black pipe ever brought him. The 
weed is a blessing to the rich, but what an infinitely 
greater blessing it is to the poor and miserable ! 
The last faint glimmerings of day at the edges of the 
wood died out and all was cimmerian gloom, set off, as it 
were, by the flashings of the fireflies. But soon a soft 
mysterious light began to steal through the trees and 
fret the mossy ground beneath. As Nicolo observed it 
his heart leaped with a sympathetic joy. Ah ! here was 
something that reminded him of his dear Italia, if nothing 
else did. "Bella luna!" he muttered fondly, gazing up 
through the trees. At the words memory awoke in him, 
and his youth, with its wild romantic glamor, came back 
to him. Unconsciously he fell into an old love song of 
Lombardy. This he sang in a subdued droning key with 
occasional mournful pitches, the effect of which as it 
echoed through the wood was at once weird and pathetic 
in the extreme. 
When the song came to an end the singer's head fell 
on his breast, and he remained thus for awhile; then he 
rolled over on the ground. And there, beneath the whis- 
pering trees, with a quiet moonbeam on his face, Nicolo 
Brignati slept. Francis Moonan. 
New York, June, 
Maudellon. 
'*Cowie into the garden, Maude, 
I'm weary here alone." 
So I was. 'There had been no garden, however, just 
to walk into for months. ^ Only gray walls and stone 
pavements and streets sometimes dusty, sometimes muddy. 
There was a library to go to where illustrations in 
magazines simulated country life quite truly and where 
1 have looked into many pretty garden paths in this 
country, and, on hot afternoons, I have even made sea 
trips across to France, and there in his voluptuous Midi 
helped Monsieur Alphonse pick his beloved Jacqueminots. 
But this did not satisfy to-day, for the full tide of 
summer is in in Tennessee, so I looked up impatiently 
from my book several times before Maudellon's eyes 
from the' phaeton at the curb said. "Come." My smile in 
return was as loud as the rules of the library allow, and 
I left Miss Wharton and her "Hour in Italy" quite un- 
ceremoniously and hounded to Maudellon's side. As 
we turn out the Boulevard I will add that when her 
eyes have just this look it means we are to seek this 
day country lanes and lonely hilltops and glades with 
only a stream's noise in them, so I was more than con- 
tent to give her the lines. 
The city's borders had scarcely been passed when we 
delved into a place so like the one I had seen in Maudel- 
lon's yes that I had to rub my own to be sure that her 
wand was not still waving over the lovely creation be- 
fore us. It was Melrose, reached through a, lodge gate 
half-hidden in trees, and then on by_ a circuitous drive 
over a stream which twists itself as if by contract, and 
is lost in wild hydrangea bushes and woodbine. This 
drive being circular, is always a surprise, and I know 
of no lEnglish park which is more effective and pleasing. 
Blue grass is lush and riotous everywhere under great 
trees, and when at last the house is reached one drives 
through the porte-cochere and forgets it in the wide 
view of undulating corn and pasture lands to the south, 
relieved by the fine soft outline of the Knobs. Here we 
stopped to chatter with children, eager to blend with our 
adventure, as they always do in such things, and feringi , 
ing always an imagination which is beautiful and en- 
couraging to see. How admirable is the man who 
sprinkles this youthful faith in the unseen things (but in 
the things possible) all through the days of his life! So 
we would live in a new world for three hours, we said, 
and drove on down intoi the wood again, accompanied 
hy a gay troupe of bluebirds, ever leading us on, and 
from the glen the wood pewee called with a mournfjjl 
September soimd and the wood thrush tinkled his sad 
chimes to the closing day. 
Outside the gates again me turned into a new road 
which neither knew, but this was better, it would lead 
to that delightful somewhere v^here our gypsy supper 
would be spread. After the promises of several turn- 
ings, the next always hidden from the last by plumed 
corn rows, we debouched finally into the Franklin road 
only. But this was not bad, the hills being topped by old 
colonial houses, the white columns shining through the 
lawn trees, and the rich meadows of the opposite side 
covered with, short-horn and Durham cattle, their deep 
bay sides outlining against the green with an effect as 
soft and placid as a picture. 
Later came into-'view the turrets of the famous Oak 
Hill country place. The lawn and drive is better kept, 
but less alluring than that of Melrose, and the house 
in plain view from the road, has lost somewhat of its 
exckisiveness by this. The crenelated rock fence also 
is too low and gives every passer, like ourselves, too 
complete an idea of the garden seats, summer arbors and ' 
the vivid patches of flower color, relieving the walks. 
