There was a young lady, Miss Graubtner from Boston, who
touched the piano with the grace of a master. Her German name indicated
the stock from whence she sprung, and the training she received from
her musical father. There were tenors and basses who were attracted
also, but they came and went; the sweetest songstress remained, and the
cold days of winter were beginning to give way to the warm March sun
when the visit was completed, and we reluctantly gave her back to
"civilization."
Among the pleasant occasional visitors was a gentleman who joined in
the circle with his flute, who had the reputation, well deserved, of
having written some fine verses--some of them are in the
_Harbinger_--and who was in very friendly sympathy with our music
man, as an old and, I think, college acquaintance. His accomplishments
were varied. He had graced a pulpit, and afterwards made his mark with
his pen, pallet and brush. He had a very pleasant gift of imitation,
and, with his modest and gentlemanly bearing, made quite an impression
on me.
I fancy I see him now, with his tall, graceful, upright figure, his
wealth of dark, curling hair, and his young manhood, with his sober,
dignified face and large forehead, just retiring from our crowded Eyry
parlor to the hall, where under cover, he can more readily introduce
his menagerie--menagerie or barnyard you certainly would think it was;
for from behind the door comes the imitation of the cow with its young
calf; a sow and its pigs are squealing; the lambs and sheep are
bleating; the rooster begins to crow, and near by the house dog is
heard; soon all is still except his persistent, hoarse bark; then from
a distance we hear the bark of another dog awakened by the first; soon
another, nearer still, wakes up and tunes his note; presently we hear
all the dogs of the village who are now awake.
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