The star. (Reynoldsville, Pa.) 1892-1946, 1895-05-01
SWEET MEMORIES.
THE MELODY GRANDMOTHER SANG
FIFTY YEARS AGO.

FNi rGNfto R0Os
"As Lay My Heart on Your Dead Heart,
Douglas, Douglas, Tender and True"
When Old Age Recalls the Dreams of
tho Past rs Visions, There Is Tragedy.
Three generations sat in the soft glow
Of tho deep crimson lamp shade that
mellowed everything in the little par
lor. There was one daughter seated at
the piano, singing sweet and low. She
most Of all was glorified by the ruddy
rays from the translucent paper that
fell over her. There was the mother,
and beside her sat the mothers mother,
near the circumference of the halo, the
one listening with glow of pride. the
other, to whom the girls voice was new
tho grandmother was visitor at the
house-listening as one who hears
voice calling in lonesome place. She
sat there thinking, thinking, thinking,
did this dear old soul, Of day when
she, too, had sat at the piano herself, so
proudly, and had sung the tender bal
lads of that bygone day with voice
full Of passion, deep oontralto voice,
one that touched the heart in its most
sacred depths, when the strong, clear
notes were struck and then broke into
pleading tremolo in the upper register.
Fifty years ago that grandam's voice
had thrilled hearts now dust, or worse
than dust-hearts that were numb to
tender things-and there was borne in
the burden Of her songs one message
that of love--even before her heart had
known its meaning her voice had spok-
en- love. The voice of the girl sitting at
the piano was like her grandmother
had been. 1t hunted chords in the hearts
of those who heard her and set them
pulsing in echo to her own sweet long
ing that could find no words. God only
knows what long, silent, rusted chords
she touched with her resonant voice,
did this child, in her grandmother soul.
She sang the simple ballads Of the
day-"Last Night" 'The Clang Of the
Wooden Shoon," "Marguerite''-and
as she sang her mother, to whom the
singing was an old story, slipped out Of
the room-taking all her years with her
perhaps-and left them together, t.
gether even in youth that secs visions.
The young shall see visions, and the old
shall dream dreams, saith the prophet.
But when, by some magic of voice or
some alchemy Of the soul, old age,
which has dreamed dreams, sees in ono
vivid flash of light the dreams of the
past as visions-there is tragedy.
The girl under the crimson lamp
shade turned idly from leaf to leaf in
her portfolio and sang by piecemeal.
The elder woman only asked that she
keep ON singing. She only asked to hear
that voice, her own voice, to the very
Quaver ON C And her dreams were all
but visions, and life was all but youth
again. There had been wild song, one
that the hearer did not know, and the
chorus sobbed out:
Oh, is 1t forever,
Love, that we must sever,
o love, viii you never
Come back againf
And the story that the song told Of
was Of two lovers who had met under
the roses and had known "the love Of q
day, the love Of life" What swirl
of fancies the singing Of the child sent
eddying through the aged BRAIN The
music did not cease. The girl recalled
a sweet old song, peaceful, sorrowful
ditty our grandmothers sang:
Could ye come back to me- Douglas. Douglas.
In the old likeness knew,
I'd be so faithful, 80 loving, Douglas, Douglas,
Douglas, tender and true.
The girl sang ON until she thought she
had tired her grandmother, and then
whirling around on the stool she said
gayly: .
"Well, grandma. how do you like I'll
Haven't improved in ten yearsf"
She rose as she said this. and without
even waiting for reply, as is the way
of careless, thoughtless youth, she left
the room humming:
Now all men beside are to me like shadows.
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.
The girl went to her mother, who.
she knew, was attending to some duties
Of the household. The words "all men
like shadows ran through the aged
woman's head when the girl left the
room, and she was thankful for the
child's thoughtlessness which had left
her alone for moment. The spell Of
the pleading song was upon her. Her
life was turned backward.
Young faces smiled at her. She seem.
ed as bold as youth, this shy old wom-
an, who two hours before had been
afraid to protest against the overcharge
| Of oabman She heard her daughter 8