Pine Bluff daily graphic., 1894-06-30
THE OLD SONGS.


 Whatever the Vogue of & Style in Music
 They Never Lose Favor
 It was hotel parlor, a brilliant pianist had just rendered one of Wag ner's most difficult pieces, and mur- mur of wel1-bred applause followed. Then very softly and tenderly, like sweetly-tremuious old voice reciting pathetic memories, the ivory keys sent the plaintive melody of Auld Lang Syne" signing through the room. The ldle chatter ceased, every mind wRa busy with bitter-sweet memories, and the air was full of the scent of vanished clover, the warm fragrance of newly. tossed hay, the echo of hsbbling brooks. The simple tune knocked aS the door of every heart, and the ghosts of dead days came dropping forth in answer.
 4 stout dame on the musicians left looked away through the open window, beyond the moon-hooded hills. and sigh scintil1ated the jet upon her ample bosom. She had gone back and on summer eve years ago and was dressed in faded pink calico and Tapping sun bonnet again. Her bare toes sank deep in the yellow dust of the country road as she drove the cows home through the lonely, cool shadows. John Ed ward, freckled-faced and honest-eyed, came sheepishly out of the woods and joined her. and the cows were late that night, for what has young love to ito with time?
 A dignifed old gentlemen beside her blew his nose and incidentally wiped his eyes He was thinking of the ! morning when he went out to seek his fortune, and turned under the windy orchard trees to 8 wave of last farewell with her eheck-apron to hep eyes. He had whistled s'Anld Lang Syne" to keep back the rising sobs as he trudged upon his way
 Not word was spoken when the last memory-haunted note died away in silence, but everyone had paid a tribute of tear to Aud Lang Syne An almost forgotton poet, Robert Hinckly MesSinger quaintly wishes for old wood to burn, old books toread and old friends to talk with in an ideal old age. and he mig ht alse have added old tunes to be played in theiong twilights which he dozed and dreamed in his easy chair It is fact that none of the popular songs of late years survive Mayhy existence. They catch the lip, but do not hold the heart, and are writ ten to cater to the popular fancy, un- l like the old tunes which are birth marked with the joys and woes of the human aace.
 Music-hall melodies may come and go and be forgotten, but as long as a sprig of heather blossoms on Scottish moors Highland Mary" will bring tears to Scottish eyes, and the cruelty of Barbara Allen will go down through all the ages while lads go courting and lasses are capricious Every sailor leaves .Black-eyed Susan" in port behind him, and there is a chord in every bosom set to the wonderer's immortal cry. Home Sweet Home. Annie Laurie. will live as long as the English language Neither Handel nor d Beethoven com posed the "MarseillaiSe1 yet it became the ha ttle-cry of nation 1t is not to the music of the symphony societies that the dying turn, but to Rock of Ages.
 Many of Gilbert x sulliyan's catchy melodies are borrowed from old bal lads, and they have even Mother Gooss to thauk for some of their success.
 Strauss may set the feet to dancing, Wagner tickle the brain and Mozart please the ear, but nothing can touch the heart like the old tunes.-Phila- delphia Press.