The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1898-03-20
THE PASSING OF HIS YOUTH.

The thoughtful man was not growing old,
he was not even near middle life;
yet he had reached time when he had be-
gun to realize that his youth and it's accom-
plishments were transitory. The evidences
were many and not to be mistaken. Boys
whom he had known as infants when HIM
self was quite a good-sized lad could now
run faster. jump further. lift heavier
weights than he, and had even surpassed
him in their strdies-he who had once been
the "brag" boy of the school, yielding to
none in physical or mental prowess. A short
run had come to make him weary, jump
ing tournament with the boys crippled him,
and he was learning now to know the aches
and pains to which his boyhood life had
been q stranger. Many things that he hao
seen through the hazily glorious mist Inat
surrounds our castles in the air. he had at
tanned and passed, only to find them less de-
sirable than they had appeared from a
more distant vantage ground. He had
reached the place in life where the young
man for the first time begins to realize that
there sre things of youth to be lost and re-
GREETED, even as there are things of ma
turity to be gained and priced. This reali-
eaton always at first brings sadness, yet
the thoughtful man did not remain sad
really thoughtful men cannot remain so.
The sunshine and sweetness and love of our
human existence will not permit them to do
SO. Nevertheless there was sadness for
time in the heart of the thoughtful man.
His wife and little one-the composite sun
shine of his home-were away, a circum-
stance that made it much easier for his
pensiveness to hold it's sway.
He sat down at the piano and ran his
xoIo ;14;xy ut. of
an old-time reverie came to his mind and
instinctively his fingers struck the first
chord of the melody. Through the first bar
he went safely cautiously, then he STUN
bled-it was gone. What, the old reverie his
sister taught him to play-his favorite and
his wifes-the tender, touching Star of
the Sea- gone? Surely not; he could never
forget that. Again he attempted to repro
duce the sweet, wailing strains so full of
tenderness and tears, but 1t would not
come. His mind and heart were full of the
air, of the spirit, of the piece, but his poor.
forgetful fingers knew not their part.
This was the saddest realization Of ALL
the most serious of the losses that had sig
nalized the departure of his youth. He
had thought that music part of his life
it was not. 1t had been part of his youth
only, and it had gone. New loves had come
into his life to sweeten it, new powers had
come to his manhood to strengthen him.
to bring him honor and fortune; but the
sweet old melody that had one time crept,
almost of it's own volition, among the ivory
keys, drawing his fingers after 1t and teach
ing them to speak the thoughts that never
welded themselves to words and to express
the feelings too subtle to analyze or even to
underStand-that dear, dreamy old tune was
gone In his busy life he would never learn
it again, and 1T was gone forever. 1t was
like the final parting from an old friend; 1t
was the realization of death. And that is
the lesson of life. The thoughtful man
glided to his desk while the mood was up
on him and wrote:
THE FORGOTTEN MELODY.
There may be many a melody that's sweeter
Than the one my sister taught me long ago,
But its story of my life is far completer
Than the one my friend OF nesh and blood may
And now when all my heart and soul are singing
My stubborn hands refuse TO set it ringing
find cannot play 1t any more
There were signs and tears and heartaches in
There were whisperings of sympathy and love;
There were swelling strains of triumph and OF
There were thrilling chords that reached the
Many time with her love I've sat and
played it
Till felt knew the soul through which God
made it.
But I ind 1 cannot play it any more.
All my youth is slipping back into the shadow,
Once presence, now-alas-a memory
They were other feet. not mine, kissed by the
meadow.
Other feet that roamed the forest, wild and free
The man arose and paced the floor, ran
sacking his brain for words and thoughts
to continue the poem. 1t would not finish it
self. Mechanically he sat down at the piano,
and no knew II his fingers
the air he had thought was forgotten. He
was enraptured, and listened as If some
one else were the player. Presently he be-
came conscious Of the action OF hts hands,
and again the melody passed away--never
more 20 return. 5. w. GILLIAN.