The Hot Springs star. (Hot Spings [Hot Springs], Dakota [Dakota Territory, i.e. S.D.]) 1886-189?, 1889-11-29

the old, as chemistry arose from
alchemy, or not, remains to be seen.
This may be the result; or, slipping
back into the grooves of conventional
ism, We may resign ourselves to lotus
eating dreams, lulled by the sensuous
strains of less complex compositions.
The question is one that Isl raught with
interest, to the high priests and priest
esses of art and estheticism chiefly.
In the meantime, the vast army of
us, the rank and file of humanity, as
we march along, time our steady foot
steps to the CHEEKY music of the fire.
side.
1t is a low-toned, unobtrusive and
comfortable melody, scarcely noticed
amidst carth's more turbulent noises.
Yet, what a dread and awful stiffness
would it leave in our lives should it
suddenly 60 out and forever cease to
be.
In the morning this tireside music is
a kind of choral hymn, wherein are
blended the voices Of the children,
raised in affectionate morning greeting;
the silvery ripple of their happy laugh
ter ripples through all the compost
tion. 1t is the variation, played in
fiute-like tones upon the sober theme
of breakfast table, household CONVERSE
tion.
And now, the canary bird, hearing
the Joyous stir about him, concludes
that it is high time for him to strike in
with his part, and he pipes up, with
spirit, giving us u pleasing variety of
trills. shakes, runs and rOulades;
while the pet dog contributes a few
staccato yelps, purely from a spirit of
emulation.
The coffee urn makes no noise, only
offers up a fragrant incense of steam,
as it's share of tho performance; but at
evening, when the family shall gather
around the cheerful fire, where snap
ping and cracking Goals, like the tam
BOURNE in an orchestra, are more for
looks than for sound, then the boiling
teakettle will sing melodiously, q
dreamy soft alto, and (f ireside
happens to be in an old country house)
the cricket, sweet minstrel of domestic
peace, will emerge from his secret nook,
and tuning his violin to a high and res
onant pitch he will pipe in pleasant
accord to the kettles low drone.
And now, perhaps, leading this de.
nal if humble musicians, softly rises
toward heaven the voice of the mother,
as with a tender lullaby she gently
rocks her nesting off into slumber-
land. And call you not this harmony?
1t is the harmony of home, the
blessed music of the tireside.
The mothers slumber song, the chill
dren's laughter. the cricket's carol
this is music that inspires the man
ly heart to renewed efforts each day,
in the paths of honorable toll.
1t is music like this that softens the
heart toward cur fellow strugglers
through LIES vicissitudes. It is the
music of sweet and wholesome home
affections, bubbling up necessarily
from the deep heart of life and chant
ing praise to the giver of all good.
1t is not the result of any painful
drill nor acquired by weary years of
study. It solaces the cottage even more
freely than it does the mansion.
Sweet as the thrushes' matin call,
when the June sunrise f1ushes the east,
and the wild rose exhales in fra
GRANGE the secret of her dreams, it
is heartfelt and full of ministeriug
grace for our fainting souls as the %
Of angels, and cheerful as the first day
in Eden, when Eve, in the joyousness
of innocence. laughed aloud as she
yazed upon the beauty around her.
Here's a health to the shade of the
glorious master, Wagner, a health to
all artists and composers in the divine
art of music; hut after all, the music
that we should miss the most, the
music that makes life endurable, that
sounds sweetly, ever to the ears of the
cherubim and seraphim, is the cheer
ful yet holy music of the fireside.-
Chicago Ledgcr.