Paul the Minstrel | Page 8

dare and to do; and Paul felt his heart beat within him, and he
longed to be of the company. After he had sung this to an end, there
was a silence, and the minstrel said to Paul, yet as though half speaking
to himself, "There, my son, I have given you a specimen of my art; and
I think from your look that you might be of the number of those that
make these rich jewels that men call songs; and should you try to do so,
be mindful of these two things: let them be perfect first. You will make
many that are not perfect. In some the soul will be wanting; in others
the body, in a manner of speaking, will be amiss; for they are living
things, these songs, and he that makes them is a kind of god. Well, if
you cannot mend one, throw it aside and think no more of it. Do not
save it because it has some gracious touch, for in this are the masters of
the craft different from the mere makers of songs. The master will have
nothing but what is perfect within and without, while the lesser
craftsman will save a poor song for the sake of a fine line or phrase.
"And next, you must do it for the love of your art, and not for the praise
it wins you. That is a poisoned wine, of which if you drink, you will
never know the pure and high tranquillity of spirit that befits a master.
The master may be discouraged and troubled oft, but he must have in
his soul a blessed peace, and know the worth and beauty of what he
does; for there is nothing nobler than to make beautiful things, and to
enlighten the generous heart. Fighting is a fair trade, and though it is
noble in much, yet its end is to destroy; but the master of song mars
nought, but makes joy;--and that is the end of my sermon for the time.
And now," he added briskly, "I must be going, for I have far to fare; but
I shall pass by this way again, and shall inquire of your welfare; tell me
your name and where you live." So Paul told him, and then added
timidly enough that he would fain know how to begin to practise his art.
"Silence!" said the minstrel, rather fiercely; "that is an evil and
timorous thought. If you are worthy, you will find the way." And so in

the hot afternoon he said farewell, and walked lightly off. And Paul
stood in wonder and hope, and saw the two figures leave the flat, take
to the down, and wind up the steep road, ever growing smaller, till they
topped the ridge, where they seemed to stand a moment larger than
human; and presently they were lost from view.
So Paul made his way home; and when he pushed the gate of Heritage
open, he wondered to think that he could recollect nothing of the road
he had traversed. He went up to the house and entered the hall. There
sate Mistress Alison, reading in a little book. She closed it as he came
in, and looked at him with a smile. Paul went up to her and said,
"Mother" (so he was used to call her), "I have heard songs to-day such
as I never dreamt of, and I pray you to let me learn the art of making
music; I must be a minstrel." "'Must' is a grave word, dear heart," said
Mistress Alison, looking somewhat serious; "but let me hear your story
first." So Paul told of his meeting with the minstrel. Mistress Alison
sate musing a long time, smiling when she met Paul's eye, till he said at
last, "Will you not speak, mother?" "I know," she said at last, "whom
you have met, dear child--that is Mark, the great minstrel. He travels
about the land, for he is a restless man, though the king himself would
have him dwell in his court, and make music for him. Yet I have looked
for this day, though it has come when I did not expect it. And now I
must tell you a story, Paul, in my turn. Many years ago there was a boy
like you, and he loved music too and the making of songs, and he grew
to great skill therein. But it was at last his ruin, for he got to love
riotous company and feasting too well; and so his skill forsook him, as
it does those that live not cleanly and nobly. And he married a young
wife, having won her by his songs, and a child was born to them. But
the minstrel fell sick and