, 1880-08-30

times wandering into quaint Eolian
harm ,nies, 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 heal doomed forth the hour
of midnight and recalled him to reality
again. With two or three wailipg
minor chords he brought his weird i'm
provision to an end
Dear mel he said, with heavy
sigh; Christmas again! Christmas
again! How many times, wonder!
Well, this will be tie last; ard 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 gonel Youpg and
bright aud merry-all taken! And
here am I-old, sad and friendless-
and yet l live on, live on! Well, I
suppose God knows best!' While thus
thinking .loud, the old man was appa-
| rently searching for something among
his music books. and now produced an
ancient page of manuscript. worn al
! most to fragments, but pasted for pres
ervation on piece of paper OF a later
date. "Yes, here it Is, poor Dicks
Christmas song. What a sweet voice
he had, dear boy! If he had only lived
but there! I'm murmuring again.
Gods will be done!'
He placed tire music on the desk be-
fore him, and, after a moments pause,
began in tender, fute-like tones, to
play the melody, at the same time
grooming the words in feeble voice.
He played one verse of the song, then
stopped and drew his sleeve across his
eyes. The sense Of his desolation APP
peared to come anew upon him; he
seemed to shrink down, doubly old,
doubly feeble, doubly forsaken-when,
10! marvel! Suddenly from the
lonely street without, in that chill mid
nia lit, came the sound of IA violin, and
- sweet young voice singing those self
same words to the self-same tender air
the song written by his dead and
gone brother forty years before.
The effect on Michael Fray was cleo
trical For moment he staggered,
but caught at the key board before him
and held it with convulsive grasp.
IS Am | dreaming? or are my senses
leaviNg me? Poor Dicks Christmas
carol! and I could almost swear the
voice is nv own lost Nellie's. Can this
be death at last? And are the angels
welcoming me home with the soug l
love so dearly? No, surely either I
am going mad, or that is q real living
voice! Bat whose whose? Heaven
help me to find out !" And with his
whole frame quiyering with excitement
without even pausing to close the or
gan, or to extinguish his fllckering can
.le-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, bare
headed, into the snowy night.
For some hours before aiichael Fray
was startled, a. we have related, by the
mysterious, echo of his brothers song,
an old man and young girl had been
making their Way citywaris from the
southeastern side of London. Both
walked wearily, as thrngh they had
tramped for long distance; and once
or twice tue young girl wiped away a
tear, though she strove hard to hide it
from her companion and f"rctd herself
to speak with cheerfulness in strange
contrast with her suuken cheeks and
footsore gait. Every nov and then, in
passing through the more frequented
streets, they woul,i pause; and the man
who carried the 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 very sad voice. ac-
companied him with the appropriate
words. But their attempts were mis-
erably unproductive. In such bitter
weather few who could help it would
stay away from their warm 6resides
and those whom stern necessity kept
ont of doors seemed only bent Oh dis
patching their several tasks, and to
have no tine or thought to expend on
a couple of wandering tramps singing
by tue roadside. Still they toiled on,
every now and then making II 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 far
ther between, and the poor wanderers
felt that it was idle even to seek for
charity in those deserted. silent streets.
At last the old man stopped and groaned
aloud.
What is it, grandfather dear ?
Don't give in now, whed we have
come so far. Lean on me-do; I'm
hardly tired at all; and dare say we
shall do better to morrow"
Tomorrow" said the cid man,
bitterly; 6 tomorrow it will be too late
don't mind hunger, and don't mind
cold; but the shame of 1t. the disgrace
after having struggled against it all
fhasa vears-iO come tO the uOrk honso