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Show MARIO AND TERRAZANO'S UNKNOWN. UN-KNOWN. Looking over Henry Abbey's charming poems and verses the other evening, wo were impressed with the easy swing of his delightful muse when he treats of the kindly and simple acts of everyday life. His poem, "For Sweet Charity's Sake' gives us an incident in the life of the great Italian tenor, Mario, and furnishes a beautiful example, a love-able love-able illustration, that sympathy for human suffering suffer-ing is universal. It also reminds us that on the stage appear men and women whose deeds of tender mercy, at times, evoke the appreciation of a wholesome whole-some hearted public. Four years ago we formed one of a small crowd on the Correo Mayor, Durango, Mexico, which stood listening to a respectable appearing, ap-pearing, but poorly dressed musician, who with his two daughters and his little son made up a charming charm-ing street orchestra. Just as they began the "Fanuela," a Spanish fandango, a young gentleman gentle-man and a refined looking and elegantly dressed lady approached. They paused, looked upon the poor musician and his children, exchanged a few words between themselves, then, asking for room, they gave one of the finest exhibitions of the Spanish Span-ish dance, the fandango, we had anywhere witnessed on or off the stage. For at least ten minutes they gyrated back and forward, crossed, recrossed, swayed and chaussed, tho crowd increasing to hundreds. hun-dreds. The music stopped, the dancer lifted his hat and spoke. "While we are collecting something from you for these poor people, they will play for us "El Tarantela." Everyone gave, and when the dancers emptied what they collected into the hat of the musician, a great "Viva a hurrah" went up from us all; the gentleman and his fair companion bowed to the crowd and crossed the Correo. The Durango evening paper said they were members of Terrazano's Opera company from Madrid, touring South America and Mexico. Here is Henry Abbey's Ab-bey's poem: "FOR SWEET CHARITY'S SAKE." In Lyons, in the mart of that French town, Years since, a woman, leading a fair child, Craved a small alms of one who, walking down The thoroughfare, caught the child's glance and smiled To see, behind its eyes, a noble soul; He paused, but found he had no coin to dole. His guardian angel warned him not to lose This chance of pearl to do another good; So as he waited, sorry to refuse The asked-f or penny, there aside he stood, And with his hat held, as by limb the nest, He covered his kind face and sang his best. The sky was blue above, and all the lane Of commerce, where the singer stood, was filled. And many paused, and, listening, paused again, To hear the voice that through and through them thrilled. I think the guardian angel helped along That cry for pity, woven in a song. The hat of its stamped brood was emptied soon Into the woman's lap, who drenched with tears, Her kiss upon the hand of help ; 'twas noon, And noon in her glad heart drove forth her fears. The singer, pleased, passed on, and softly thought, "Men will not know by whom this "deed was wrought." But when at night he came upon the stage, Cheer after cheer went up from that wide throng, And flowers rained on him; naught could assuage The tumult of the welcome save the song That he had sweetly sung, with covered face, For the two beggars in the market place. |