at it. It said to me it would be pleasant to try it across the
strings. So I did try it just a very, very little, and it did sing
to me so sweetly. At first I did play very soft. But presently I
did begin a capriccio, which I like very much, and it did go ever
louder and louder; and I forgot that it was midnight and that
everybody was asleep. Presently I hear something crack; and the
next minute I feel my father's whip across my shoulders. My little
red violin dropped on the floor, and was broken. I weep much for
it, but it did no good. They did have a doctor to it next day, but
it never recovered its health."

He was given another violin, however, and, when only ten, he would
wander into the fields and woods, and spend hours playing his own
improvisations, echoing the song of the birds, the murmur of the
brook, the thunder of the waterfall, the soughing of the wind
among the trees, the roar of the storm.

But childhood's days are short. The years fly by. The little Ole
is eighteen, a student in the University of Christiana, preparing
for the ministry. His brother students beg him to play for a
charitable association. He remembers his father's request that he
yield not to his passion for music, but being urged for "sweet
charity's sake," he consents.

The youth's struggle between the soul's imperative demand and the
equally imperative parental dictate was pathetic. Meanwhile the
position of musical director of the Philharmonic and Dramatic
Societies becoming vacant, Ole was appointed to the office; and,
seeing that it was useless to contend longer against the genius of
his son, the disappointed father allowed him to accept the