Mineral Point tribune. (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1869-1938, 1882-04-27

DTONlBdtlOH w al Ciid.
Dear me-" he said, with heavy sigh,
Christmas again! How many times,
wenderl Well, this will be the last;
and yet Christmas comes again, and
finds me here still, all alone. Dear,
DEAR Fist. poor Dick; ard then my
darling Alice and little Nell-all gone.
Young and bright and merry all tax
en- And here am I-old, sad and
friendless-and yet live on, live on,
Well, | suppose that God knows best"
While thus thinking aloud, the old map
was apparently searching for some
thing among the music books, and now
produced an ancient page of manu-
script, worn almost to fragments but
pasted for preservation on piece of
paper of later date. eyes, here it is,
poor Dicks Christmas song. What a
sweet voice he had, dear boy If he
had only lived-but therel I'm MUIR
muring again. Gods will be done"
He placed the music on the desk be-
fore him, and, after moments pause,
began in tender, flute-like tones, to play
the melody, at the same time Groom
ing the words in feeble voice. He
PLAYED one verse of the song, then
stopped and drew his Sleeve across mis-
eyes. The sense Of his desolatlon
appeared to come anew upon him; he
seemed to shrink down, doubly old,
doubly feeble, doubly forsaken-when
lol marvel. Suddenly from the lone
ly street without, IN that chill midnight,
came the sound of a 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
forty years before.
The effect on Michael Fray was cleo
trical. For moment he staggered, but
caught at the keyboard before him and
held it with a convusive grasp.
Gam | dreaming or are my senses
leaving me? Poor Dicks Christmas
carol; and / could almost swear the
voice was my own lost Nellie's. Can
thi be death at last? Are the angels
welcoming me home with the song |
love so dearly No, surely; either
am going mad, or that is the real living
voice Blu. whose-whose? Heaven
help me to find out |" And mis- whole
frame quivered with excitement-with
out pausing even to close the organ, or
to extinguish his Pickering candle--the
old man CROPPED his way down the mar
row winding stairs which lead to the
street, and hurriedly stepped forth
bareheaded into the snowy night.
For some hours before Michael Fray
was startled as before related, by the
mysterious echo of his brothers song,
an old man and a young girl had been
making their way citywards from the
southern side of London. Both walked
YEARLY, as though they had tramped
from long distance, and once or twice
the young girl wiped away tear,
though she strovc hard to hide it from
her companion, and forced herself to
speak with cheerfulness in strange
contrast with her sunken cheeks and
foot-sore gait. Every now and then,
in passing through the more frequented
streets they would pause; and the man,
who carried violin, would strike up
some ballad tune with a vigor and pow
er of execution which even his
frost-nipped fingers and weary
limbs could not wholly destroy;
while the young girl, with n sweet
though very sad voice, accompanied
him with the appropriate words. But
their attempts were miserably unpro-
ductive. In such bitter weather few
who could help it would stay away
from their warm tiresides; and those
whom stern necessity kept out of doors
seemed only bent on despatching their
several tasks, and to have no time or
thought to expend on a couple of wan
dering tramps singing by the roadside.
Still they toiled on, every now and
then making a fresh "pitch at some
likely corner, only too often ordered to
" move on " by stern policeman. As
they drew nearer to the city and the
hour grew later, the passers by became
fewer and farther between, and the
poor wanderers felt that it was idle
even to seek for charity in those de-
serted, silent streets. At last the old
man stopped and groaned aloud.
"What is it, grandfather dear? Don't
give in now, when we have come so
far. Lean on me--do; I'm hardly tired
at all and dare say We shall do bet
ter tomorrow"
"To.morrow ~ said the old man, bit
terly; tomorrow it will be too late. !
don't mind hunger, and / don't mind
cold; but the shame of it, the disgrace
after having struggled against it all
these years--to come to the workhC urse
at last 1t isn't for myself mind
beggars mustn't be choosers; and dare
say, better men than have slept in
casual ward; but you, my tender little
Lilly. The thought breaks my heart
it will kill me !" And the Old man
sobbed aloud.
Dear grandfather, you are always
of me and never of yourself
What does it matter after all ? Its only
the name of the thing. Pm sure YOU
don't mind it one bit" The shudder of
horror which passed over The girls
frame gave the lie to her pious false
hood. II dare say it is not so very
bad; and, after all, something may
happe2 W prevent it even now"
what can happen short Of mira
Gle, in these deserted streets p
"Well, let us hope for the miracle
,,o, Jo,, I'D hos pavor ,nttn 10