The San Francisco call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913, 1895-09-22
Pathetic Scenes at the Funeral
of Composer Harrison
Millard.
HE HAS SUNG HIS LAST SONG.
Early Autumn Days In New York
That Tell of Changeful Days
Soon to Follow.

One sometimes longs for the poetic Ian
guage of the Greeks and Egyptians, or the
wild wind songs of the warlike Norsemen
and Celts. 1t is but vain, for, after all, the
music of the heart can only be expressed
after eternities of striving. 1t would have
moved hearts of steel to have been present
this morning during the funeral rites of
that sweet singer and composer, Harrison
Willard. The Church of the Messiah (Uni-
rarian), corner of Thirty fourth street and
tPak avenue, was the scene Of the last sad
tabeau in the earthly existence of one of
America's most gifted song-writers.
The morning was perfect, glorious. One
of the cool, clear mornings New Workers
are blessed with in the early autumn days.
Unlike the morning was the interior of the
church, for stretched in front of the chan
eel was the somber draped casket of the
dead. 1t was almost buried beneath his
dearly loved white daisies:
The beautiful beautiful daisies,
The snowy, snowy daisies.
The blossoms were not in tight punches
and wreaths, but strewn in loose abund-
ance, and sprinkled with delicate green
ferns. There were other flowers placed
near the bier, wreaths of laurel and bay,
beautiful symbols OF his life; but all the
while the daisies seemed to send echoes
through the heart of the song he gave to
the world years ago, and which has lived
Under the Daisies" The church was
filled with loving friends and strangers as
well who had come to Pay their last
tribute.
The choir sang sweet solemn hymn
full of hope for the living; the sunlight
sifted through the stained glass windows,
when softly the organ began the prelude
to under the Daisies" and voice from
the choir sang the song. Before the last
verse was ended there were only smothered
sobs accom- panying the singer. 1t was
somberly sad, but appropriate and soul
inspiring:
For all that's left Of the bright, bright dream,
With its thousand brilliant phases,
Is a handful of dust meath coffin hid,
coffin under the daisies.
Harrison Millard's songs are known all
over the world. Who has not felt the
tears stealing down the lashes at the sweet
melody and tender words of Douglas,
Tender and True, 'When the Tide Comes
H." or the beautiful song waiting"
Personally he was an intelligent and re-
fined gentleman; quiet, though convinc-
ing conyersationalist, and charming per-
sonality which at once impressed one with
the security of sincerity. That eloquent
old minister, Rev. DR.. Collyer, described
father and a man. A man in every sense
of that great word"
A soldier and a man. What more can
be said? After the services the remains
were taken to Boston, his old home and
birthplace, where they were inferred by
the side of his wife, who died many years
ago.
The song, ."Vive PAmerica," was one of
Harrison Millard's greatest compositions.
Abraham Lincoln praised it for the noble
patriotism it inspired. The children in
the public schools of New York sing it to-
day.
Deceased left three daughters to mourn
him-one, most gifted songstress, Marie
Willard, who is prima donna of the Sphinx
Opera Company, which has recently had
a very successful run at the Casino.
Harrison Millard's songs will live. They
may not be considered of the classic style,
but they are full of sweet sympathy and
reach the inner heart. Memories of him
will now grow green in the hearts of
thousands. Death is sometimes an awak-
ener.
Gloom cannot last always. Tears cam
not fall for long. Smiles will creep along
the muscles of our faces, leaving happy
little ridges ard wrinkles-so whats the
odds as long as you're happy" l called on
the gifted Helena Modjeska the other
afternoon, at her handsome apartments in
the Hotel Imperial. She had only been in
New York few days. Her account of her
tour abroad was interesting. The absurd
idea that she has been scheming for sad
vertising space is really unkind. She
stuff intense Inconvenience personally
and lost large sum OF money by coming
in contact with Russian authorities and
Russian spies. Her description of the
strict watch which was kept on all her ac-
tons is really amusing and ridiculous.
They were more than serious, and even
threatened her liberty. She was glad to
escape the tyranny of Gear, and rejoices
in the fact of being back in America-the
land of the brave and free. Modjeska is
looking younger than ever. Her figure is
splendid and her manner is sweet and gra-
cious. She declares that in the future her
home will be in California, and her en-
forced absence will be during her profess
slonai engagements elsewhere.
'Oh, give us our dear, sunny, generous,
lovable California and we will always be
happy and content" Modieska exclaimed,
IN that soft, pretty accent which still clings
to her speech. The Count, her charming
They are one of the few married folk who
may really be envied. They are happy
and content.
The weather is growing cooler and the
days shorter. The torrid zone has ceased
to send It's blasting heat over the painting
eastern country The park walks are be-
ginning to look untidy with falling leaves
and broken twigs. The newsboys and
street gamins are putting on shoes and
stockings, for the weather is at odds. A
few hot days will drop in on us before
October, but autumn is here, preparing us
Tor winters more heartless days. BY the
way, two little ragged bows were cayorting
about the fountain in Madison square the
other morning, when one said evidently
continuing previous conversation): "Say,
Billy, where did she liver" The other boy
answered with a mild contempt, which
evidenced a certain superiority: Didn't
tell You she didn't live at all: she worked
in bakery2"
There are lot of mad people in New
ork and surrounding burgs. The flasco
which the yachts have made in racing has
proven too much for Notwithstanding
public, Certainly our American Defender
won the first and second race, but the Eng
llsh lion as usual was inspired to turn tail
and run. There is nothing like lions
roar until one has heard the wild screech
Of free sky-born eagle. Then the me-
nagerie crouches and is dumb. Those who
In Ovrfa 1