The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1891-05-27
A Service of Song.


A Service of Song.
Only the other day I met man
whose face and words sent my mind
travelling back over the space of years
a little mountain hotel in Tennes.
see. There had been all accident to
to the engine, and conseque emily my
cousin Agnes and I, who were journey
ing across the State, were delayed,
with other unfortunates, in a village
uncompromisingly desolate, and in the
hotel Of which l speak. :
cannot undertake to describe the
aspect of the little town, or the impress
sion it made Oh my impartient mind.
I might say it seemed 70 be asleep, but
that the term would convey too much
of an idea of repose and peace. Per-
haps 1 may describe it as in sort of
drunken stupor, but with too little
enterprise to be bad. The hotel par
took of the character of the place. In
the ill-smelling "parlor," to which
my cousin and betook ourselves, we
found sort of corpse ofa carpet and
some ancient furniture, among it a
piano, of an old style, sadly out of
tune. Where the other delayed pas
sengers were I do not know. The only
companion we had in that dismal
place was all old lady, evidently q
boarder there. Her dress was anti
quated, but the wrinkled face which
smiled from the debths of the large
frillmg cap Was pleasant and refined,
presenting, to my mind, the one re-
,leving feature of the scene.
Outside it raincd. This did not ap-
pear to interfere in the least with the
comfort of. the loafers who smoked
under the "parlor" windows. Agnes,
for want of occupation, sat down to
the piano, which was very hoarse and
occasionally sneezed inwardly. I can
not say that "Chopin's waltzes' sound
ed very natural, but "Old Hundred"
which my cousin tried by the way of
contrast, appeared to give the old lady
an idea. She had been wathching the
player with admiring eyes, and now
came over to the instrument and
spoke.
II was thinking, my DEAR" she said
hesitatingly,n "that if you could sing
a little bit, iustsom old hymn or some
thing, it would seem real good. Who
knows but it might help them poor
boys out there? They're most likely
away from their homes and mothers,
and it amt probable that they hear
much good music-the Lords music
you know.
Agnes looked at me inquiringly.
ut seems to me-" I replied in a low
tone, "rather an odd idea. I can't say
that I should like your singing in
such a place as this" Doubtless my
noise involuntarily showed my disap
proval of our surroundings, as noses.
will.
My cousin looked thoughtful. "But
Ralph" she said, ''if this is one of
those little opportunities for service,
such as we were speaking of last night
would it not be the right thing to
dow
"My dear COUSIN" l replied, II do
not see any probability of our doing
helpful work by singing in this place
but do as you think best. No doubt
the old lady would enjoy it."
"Won't you sing with us?" said,
Agnes, turning and speaking to her
with the Difference she would have
shown to a queen. "My cousin and
will be glad to sing q little"
"Dear child?" said the old lady, "I
haven't no voice for music now. 1t
was used up long, ago. When I was
young like you, they used to say l
sung in the choir like bird. But my
old voice is almost through its works
here. I'd love to listen to you,
though"
My cousin turned around, the tears
in her bright eyes. Did she see the
vision that passed before me-a church
of the olden time, with lofty pulpit
and high-backed peTs, solemn min
lister, an attentive congregation, a
choir of of young singers, in the SIM
pie garb of long ago, their sweet voices
pealing forth the Psalms of David,
their happy "hearts in tune" like his
"harp Of solemn sound?" Did they
consider the weary years, the white
hair, the dimness of sight, awaiting
them? I think not, for they sang: