Sharp County record., 1879-02-06

The Grand old masters lend their no.
blest strains, and could they revisit
earth, need ask no better interpreter.
From saddest wall of sorrow to sweetest
strain of consolation-frOm the dlrge
for the loved and lost, to the pecan OF
the iubilant victor-each shade OF hu-
man passion, each tender message OF
divine encouragement, take form and
color in succession, under the magic o1
that old man S touch. Thus, sometimes
borrowing the song of other singers,
sometimes wanderinginto quaint 1bollan
harmonies, the spontaneous overflow OF
his own rare genius, Michael Fray sat
and made music, charming his sorrows
to 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 to reality
again. With two or three wailing minor
chords he brought his weird improvisa-
ton to an end.
"Dear me-" he said, with a heavy
sigh, "Christmas again! Christmas
again! How many times, wonder!
Well, this will be the last; and yet
Christmas comes again, and finds me
here still, all alone. Dear, dear!
First, poor Dick; and then my darling
Alice and little Nell-all gone! Young
and bright and merry-all taken! And
here am I-old. sad and frieudless-and
vet | live on, live on! Well, | suppose
God knows best!" VIII lie thus think
ing aloud, the old man was apparently
searching for something among his
music-books, and now produced an
ancient page of manuscript, worn almost
to fragments, but pasted for preserva-
ton, on piece of paper of later date.
"Yes, here it is, poor Dicks Christmas
song. What sweet voice he had, dear
boy! If he had only lived-but there!
I'm murmuring again. Gods will be
done!" .
He placed the music on the desk be-
fore him, and, after a moments pause,
began, in tender, flute-like tones, to
play the melody, at the same time Groom
inc the words in feeble voice. lie
PLAYED one verse of the song, then stop
ped and drew his sleeve across his eyes.
The sense of his desolation appeared to
come anew upon him; he seemed to
shrink down, doubly old, doubly feeble,
dodbly forsaken-when, 10! a marvel! !!
Suddenly from the lonely street with
out, in that chill midnight, came the
sound of violin, and sweet young
voice singing the self same words to the
self-same tender air-the song written
by his dead and gone brother 40 years
before.
The effect on Michael Fray was cleo
trical. For a moment he staggered,
but caught the keyboard before him
and held it with convulsive grasp.
cam dreaming? or are my senses
leaving me? 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 home with the song
love so dearly? No, sure ely; either
am going mad, or that is a real living
voice! But whose-whose? Heaven
help me to find out!" And with his
whole frame quivering with excitement
without pausing evenito close the or
gan, or to extinguish his flickering can
dle-the old man CROPPED his way down
the narrow winding stair which led to
the street, and hurriedly closing the
door behind him, stepped forth bare
headed into the snowy night.
For some hours before Michael Fray
was startled, as we have stated, by the
mysterious echo of his brothers song,
an old man and young girl had been
making their way citywards from the
southeastern side of London. Both
walked wearily as though they had
tramped from long distance; and
once or twice the young girl wiped
away a tear, though she strove hard to
hide it from her companion and forced
herself to speak with cheerfulness in
strange contrast with her sunken cheeks
and footsore gait. Every now and
then, in passing through the more fire.
quented streets, they would pause
and the man, who carried a violin,
would strike up some old ballad tune
with a vigor and power of execution
which even his frost-nipped fingers and
weary limbs could not wholly destroy
while the girl with q sweet though very
sad voice accompanied him with the
appropriate words. But their attempts
were lniselably unproductive. Ia such
bitter weather few who could help ii
would stay away from their warm fire.
sides; and those whom stern necessity
kept out of doors seemed only bent on
dispatching their several tasks, and to
have no time or thought to expend on
two wandering tramps singing by the
roadside. Still! they toiled on, every
now and then making fresh "pitch' u
at some likely corner, only too often or
dered to move on" by a stern police
man. As they drew nearer to the city
and the hour grew later, the paSserSby