Old Times in the Colonies & The Story of Liberty. Charles Carleton Coffin

of a trusty waiter.

      "Let no one drink of this except the cardinals: it is for them alone. Be careful now," he says to the servant.

      The servant carries the flagon into the arbor.

      "Why do you put that goblet by itself?" asks the vintner who has charge of the wine.

      "It is very choice wine. Only the cardinals are to drink it."

      The Pope and Caesar enter the arbor, and the cardinals will soon be there. The Pope discovers that he has forgotten to put his charm upon his neck. It is a precious affair — a gold locket, with a crumb of holy bread in it. A fortune-teller has assured him that so long as he wears it no harm can come to him.

      "Run and get it; you will find it on my table," he says to the servant who has brought in the flagon of choice wine.

      The servant hastens away.

      " I am very thirsty. I will take a glass of wine, if you please," he says to the vintner.

      Is there any wine too good for the Pope? the vintner thinks not He will give him some of the choice vintage which is reserved for the favored few, and brings a glass for the Pope, and another for Caesar.

      The cardinals come, and the Pope and Caesar receive them graciously, and all take their seats at the table.

      But suddenly the Pope utters a piercing cry, and rolls upon the ground. He is in terrible agony; and Caesar is also seized with excruciating pains.

      There is running here and there for doctors, who come in hot haste.

      "Poison!"

      They have drank the wine which was prepared for the cardinals. Caesar recovers, but the Pope is burning up. There is a fire in his bones. His flesh grows putrid; his tongue becomes black, and hangs from his mouth; ulcers break out upon his body, which swells to enormous size. His servants flee. There is no one to care for him. Alone in his chamber, he groans till death relieves his sufferings.

      CHAPTER X

       THE BOY WHO SUNG FOR HIS BREAKFAST

       Table of Contents

      ON that day when Christopher Columbus wont out from the Alhambra, sad and dejected, there was a little boy in a town in Germany who was experiencing a sorrowful childhood. He was born on St Martin's Day, 1483, and his parents have christened him Martin. They are very poor. The father is a miner, and works hard in digging copper ore and smelting it. The family have little to eat better than rye bread and herrings.

      Martin's father is a passionate man, and his mother is a stern woman. His school-master is hard-hearted and cruel; and between the three the boy gets many whippings. His lessons are dry as dust — the Catechism, Ten Commandments, Apostles' Creed, the Canticles, Psalms, and Latin exercises. One day the brute of a master punishes him not less than fifteen times! There is no joy in life. He hates the Catechism and the Creed, but makes good progress in Latin. The miner has sense enough to see that Martin can learn very little in such a school, and sends him to another, taught by monks, called a currend school. The boys attending it sing in the churches on Sunday, and go through the villages early every morning, and sing before the burghers' houses for a bit of bread. They carry little tin boxes with a slit in the cover, and the burghers' now and then drop in money. At times Martin obtains neither money nor bread. On Christmas mornings the boys go out early, Martin singing the solos, and the others joining in the choruses. The solo rises, sweet and clear, upon the wintry air:

      "Praises now from all on earth!

       'Tis the day of Jesus' birth,

       Of a Virgin born in sooth;

       Angels glory o'er the youth.

       Kyrie eleeson.

      "Only child of God's own kind

       In a manger shepherds find;

       God-babe sent our sins to free

       By suff'ring our humanity.

       Kyrie eleeson.

      But it is not always Christmas, and there are days when the boys have little to eat. Martin often has only a crust. He grows thin and pale and weak. What shall he do? His father is so poor that he cannot help him; the monks have nothing to give him, and if the burghers do not supply him with food, he must starve.

       THE EARLY MORNING CHANT AT EISENACH.

      There comes a cold and bitter morning. Martin goes out to sing through the streets, but the burghers do not like to be awakened so early, and the servants are surly. He sings before a house.

      "Go away!"

      It is a gruff voice that he hears, and he passes on to another residence; bat as soon as he begins to sing, the door opens, and a man's bead is thrust out.

      "Clear out there! Don't you know better than to disturb the master so early?"

      He will get nothing there, and moves on to a third house and sings; but before the carol is finished a servant comes out with a whip.

      "Begone, you ragamuffin!"

      Charity is frozen on this winter morning. Weak, faint, hungry, disheartened, lie turns away. What shall he do? "Why should he sing? No one will give him bread.

      "I may as well go back to the convent and die," he says to himself.

      He is standing before Conrad Cotta's house. The owner is a rich burgher. No one is astir about the premises that he can see. The daylight is streaming up the east, and the burghers of the town will soon be eating their breakfasts; then they will be off to their shops. Oh, if he but once in life could eat all that he wanted!

       URSULA COTTA AND MARTIN LUTHER.

      Shall he sing?

      Herr Cotta is one of the chief men of the town; will be not rush out and whip him? The tears roll down the boy's cheeks as he stands there, irresolute.

      Sing, boy! sing! The ages are waiting for you. Sing! sing! All the world will hear you. God knows what will come of it.

      Sweet and clear, his voice rises on the morning air. The door opens, and Ursula Cotta stands beckoning to him. Little does Ursula Cotta know what will come from that lifting of her hand. She has seen the poor boy driven from the neighbors' houses, and the harsh words addressed to him have filled her with pain. She has seen him on Sunday, and has recognized his voice as being sweeter than all other voices in the choir. She will give him a good meal. He goes up the steps. She takes him by the hand, leads him into the house. He goes to a warm breakfast and a home; henceforth Ursula Cotta will be a mother to him. Now he can go to school and study all day, sleep sweetly at night, and have all he can eat at breakfast, dinner, and supper. The scowl disappear from his face. He is no longer dogged and sullen, but bubbling over with joy; and in a short time, so diligently does he apply himself, that he is fitted to enter the university, where he masters the Latin language, till he can speak it as fluently as his mother-tongue.

       THE STUDENTS' FESTIVAL.

      One day, while in the university library looking at the books, he comes upon an old volume into which none of the students or monks ever look. He brushes the dust from the covers, opens to the title-page, and sees that it is the Bible. He has heard of the book, but never before has he seen a copy. It is in Latin. He turns the leaves, but his eye falls upon an interesting story about a boy who tended the lamps in the sanctuary on the green hills of Shiloh. Never has be read so interesting a story. Of all books in the library none are so entertaining as this. He reads the volume at every leisure moment. The other students spend much time in celebrating festivals, marching through the streets; but he has no time for play, and even on holidays, when all the inhabitants