The Manchester journal. [volume] (Manchester, Vt.) 1861-current, 1878-01-31


tower shove his bead doomed forth o.
hoar of mianIghs Sad recAilea him to re
ality Agaia. With Two or three wailIh,
minor chords be broaghs bis weird im
provisAlion 10 Al snd.
Dear me, be said, with heavy sigh
Christmas again Christmas again Hov
many umeS, | wondsri Well, this vii
be The last; aud yet ChriSimAs comes
aud aRds me here slll, all alone. Dear
dear! Fist poor Dick; aud then my
darling Alice and little Seli--all gone
Yonng and bright and merry--Al taken
Aud here am l---old, sad aud friendless
- aud yet live on, live onl Well,
suppose God knows best While thus
thinking aloud the old man was appar,
ently searching for something among The
music books, and now produced an An-
oient page Of manuscript, worn almost TO
fragments, but pasted for preservation,
on piece of paper Of later date. Yes,
here It Is, poor Dicks Christmas song.
What sweet voice be had, dear boy
II be had only lived there I'm mur-
murlng again. Gods will be done
lie placed the music on tie desk before
bin, and after moments pause, began
10 fnte like tones, to play the melody, at
The same time grooming the words in a
feeble voice. He played one verse OF the
song, then stopped and drew bis sleeve
across his eyes. The sense OF his desola.
tion appeared TO come anew upon him I;
be seemed to shrink down, doubly old i,
doubly feeble, doubly forsakeu--w hen
10 marvell Suddenly from the lonely
street without, In that chill midnight,
came the sound of violin, and sweet
young voice singing the self-same words
TO the self-same tender air--lhe song
witten by bis dead and gone brother for
ty years before.
The effect on Michael Fray was electri-
cal, For moment he staggered, but
caught at the keyboard before him and
held II with conyusiye grasp.
Am | dreaming? or are my senses leav-
ing me? Poor Dicks Christmas carol;
aud ! could almost swear the voice Is my
own lost Nelie's. Can this be death at
lastr And are the angelo welcoming me
home with the song love SO dearly
No, surely; either | am going mad, or
that Is real living voicel But whose
whose? Heaven help me to fnd out
And with his whole frame quivering
with exctement-w without pausing even
TO close the organ, or to extingulsh his
Pickering candle-the old man groped
his way down the narrow winding stair
which led TO the street, and hurriedly
closing the door behind him, stepped
forth bareheaded into ihe snowy night.
For some hours before Michael Fray
was startled, as we have related, BY the
mysterious echo Of bis brothers song, an
old man and a young girl had been max
ing their way citywards from the south
eastern side of London. Both walked
wearily as though they had tramped from
a long distance. and once or twice the
young girl wiped away tear, though
she strove hard TO hide II from her com.
panion and forced herself TO speak with |
a cheerfulness in strange contrast with
her sunken cheeks and footsore gait.
Every now and then, in passing through b |
the more frequented streets. they would |
pause; and the man, who carried a violin
would strike up some old ballad tune
with vigor and power of execution
which even his frost.nipped fingers and
weary limbs could not wholly destroy;
while the girl with sweet though sad
voice accompanied him with the appro-
pirate words. But their attempts were
unproductive. In such bitter
weather few who could help It would
stay away from their warm iiresides; and
those whom stern necessity kept out of
ioofs seemed only bent on dispatching
heir several tasks, and to have no time
1r thoughtto expend on couple of wan
iering tramps singing by the roadside.
SIM they toiied on, every now and then
making fresh pitch at some likely cor.
ler, only too often ordered to move on
~ stern policeman. AS they drew
nearer 10 the city aud the hour grew
ater, the passets-by becam fewer aud
ariher between, aud the poor wanderers
ell that il was idle even to seek for
'harity in those deserted, silent streets.
At last The old man stopped aud groaned
loud.
What is IL, grandfather dear? Don't
1--WE IN now. when we have come 90 far.
1esn on me-do; Pm hardly tired at alt:
md dAressy we shall do better to.mor-
'ow.
Tomorrow said the old man, bitterly
0 morrow will be too late. don't mind
lnnger aud don't mind cold; but the
hame OF il, the disgrace alter having
truggied against il all these years
ome TO the workhouse at lastl Ii isn't
or myself ] mlnd-beggsrs mustn't be
hoosefs; aud, daresAy, better men than
have slept In casual ward; but you.
ny tender little Lilly. The thought ,
'reaks my heArtl il kills mel And The
Id man sobbed aloud.
Dear grandfather, you are always
Of me, aud never OF yourself.
fha, does it matter, after alll It's only
be name OF the thing. I'm sure | don't
nind Il one bit. The sbudder Of horror
which passed over The girls frame gave
be I've 20 her pious ialsehood TdAresay !
is not 50 very bad; aBd, after all, some.
hing may happen to prevent il even ,
owl
What can bAnfen shoNf cF . .f...f. +