The Carbon advocate. [volume] (Lehighton, Pa.) 1872-1924, 1877-03-03
The Old organist's Story.


is decidedly the ugliest man l ever saw
no more expression to his cat green eye
than my pet parrots. / declare 1t pro
vokes me to think nature would put uI
such Jobs" and pretty Bell Seymour
poutingly tore the white roses clingine
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. One would
think you were disappointed because
the green eyed monster, as you term
him, had not yielded to your charms
I do not think him ugly. He plays di.
vihely, and as for expression, he has to
my eye pitifully sad one. shall
ever believe he loved in his youthful
days and has been disappointed in some
way.
" Well, if he ever loved, 1t was some
one as hdeous as himself, you may de-
pend on it. But come, let's so inj the
night air is chilling. "
Laughingly the two pretty, thought
less creatures waltzed into the hand
some parlOr of the seaside hotel. Bell
Seymour little imagined l had been a
listener to her uncompllmentary re-
marks in regard to myself; but, leaning
from my upper window to catch a
breath of fresh sea air, could not help
their conversation being borne to my
ear, as the night was calm and still.
And her thoughtless words sent me
turning back, year after year as some
wanton breeze fiutters amid the leaves
of some sacred volume and opens its
saddest tale.
Little Fluvia was right. In the gold
en- days of manhood, far down the mis-
ty, mOldering past, had loved one Of
Gods purest, sweetest flowers; dain-
ty blossom formed from the very be-
ginning to expand only in heaven. And
tonight, with the dear old memories
stirred, i must give to the world my
love dream, for it cannot be long now
before the gray headed old organist of
st. Paul's will do away forever with
earth life and eagerly follow the beck
onings of white hands that call from
the further shore of the river,
May Auderly was our pastors only
child, a radiantly beautiful girl of six
teen. And how well l remember even
now every incident that occurred that
first Sunday morning in June l ever
saw her.
Daintily roted, 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 to be made for my love, my wor-
ship. And looking on her fresh, pure
face, / knew the sunshine of my life
had come to me, making me hereafter
in heart as other men, with something
to love and cherish.
The services on this especial morning
grew intensely interesting to me, and
even the waxeI petals OF the Gala lily
sent forth perfume purer and more
refined, as her soul mingled with mine
in the morning anthem. Once only
she raised her eyes to my face, when
with delight sent the music swelling
and swaying through the grand old
arches of the church, and then sunk it
to tiuttering sob that died away on the
morning winds. But for this, | might
have sunk out of existence for any at
tentiOn she bestowed on me. / was the
OrganiSt, nothing more, to her or any
one else in this wide, wide world.
As the services closed l leaned for
ward to catch one more glance of the
sweet bright eyes, so blue and pure, but
she had already passed out, and came
down from the organ loft with a Joy in
my heart with which the bright spring
fifty harmOnized.
How fresh the flowers looked in their
beauty-the Violets were so
much like tie shy eyes of my darling
that | kneeled down and kissed one.
never dreamed, as other men are
wont to do, of wife and home and this
little fairy as my fireside queen. Oh,
no she was too pure for me, and was
fully content to set her up in my heart
of hearts as an idol, and secretly w0r.
ship her there. | well knew the poor
and the beautiful daughter of
the wealthy pastor of st. Paul's were
no fit match in the worlds eye; but that
knowledge did not weaken my love.
She was my idol; my queeni aud Sun.
day alter Sunday, as | saw her enter
VIZ ShuoAO Olh ANihltF pSN ohu JUN WIN
my music in devotion, 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 / think she must have
guessed, sometimes, my idolatry, for,
when would pour forth my soul in
some grand.y 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 musicI and
how eagerly l watched for Sundays |
dawn, that might, as bird to its
mate, tell Of my love in song.
One Sunday, after year of exquisite |
enjoyment OF my untold love, when the |
bright May poured its yellow streaks OF
gold into the whispering baby leaves of |
the oaks, drinking softly, as fairies |
might, the glittering dew drops nesting |
in the Hover cups, l missed the fresh
young voice in our church music, and |
the little daintily dressed figure in the
large old family pew. Glaucing at the
pulpit, | found stranger filling DR..
place. A wild fear of some
think in the future seized my heart. and |
That day I'm sure the music must have
been poor.