The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1877-03-14
The Old 0rganist's Story,

is decidedly the ugliest man ever SOW;
no more, expression to his cat-green eye
than ypet parrot s. T declare: it pro-
sokes me4to think nature would put up
such o Job . and pretty Bell Seymour
poutingly tore the white roses clmging
to the veranda post, and spitefully toss
ed them on the gravel walk beneath
her
"Why Bell !" and dark eyed Fluvia
glanced up in surprise. Gone would
think you were disappointed because the
sgreenseyed monster, as you term him,
fad not yielded to your charms. do
not think him ugly. He plays divine
ly, and as for expression, he has to my
My eye apitifully sad one. shall ever
believe he loved in his youthful days
and has been disappointed in some way y
"Well, il he ever loved, it Was scue
one as hideous as himself, you may de-
pend on it,, But come, let's 60 in; the
might air. is chilling" IF u.
Laughingly the two pretty, thought
less creatures waltzed into the hanGsonic
par1or Of the seaside hotel. Bell Sey-
mour little imagined had been a listener
to her very unco.npiim o.!tary remarks in
regard to myself but, leaning from my
upper window to catch a breath Of fresh
sea air, could not help their convelsa-
ton being borne to my ear, as the night
was calm and still. Aud her thought
less words sent me turning back, year
1afteryYear as some wanton breeze flutters
amid the leaves of some sacred volume
and opens it's saddest tale.
Little Fluvia was right In the golden
days of manhood, far down the misty,
moldering past, l had loved one Of Coils
purest, sweetest flowers; dainty bios
som formed from the very beginning to
eexpand only in heaven. And tonight,
with the dear old memories stirred, l
must give to the world my love dream,
for it cannot be long now before the
gray headed old organist of st. Pau's
will doaway. forever with earth life and
. eagerly fellow the beckonings of white
hands that call from the further shore OF
the river.
s May Auderly was our pastors only
child, radiantly beautiful girl of six
teen. And how we'll I remember even
now every incident that occurred that
first Sunday morning in June ever SAW
p her.
Daintily robed, from the tiny boots
modestly peeping from beneath the soft
folds Of her silken dress, to the plump
gloved hand resting lightly on the arm of
the old, cushioned family pew, she
seemed only made for my love, my wor-
ship. And looking on her fresh, pure
face, I.knew the sunshine of my life had
come to me, making me hereafter in he1rt
ns other. men, with something to love and
seherish.. g III
The services on this especial morning
grew intensely interesting to me, and
even the waxen petals of the Gala lily
sent forth perfume purer and more re-
fined, as her soul mingled with mine in
the morning anthem. Once only she
raised her eyes to my face, when with de-
Light sent the music swelling aud sway
ing through the grand old arches of the
church, and then sunk it to hutterjng
sob that died away on the morning
winds. But for this, I might have sunk
out OF. existence for any attention she he
slowed nme. p Iwas the organist, moth
ing more, to her or any one else in this
wide, wide world.
As the services closed leaned forward
. to catch one more glance of the sweet
bright eyes 80 blue and pure, but she
had already passed out, and I came down
from the organ loft with n Joy III my
heart with which the bright spring morn
ing fitly Larmonized.
How fresh the flowers looked in their
rainbow beauty-the violets were so
much like the shy eyes of my darling
that kneeled down and Kissed one.
/, never dreamed, as other men are
wont to do, of wife ard home and this
little fairy as my freside queen. Oh,
no (! she was too pure for me, and [ was
fully content to set her up in my heart
OF hearts as en- idol, and secretly worship
her there. I well knew the poor organist
and the beautiful daughter of the wealthy
pastor of st. Paul's were no fit match in
the e.worlRs eye but that knowledge did
not weaken my love. She was my idol ;
my queen and Sunday after Sunday, as
L saw her enter, the square old family
pew and join with my music in devotion,
I felt God was good in granting me this
master passion. For through it her soul
and mine could mingle in one beautiful,
beautiful strain. And I think she must
have guessed. sometimes, my idolatry,
for, when would pour forth my soul in
some grandly thrilling measure, a star
tied look would creep into her sweet
young eyes, and the little hand would
tremble as she turned the leaves of her
song book.
This was as far as our acquaintance went
We talked only in music; and how eag-
srly I watched for Sundays dawn, that
l might, as bird to its mate, tell of my
love in song.
One Sunday, after year Of exquisite
sojoymeut OF my untold love, when sh'