He stood speechless and quaking. Then, gradually recovering himself, he stumbled down the stairs, and seated himself, looking pasty and scared, by the fire below. "What is the matter with you, Samuel?" asked his wife. "I've seen her," he gasped. "Don't ask no more questions." Now when he was gone, little Joe, filled with terror--not at the apparition, which he had not seen, for his eyes were too dazed to behold it, but with apprehension of the chastisement that awaited him, scrambled out of the window and dropped on the pigsty roof, and from thence jumped to the ground. Then he ran--ran as fast as his legs could carry him, still hugging his instrument--to the churchyard; and on reaching that he threw himself on his mother's grave and sobbed: "Oh, mammy, mammy! father wants to beat me and take away my beautiful violin--but oh, mammy! my violin won't play." And when he had spoken, from out the grave rose the form of his lost mother, and looked kindly on him. Joe saw her, and he had no fear. "Mammy!" said he, "mammy, my violin cost three shillings and sixpence, and I can't make it play no-ways." [Illustration: "MAMMY," SAID HE, "MAMMY, MY VIOLIN COST THREE SHILLINGS AND SIXPENCE, AND I CAN'T MAKE IT PLAY NOWAYS."] Then the spirit of his mother passed a hand over the the strings, and smiled. Joe looked into her eyes, and they were as stars. And he put the violin under his chin, and drew the bow across the strings--and lo! they sounded wondrously. His soul thrilled, his heart bounded, his dull eye brightened. He was as though caught up in a chariot of fire and carried to heavenly places. His bow worked rapidly, such strains poured from the little instrument as he had never heard before. It was to him as though heaven opened, and he heard the angels performing there, and he with his fiddle was taking a part in the mighty symphony. He felt not the cold, the night was not dark to him. His head no longer ached. It was as though after long seeking through life he had gained an undreamed-of prize, reached some glorious consummation. * * * * * There was a musical party that same evening at the Hall. Miss Amory played beautifully, with extraordinary feeling and execution, both with and without accompaniment on the piano. Several ladies and gentlemen sang and played; there were duets and trios. During the performances the guests talked to each other in low tones about various topics. Said one lady to Mrs. Amory: "How strange it is that among the English lower classes there is no love of music." "There is none at all," answered Mrs. Amory; "our rector's wife has given herself great trouble to get up parochial entertainments, but we find that nothing takes with the people but comic songs, and these, instead of elevating, vulgarise them." "They have no music in them. The only people with music in their souls are the Germans and the Italians."