Arizona weekly citizen., 1883-12-01
GLORIOUS STRAINS.
How Zelda sesuin sings Beautiful old
 Song.
From a New fork Correspondence.

IFrom a New fork CorrespondeaceI
 Everybody loves the exquisitely path etic old song Kathleen MavOurneen; but there is only one woman on the American stage who can sing It ID 6 way to move the soul, and that IS one Zelda SegUin. To hear 1t from her lips Is to become possessed of a memory that Is prIceless.
 1 have heard her iu her great roles n opera. when the applause Was so loud and long that 1t almost drowned the mnemoniac echo Of the melody, and when the lights and stage splendors and contagious enthusiasm enhanced the scene and deepened the spell, but never havo l heaId anything more exqmsItely beautiful, or more perfect vocal melody than this one sweet song as she sings lt at home, unembellIshed by the dazzle of stage costume or scenic effect.
 She and her husband, Mr. Wallace, are delightfully."- genial with their friends, and their apartments on Irving Place, in New York, during the summer, were much frequentei by the bright people, the artists of the lyric and dramatic stage, journalists, writers, poets, critics, and people of many minds One evening l was one of au informal com pany that gathered there. Among the guests were an eminent critic and a musical composer with a bran new opera on which he wanted Mrs. Seguin's judg- ment. Very obligingly she sang all the parts, the composer himself presiding at the piano. l. was delightful to hear the honest comments of these people of genuis on a work that the people might, perhaps in 0 short time be ravlng over or stamping with its resentful heels.
 The public sees a play or an opera perfected and complete when 1t sees It all, the scene well set, the orchestra lending it's magic tO cheat the senses into temporary belief ID the reahty of 1t all, the actors coming into their mimic world of kings and crowns, and tin>el and melOdiOus love exactly at the right time, and, seeing 1t already made, think nothing about the process of making A part of this process Is getting the opinion of artists whose Judgment is valuable and will be honestly given. or this helpful but unremunerative work Zelda Seguln has done unlimited quan- titles, and thereby earned the sincere gratitude of all who sought her aid But as to the song. After the new | opera had received a couple of'hOuTs of Mrs. Seguin's close attention--and, by the way, she reads music with a rsadl- | ness that astouishes experts, an accOm- | plishment all great singers do not pos l sess, strange as 1t may seem-sOmeb body, yes, everybody present, begged for Kathleen MavOurneen,' and sine sang it.
 Such singing one is not apt to hear many times 1T a lifetime, even with l large opportunities; and hearing t one | forgeis it never. lt was not the order | of vocaliZation which nipples over the | emotions and awakens merely @ respou- slve thrill. It stirred the soul. It be- came a part Of ones own cry against | fate; brief but most moving expres- sion of the cruelty of life. It called up | the vision of Chopin dying iu the island | of Majorca. When the lovely young ! Countess Potlcka sang stauZ8 from | the song which once saved the life Of | Stradella, he said: "How beautiful it is: my God, how beautiful "' and then | closed his eyes that his spirit might float away on the glorious strains to that world where there is neither discOrd LOT ' discomfort.
 How beautiful ii wasl that uever-to-be- | forgotten Kathleen Navourneeni Ah, yes, how beautiful The famous singer was dressed in soft a hite, which fit close | about her delicate throat Her hair was arranged simply in a low coil at the | back, and her round, Wtlte arms, from | which the loose sleeves fell away. were | clasped together and held low before | her. She stood by the piano, lovely | picture, indeed, her maryelOusly sweet | face untouched by a hard or coarse line, | in perfect profile before the little com pany. Her expression was altogether | spiritual. The windows were open, and | as 1t was late all the rude sounds of the | street had dIed away. and the rich notes | of her voice h0ated into the stiffness of | the night like an echo from some angelic choir.
 Every listener sat ontranced. The I ordinary pathos of music moves to tears. but thIs lifted the spirit momentarily away from earth in a transport of sym pathetic anguish.
 Among the guests was one youug man of dreamy and mystical tendencies, with whom music was Q sort of worship. Ar ter Il was over he said to me in a low voice, and with burning eyes, q heard my dead mother speak to me when Mrs SegUin sang the words Why art thou sllentY andII felt her presence. I always do when l hear Zelda sing that song: and always at that point she speaks to me, as if Co tell me that she IS not silent. that she Is with me
 And the critic said of Mrs. Seguin: ''She Is Kathleen NavOuTneen. No- body else can make the song living drama as she doesr And so with the memory of the glorious notes and the sweet face of the prima donna in our minds, forever We separated and went our several ways, forever to hear the echo Of the words:
 Kathleen MayOurneeu, awake from thy
 slumbers,
 The blue mountains glow in the suns
 golden light.
 Oh, where is the spell that once hung on
 my numbers2
 Arise in thy beauty, thou star of my
 night,
 Arise in thy beauty, thou star of my
 night.
 "Oh, hast thou forgotten this day We
 must sever,
 Oh, hast thou forgotten this day we
 mus part?
 It may be for years, and it may be for
 ever,
 Oh. why art thou silent, thou voice ol
 my heart2 It may be for years aud it may be for
 ever,
 Then why art thou silent, Kathleen
 MavOurneeny'