The news & observer. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1894-current, 1897-09-26

alu that was why all New York laughed
It him so as he filled Tony Pastors
right after night--in the days gone. 1t
vas Queenie Vassar's turn at the piano
Ehe little wife took her place, with
light, aimlessly sad movement of the
hands along the keyboard, and buried
Ter full, sort gray eyes deep into the
meaningless gaze of Harry Kernel sit
ing some distance away along the mid
lie aisle. Poor Seaman, that
nirthful price of melody,
sat somewhat in front dangerous III
robust physique, but hopeless paretic.
He gaZed, too, somewhat as "a rabbit
when it stops for an instant startled. The
little woman began with feeling which
she hardly repressed-though she visited
her husband regularly once a week. She
Sang over all his old songs-keeping her
eye on his, hoping to draw one glance
of the light that was gone. One song fol-
lowed another. while those who were
lsane were deeply impressed by the scene
so full of strangely unmingled emotions.
At last came THE Bowery." Harry
seemed to listen a little more atentiyely.
How often had he been encored at the
end of that jolly song But all its blithe
humor seemed too shaded with drift
clouds now of another heart behind it.
There was no use. Some thought he
seemed to live again for a moment at
some Of the notes, but maybe not. Her
eyes seemingly had not detected it; for
the music quietly ceasing, tender melo-
ell tlne, EtnS fnr
frain: ''I'll follow him wherever he
goes" 1t was too distressing, their
eyes meeting full now. In an instant,
in the midst of the refrain, without warn
ing, a Economical shrek of laughter-full-
lunged laughter, came from Scanlan-it
rent the air in twain and almost the
hearts OF those to whom the picture
came true. 1t was an instant of pathe
tic horror-an instant with which only
one person in that hall knew how to deal.
1t was done decisively as another little
gad-hearted artistic q forget her name
now, almost skipped like girl to the
stage, and before one knew it, My
Molly, Or like "A memory of an Emmett
lullaby came like silver bell. Seaman
was not 81 far gone as Harry: he was
not too far gone to recall that sometime
somehow that little song had had some
strange connection with him. He he
came silent, and looked hard and listen
ed hard his mood changed to look of
niellowed sadness: that song which had
been filtered through his own brain (his
own child and creation). had left the
dregs that always linger in the heart
after it has poured forth its wine pressed
out in pain for the people. My Molly,
o. she sang, and Seaman smiled even
through his tears. 1t was not long af-
tcrward, the great trees bare and clean
cut with autumn, before Harry Kernel
died with n number about who loved
him. In another ward was Scanlan: he
reused UP with smile as he was APP
preached. Write something there, +"
asked his visitor, handing him pencil
ard 4 piece of blank paper. His hand
trambled: he held up his knees for a
rest: he handed back the paper: there
was what he had tried to make bar
of music on it: underneath were imper-
fectly traced these words: My Molly.
Or
WAS it not Scanlan's song?" he ask
ed, rising with a glare strangely at va
rance with the musical tone of his voice.
W. Il. CHRISTIAN.