Once the Instrument of a Murder, and now Played by Unseen Hands.
(from The Cadenza, Nov.-Dec. 1895).
Martin Forster of Little Rock, Ark., owns a banjo which has a characteristic that makes it look uncanny in the eyes of superstitious people. In the years 1892 or 1893, in the city of San Antonio, Tex., there was a variety actor, an exceptionably able man at his calling, who was performing in one of the many concert halls which infested that town. With him was a beautiful girl, who danced to the music of the banjo on the stage, the two giving many attractive specialties in their line. The man was insanely devoted to her, but was terribly jealous. One night, in the wineroom, after a performance, while under the influence of liquor, which served to increase his insane rage, he, in the midst of a quarrel which had grown out of his accusations against her, struck her on the head with the banjo. She died almost immediately. The man fled, but some time afterward was apprehended at Kansas City and brought to San Antonio, where he was tried, convicted, and sent to the penitentiary for a term of years.
A few years after this Louis Forster, Martin's brother, made a visit to Texas, stopping at Berne, near San Antonio. Being a fair performer on the banjo Louis asked his brother Mike, who had accompanied him and who was now returning to his home at Little Rock, to get him a banjo at San Antonio and send it down to him. Mike did so, purchasing the one with which the actor had slain his mistress. It proved to be a fine instrument, of soft and delicate tone, and with it the sick man wiled away many tedious hours to his own satisfaction and the admiration of the music-loving people of the village, who, of course, constituted the entire population. On his return home Louis stopped at Texarkana, where his brother Martin then lived. When leaving he presented the banjo to Martin, who, although he could no more play a tune on it than he could dance on a tight rope, gladly accepted the gift as an addition on account of its history to his collection of horrors. He was accustomed at idle moments when at home to take and thrum for the amusement of his two little boys, who liked the noise regardless of chord or discord.
One Sunday afternoon the little fellows importuned him to play them a tune on the banjo. He told them to fetch it to him from its place across an angle of the wall. When within about three feet of where the instrument stood they stopped and threw up their hands in astonishment, while their father's eyes bulged under the emotion of surprise and wonder. This state of affairs came of the fact that the banjo commenced, of its own accord or through some unseen agency, to play a tune. It was no screaking sound, nor was it a soft Aeolian strain, such as the wind coming through the open door might have produced, but a real tune, gentle, though clear. It kept this up for at least two minutes, when it ceased. The lads were then afraid to take the banjo from its hiding place. To allay their fears their father father got it, but he did not make any music on it, not caring to expose his ignorance after such an excellent performance, and soon laid it away again. He has the banjo yet, and frequently, when being approached by those who would take it in their hand, it gives the same sweet music to the touch of invisible fingers.--Memphis Appeal.