But we will learn some day that four feet more of lime- 
stone wall makes us entirely English, so let us hope. We 
should have been sorry, however, not to have seen the 
paddocks, with the brood mares grazing and the colts 
gamboling under the trees. We had turned into a lane 
which seemed interminable, and at the sound of sheep 
bells clinking in the distance we stopped. A cardinal 
began his whistling in a hedge near by and from a fence 
post a vesper sparrow took up his long-drawn and mel- 
low note. An indigo bunting, tireless as he is always, and 
bubbling over all day long with happiness, still sits gayly 
on his tiptop bough and warbles away the hours. Maudel- 
lon alone of all this group of fragile and errant beauty 
is not quite happy, but says "Let us drive on. What we 
seek is just there, where that shower of golden arrows is 
falling through the vines," The bright pink of her 
dress blunted every arrow, however, and I was then 
content to drive on. Further on in this enchanted lane 
we saw rabbits playing by the roadside, as is their cus- 
tom late in the afternoon. She dapped her hands joy- 
fully and the rabbits ran, and, friend of the rabbits as I 
am, how could I stop those hands from clapping? 
We spread our lunch in the rabbits' tracks for luck and 
1 learned Maudellon how to drink from a bottle, making 
it gurgle, and she learned me how to eat cherry syrup 
from a knife blade, and so we made a feast as simple but 
a? royal as any of Marie Antoinette's on the green around 
her thatched cottages in the Little Trianon. 
Great masses of gold and purple clouds hung in the sky 
as the sun of our day set. The pink in her dress began 
to soften and her gray eyes grew dark as though grieving 
at a passing happiness. Here the thin crescent of the new 
moon came out. Her hands were raised ecstatically 
again — but she looked at me reproachfully as they fell 
back in her lap and we drove on homeward. E. M. 
NASBViLtE, Tenn , Aug 7. 
Sport* 
Webster defines sport as "That which diverts and 
niakes mirth : game ; diversion ; mirth." 
Coahoma tells us in Forest and Stream, page 127, that 
field sports had their origin in man's necessities during 
the period of his racial infancy, when he captured wild 
things for food and clothing; that this trait .still persists, 
and "That the porcurement of something useful to man 
as a result of the chase is an essential element of true 
sport." In elaborating this definition of sport he makes 
it very plain that the "something" which is "essential" is 
in his judgment "goot meat." 
Now it is plain that either Webster or Coahoma is 
wrong, because these definitions of sport antagonize each 
other. As a rule there is very litde diversion or mirth 
in what we do to maintain our existence. I think a little 
investigation will show that Webster's definition is the 
commonly accepted one, and that Coahoma's conclusions 
are fallacious, and his position untenable. 
I regard his teaching as pernicious, because if generally 
inculcated it would degrade our fields and forests to the 
level of abattoirs, our game to the level of swine and 
our sportsmen to the level of gluttons. 
Words are used to convey ideas. What idea does the 
word sport convey? An effort to secure food? No. It 
does not convey that idea now ; it did not convey that idea 
in Webster's day, and I dare say if the word was used 
during the period of the racial infancy of man it did not 
convey that idea then. 
To illustrate : I have a great admiration for our illus- 
trious President, as a man, as a warrior, as a statesman, 
but most of all as a true sportsman. He exemplifies all 
that is best in field sports, yet we have no reason to be- 
lieve that he ever ate any of the California lions which 
he has killed. 
Fox hunting is undoubtedly, a true sport, and is prac- 
ticed by a large number of genuine sportsmen and sports- 
women, yet what is procured by it that is useful to_ man? 
Certainly Reynard has never been regarded as a choice tit- 
bit hy the devotees of the sport. Then _ we have coyotes, 
wolves, and many other unsavory "varmints" which figure 
largely in true sport. Again there are anglers who turn 
away from the toothsome trout and salmon to catch tarpon 
that is comparatively worthless as a food fish. 
It cannot be successfully denied that men, of whom 
J. A. L. Waddell is a type, have a clear conception of 
v/hat constitutes true sport. 
Field sports may, or may not, have had their origin 
during the racial infancy of man, but the contention that 
they had their origin in man's necessities is a square con- 
tradiction of facts as we find them at the present time. 
How long would the pursuit of any sort of game continue 
to be sport to the sportsman who should be compelled to 
pursue it continually to maintain his existence? Agricul- 
r 
