The Lancaster ledger. [volume] (Lancaster, S.C.) 1852-1905, 1893-11-01
LANCASTER, S. g. NOVEMBER 1. 1898.

There was something very impressive
in the scene to me. BY the time he had
finished the church was almost dark, and
oil the light there was came through the
stained glass windows and gave a melan-
choly tingo to it all. One ray from the
setting sun as it broke through the clouds
fell fair upon the old mans head and
gilded his snow-white hair until he
looked almost young again. The lines
in his face seemed to fade away as he
talked along in his low, sweet voice.
For time almost forgot the reality of
the world outside and was lost in the
enthusiasm and fervor of the old musi.
clans story. l can give you pretty
good idea of what the old man said, for
it made deep impression on me at the
time; thought then that would write
it up some time. But l haven't. 1t
would seem almost sacrilege to treat his
ideal any less earnestly than he did. l
couldn't write that sort of a story, any
way, but I'll try to tell it 10 you lust as
he told it to me-
Yes, can tell you his story, now that
he is deHd--poor boy-so full Of life and
hope and promise that it seems almost as
though il could not be.
/ must have grown to love him more
than | knew. for now that he is dead, I
feel indeed that have lost friend. Yet
| never know him, never spoke to him.
He was n young man, while my youth
has gone so far into the past that it seems
as though never had been young. He
was man Of the world, with many
friends, and what am | but poor, old
tired. out musician, living by adding what
little can to the pleasure of others2
have looked upon his face for the last
time. He is dead, and they have carried
him forth from this great church, where
his friends were gathered together TO
show as best they could the love and re-
spcct they bore him. We heard the
minister say those words of consolation
and hope. old, yet ever new, ~ am the
resurrection aud the life." What more
could he have saidl
Now all are gone and you and are
left alone up here, with my thoughts
and the memories Of other years that
come flooding over me. The light from
those rioh.colored windows is already
beginning to fade away and these evening
shadows give an added gloom to this
dreary place. Not one of all that crowd
that was so lately here ever gave thought
to the old musician, and yet II seems to
me that I knew him better than any Of
them. knew his hopes and fears aud
I knew what the sorrow was that spoiled
his life and made him glad TO die.
when it was too late.
/ saw her, too, to-day. She was pale
and sad-eycd aud when the voice Of the
eir - .;,h -
aloft the words Of that swce. hymn Of
hope, "And is this all :" felt somehow
. that she was weeping aud that she knew
1t was not all.
remember so we'll the first time that
saw her. She was but girl then, just
growing into womanhood, and was one
Of the musicians who played at the ball
given in honor of her frat appearance In
society. Yes, she was what they call
society girl, but she looked to me like
low Others. Well born, rich and beauti.
full, life must have looked very fair to
her. l remember she was spoken OF as
the most successful debutante of the sea.
son. She was beautiful, Cf that there
was no doubt, with dark hair and eyes
that would start a man to improvisipC
wild and noble music, with passionate
and tender strains, but with hero and
there jarring note, for there was some.
thing about her eyes that seemed out Of
place--a proud, ambitious look that did
not become young girl and that made
her look older than she really was. She
was that sort OF woman that might in.
spirc n man to noble deeds IL she would,
or else to wreck all beside rather than
TO lose her; whom q man might love,
and. losing, die for. knew that even
though was but lonely old musician.
! often wonder whether the people at
receptions and balls in the great world
ever give thought to the musicians
sitting of by themselves and playing
for their pleasure. DO they ever realize
for moment that VIC see all that goes on
about US and are the unseen audience of
many farce aud comedy and tragedy.
Manya ball room is the scene Of events
that may make OF mar life, and we
musicians, left out of account and
screened, perhaps, behind flowers and
foliage, are often the closest and most
interested spectators. A queer life is
this Of ours, going from house to house,
from reception to ballroom, playing our
parts in scenes In which We really have
no part. Yet we are always there. Dur.
ing the gay season we may see the same
faces again and again, day after day,
night after night, until We get to know
them well. New faces come, familiar
faces disappear from our view, yet many's
the one we follow with interest. We see
people meeting for the srst time They
talk idly for q while, dance together
and, perhaps, never see one another
again. Or the following winter
We see them together everywhere
we go aud, seeing one, we know right
we'll wo will see the other not far away.
One can tell great deal ii one only sees
a persons eye light up as II IL sees
wished for face appear. That may be
all, or tfe friendship may ripen into
more. So the world wags, aud so IL
will continue TO wag on long after my
fingers have lost their cunning and
grown stiff and cold.
How often have played tight merrily
at young girls FIRST dance, aud later on
played her wedd Dg maj ch, or, per
chance--snd this is the saddest task OF
all--have played above her body music
that she did not hear and that would
have rounded weak and poor compared
to the sweet strains she was perhaps