ABOUT Sixty years ago, a poor dealer in nicknacks, named Ruttler, took up his abode at the upper extremity of the Fauxbourg Saint Joseph at Vienna. The scanty profits of his little trade but ill sufficed for the support of a wife and fourteen children; the eldest of whom was but sixteen years of age. Ruttler, however, notwithstanding the discouraging position of his affairs, was kind-hearted, and ever ready to serve his friends; the needy traveller was never known to quit his door without the benefit of his advice or his charity. An individual, whose serious deportment and benevolent expression of countenance were calculated to inspire respect and interest, passed regularly every day before the door of Ruttler's shop. The individual in question was evidently struggling against the influence of a desperate malady; nature seemed no longer to have any charms in his eyes. A languid smile would, however, play around his discoloured lips as Ruttler's children each morning saluted him on his passage, or heedlessly pursued him with their infant gambols. On such occasions his eyes were raised to heaven, and seemed in silence to implore for the young innocents an existence happier than his. Ruttler, who had remarked the stranger, and who seized every occasion to be of service, had obtained the privilege of offering him a seat every morning on his return from his usual walk. The stranger frankly accepted the proffered civility, and Ruttler's children often warmly disputed with each other the prerogative of setting the humble stool before their father's guest. One day the stranger returned from his walk rather earlier than usual. Ruttler's children accosted him with smiles. "Sir," said they, "mamma has this night given us a pretty little sister." Upon this, the stranger, leaning on the arm of the eldest child, presented himself in Ruttler's shop, and kindly asked after his wife. Ruttler, who was going out, confirmed his children's prattle; and after thanking his guest for his inquiries-"Yes, sir," said he, "this is the fifteenth child that Providence has sent us. "Worthy man!" cried the stranger, in a tone of anxiety and sympathy; "and yet a scanty portion of the treasures showered on the courtiers of Schoenbrunn lights not on your humble dwelling. Age of iron; when talent, virtue, honour, are admired only when the tomb closes on them for ever. But," added he, "have you a godfather for the infant?" "Alas! sir, the poor man with difficulty finds a sponsor for his child. For my other children I have usually claimed the good offices of some chance passer or neighbour as poor as myself." 'Call her Gabrielle. Here are a hundred florins for the christening feast, to which I invite myself, and by taking charge of which you will oblige me." 66 But Ruttler hesitated. "Come, come," said the stranger, "take them; when you know me better, you will see that I am not unworthy to share your sorrows. you can render me a service. I perceive a violin in your shop; bring it me-here-to this table.-I have a sudden idea, which I must commit to paper." Ruttler hastily detached the violin from the peg to which it was suspended, and gave it to the stranger, whose skill drew from the instrument such extraordinary sounds that the street was soon filled with a crowd of inquisitive listeners. A number of personages of the highest distinction, recognising the artist by his melody, stopped their carriages. The stranger, entirely engrossed by his composition, paid no attention to the crowd that surrounded Ruttler's shop. When he had terminated, he thrust into his pocket the paper on which he had been writing, left his address with Ruttler, and took leave of him, intimating ness. that he should expect to receive due notice of the christening. Three days elapsed, and the stranger returned no more. In vain Ruttler's children placed the stool before their father's door. On the third day, several persons dressed in black, and their countenances impressed with the seal of woe, stopped before the humble seat, which they contemplated with sadRuttler then determined to make some personal inquiries as to the fate of his former guest. He arrived at the house to which the stranger had addressed him. The door was hung with black, a coffin was illuminated with an immense quantity of waxlights; a crowd of artists, of grandees, of scientific and literary men, deplored the fatal event that had taken place. For the first time the truth flashed across Ruttler's mind; he learned with astonishment that he, whose funeral obsequies were on the point of celebration-his guest, his benefactor, the proposed godfather of his child-was Mozart! Mozart had exhaled his last melodious sigh at Ruttler's miserable threshold! Seated on a shapeless stool, he had composed his harmonious requiem, the last strain of Germany's expiring swan! Ruttler had paid the last sad tribute of respect to one whom he had honoured and revered without knowing him. Returning home, he was astonished to find his modest asylum invaded by the idle crowd, who offer incense on the shrine only when the deity has departed. The circumstances just detailed brought Ruttler's establishment into vogue, and enabled him to amass a competency and provide for his fifteen children. Conformably to the wish expressed by Mozart, the youngest was named Gabrielle, and the violin on which the great composer had played a few days before his death served as the marriageportion of his god-daughter when she had attained the age of sixteen. The same violin was afterwards sold for 4000 florins. Ruttler never would consent to part with the seat on which Mozart had sat, notwithstanding the tempting sums offered for it. The honest merchant resolved to keep it, as a monument at once of his former poverty and of his present good fortune. The Evening Star. YON glimmering evening star, how bright |