. . . .
The celebration was over. The company had retired. Quietude was restored.
The Joram family, with one additional gem, was once more left to the
peacefulness of its own mansion. They were all quietly seated. Joram
arose, and slowly approached the old harp, the friend of his early days,
and inspected it with fondness, while the thoughts of other years fast
crowded upon his memory.
"My dear father, and my dear Uncle Esrom!" said Perreeza, smiling, "now
that they are all gone, let us have one dear little song from thee."
"Ah, precious child!" said Esrom, at the same time brushing away a
fugitive tear, "I play so seldom nowadays, I fear I would not appear to
very good advantage among such fine performers."
"Nay, father! but thy playing is far superior to our best performances."
"Well, Perreeza, I will try; but I fear my song will make thee sad."
"Sadness at times, dear father, is far more profitable to the mind than
hilarity."
"True, my daughter! True! We both know it by experience.
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