The Cambria freeman. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1867-1938, 1878-01-25
EBENSBURG, PA, FRIDAY, JANUARY 25 1878

whose sands of life have all but run out-a
sadly weak and trPmulous old man, with
shaking hands and dim, uncertain eyes, but
when they are placed upon those yellow
| keys. shaking hands shake no longer the
| feeble sight finds no labor i'm those we'll re-
| membered pages. Under the touch of
| Michael Fray's def fingers the ancient Or
| gan becomes instinct with life and harmony
!. The grand old masters lend their noblest
strains. and could they revisit earth, need
| ask no better interpreter. From saddest
| wall of sorrow t. sweetest strain of conso-
lntion-from the dirge for the lnved and
lost, t" :he I9an of the jubilaut victor
! each shade of human passion, each tender
message Of divine encouragement, take
| form and color in successioh, under the
| magic Of that old mans touch. Thus
! sometimes borrowing the song of other
| singers, sometimes wande ing into quaint
| Holian harmones, the spontaneous over
| flow of his own rare genius, Michael Fray
| sat and made music charming his SORROWS
| in temporary sleep.
| Time crept on. but the player needed it
not, till the heavy bell in the tower above
his head Doomed forth the hour Of midnight
and recalled him 10 reality again. With
/ two three wailing minor chords lie
| brought his weird improvisation to an end.
"Dear me-" he said, with a heavy sigh,
"Christmas again Christmas again
| How many times, l woI.deI, Well, this
will be the last and yet Christm comes
| again, and finds me here still. all alone
! Dear, dear! First, poor Dick and ti.en ,i.y
| darling Alice and little Nell-all gone
| Young and bright and merry-all taken !.
! Ind here am odd, sad and frieudless--
| aud yet live on, live ON! Well, | suppose
| Sod knows best ~ While thus thinking
aloud, the old man was apparently search
| ing for something among his music books,
| and now produces m ancient page of manu-
| script, worn almost to fragments, but pasted
! fur preservation on a piece of paper of later
date. Yes, here it is! poor Dick 's Christ
mas song. Whai a sweet voice he had,
dear boy! If he had only lived but there!
| Fm murmuIing again. Gods will be
| done ~
He placed the music on the desk before
| him, aud, after mUrneat's pause, began,
i'll tender fiute-lIke tones, 10 play he
melody, at the same time grooming the
words in a feeble v"ice. He played one
verse of the song, then stopped and drew
his sleeve across his eyes. The scene of
his desolation appeared to come anew upon
him d; he seemed to shI ink down, uoubly
old, d6ibly feeble, duubly forsaken when
10! marvel Suddenly from the lonely
street without, i'll that chill midnight. came
the sound of violin, aud a sweet young
voice singing the self-same words to the
self fsa me tender air-rhe song written by
MS dead and gone Dlothef lofty years be-
fore.
The effect on Michael Fray was electrical.
For a moment he staggered, but caugh. at
the keyboard before hin. aud held it with
a convusive grasp.
Am l dreamiugf or are my senses leav-
ing mo? Poor Dicks Christmas carol :;
and | could almost swear the voice is my
own lost Nellie's. Can this be death at
last? And are the Angels welcoming ME
I l.
surely ; either | am going mad, or that is
a real living voice ! But ~huse--whose?
Heaven help me To find out - And with
his whole flame quveIIng with excitement
without pdusIng even To close the organ,
or to ex iuguIsh his tickeriug caudle-tlle
old man groled his way down The narrow
winding stair which led To the street, and
| hurrredly closing the door behiud him,
stepped forth LaIehcaded into the snowy
night.
For some hours before Michael FRAY was
startled, we have related, by the mys
| terious echo of his broiher's song, AN old
man aud young girl had been making
| their way citywards from the southeastern
side of London Borh walked weaiiiy AS
| though they had tramped from IA long dis
tapce, ana once or ice the young girl
| wiped away a tear, though she strove ha d
| to hide it from her companion aud forced
| herself to speak with cheeriulness in
strange contrast with he Sunken cheeks
and footso.e gait. Every now and then.
| in passing thr augh the more frcuueuted
streets, they would pause, and the man,
who carried the violin, w0u id strike up
| some old ballad tune with a vigor aud
power of execution which even his FROST
nipped fingers and weary limbs could not
wholly destroy; while tie gIil with IA sweet
though very sad voice accompanied him
with the appropriate words. But their at
tempts were misetahly uuproducIive. In
such bitter weather few who could help il
would stay away from their warm firesides :;
and those whom stern necessity kept out of
doors seemed only bent on despai ching
theiI several tasks, and to have no time or
Thought to eXpeud on couple of wander
ing rramps singing by the roadside. Still
they tOiled on, every now and then making
n fresh pitch at some likely corner, only
too often ordered to ''move on" by a stern
policeman. As they drew nearer to the
city and the hour grew later, the passers
by became fewer and farther between, aud
the poo: wanderers felt that it was idle
even to seek for cliari in those deserted.
silent streets. AT last the old man stopped
and groaurd aloud.
"What is it, grandfather dear? Don't
give i'll now when we have come SD FAR,
Lean on me-do I'm har. ly tined at all
and | daresay we shall do better to-mor-
row.
"To-monOw - said the old man, bitter
ly ''to-morruw it VIII De too late. | don't
mind hunger, and | don't mind cold but
the shane of il, the diSgrace-after hav-
ing struggled against it all hese years-to
come to the work house at last !! 1t isn't
for myself | mind-beggars mnstn't be
choosets and, | darcsay. better men than
| have slept in casual ward but you, my
tender little Lily. The Thought breaks my
hearth it kills me - Aud tie old man
sobbed aloud.
Dear grandfather, you are always think
ing of me and never of Yourself What
does il matter, after all ? it's only the name
of the thing. I'm sure don't mind it one
bit" The si'udder of horror which passed
over the giirs frame gave the lie to her
pious falsehood. IL daresay it is not So
very bad and, after all. something may
happe1 to prevent it even now ~
"Wha, can happen, short of a miracle !;
in these deserted streets2"
"Well let Us hope for the miracle then,
dear. God has never quite deserted us in