Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1907-05-18
TOMAKE THE NIGHTINGALE SING
IN EVERY CELL OF YOUR BRAIN

rreckle on the left side OF her pretty nose
a sas, you Knew away back yonder In the
Is wen under way. Lolling back in your
roller chair. you listen in a sort Of trance.
ana the wailing of the violin seems to de-
note the unhapDiness of your own life be-
cause those nearest to you don't understand
you-no, dog-gone II, they will persist in
ms, You for the remainder OF
woman. though-dne, wavy. chestnut hair
ana broad. noble brow: fellow that's got
ner-if any fellow has-is mighty lucEy.
th that Shap Knows how to pick out
Marveious instrument. harp Got the nj.
ano reduced to splinters when il comes 10
real real music, the harp. Well. out of here,
fellow think OF those folks who nersisten,vv
misunderstand him. Chairboy. on your
way
When the Waltz Begins.
"Out on to the brilliant Appian way OF
the sea again, then, with the gusty exhala-
tons OF laughing Neptune tanning your fe-
vered brow-fevered with the sublimated
JOY OF life and things. You progress a
block or 50. when you begin to sway.
waltz time, In your chair What Is ito
Where Is lit oh. another garden. and
there's an orchestra of fifty pieces in there.
mostly strings. and the orchestra is play
Ing, as only weli-beered German male nor
sons know how to play it. 'On the Raarti
iui Blue Danube That's why you re sway
ing, waltz time. In your chair When VOL,
we're we're mere youngster you could listen to
that waltz and see the Danube flashing and
Dancing In the sunlight and whipping nm
Ger the moonbeams. and here you are sway
ing 70 1t and seeing the picture all over
teryears and OF all the years To comet
There's been nothing in the way Of a
Wanz 70 compare with you since! And Won
peg, peg,n 70 wonder II that wisD OF silver in
your mar Is on the level, and whether
you're not really back at the ALWAYS ridi-
cuied out ever-memorable moon-calf sta o.,
ei NE; when there was no such a word as
disenchantment. and when the wand os
Meriin-crashi goes the applause FOR arba
beautiful Blue Danube is over-ft has sped
past and Is on its way to the shining seal
bn; W tha u. Fine little dream. all the same
put the little wisp Of silver in the hair Is
there. all the same, and the roller chair
boy seems to be keen to be moyine-and
30 on; again. out into the night again. un-
oe. .ne starry lights of the Boardwalk
aiter. OF course. you've lined up for one
or two more just to show that nobody has
got mad or anything up to the present
/ moment Of time.
From the Moaning Cello.
Down to that hotel grill chair boy. that
mas all OF the table candles topped with
tiny red shades to match the roses on the
tables-looks coy and inviting In there. Il
Ii more than that. It La enchanting. be-
cause there's q fellow in there playing a
cello obligato-something of Schumann.s
that means and signs and whimpers and
pleads and implores-all in vain; the end ID
always denial. and there II no balm In
Gilead and no surcease Of sorrow. That
ieiow must be the astral body Of Gherardy,
he does 1t 30 consumma tely well. Dark
souled fellow, though, that Schumann must
have been. Folks must have misunderstood
him. too. Hellish. Ii sure Is, how deter
n 1tof Tor,
fellow. You move over near the 'cellist,
and, when he finishes, delicately ask him
to name what he's going to take. He
shakes his head as much as to say that
no mere booze. or no quantity of the same
could alleviate the ineradicable sorrow that
Ii carking his poetic breast. But he'll play
something else for you-he's pleased that
you're interested. And he plays the air OF
schubert's 'serenade.' while the violinIsts
and the harpist of the griil-room orchestra
drift dreamily along with him. Well. you
Where is washington? oh, yes: Place YOU
used to live In. long. long time ago
myriads OF centuries ago. But you're never
going back there any more. That's cnch.
Never. Through with Washington and all
that sort OF thing You're going to stick
where you can hear know-how chaps play
Schumann and Schubert on the cello when.
ever you Internally want to hear 1t, that's
all. and that's going to be all the timeI
Washington was never like this, Sacred
smokettes, but when that cello fellow does
that tremolo thing with his third finger on
the g string and then slurs straight up the
line to the top of the e string and does that
wooze shake thing with his little finger,
your spine-oh, well, you're going to get
out OF that hotel grill. The cello music is
durably beautiful. Why. If you sat there
and listened to that fellow. you'd-but let's
get back into the chair. The cello strains,
there is no nepenthe. Nope. Not bit OF
nepenthe. Never was any such thing az
nepenthe. -
A Fellow From Washington. sit
There's a fellow you know-used to live
in Washington-at hotel or the board
walk piece. You're rolled down there.
You find him In the Flemish grill room Of
that hotel. making rings on the table
with bunch around him. A Hungarian
nobleman-he's been suspended from the
army. and exiied for term of years for
dueiing, you learn-is playing Chopin at
the piano over yonder in the corner. He's
the employed pianist of the establishment
gang at the table OF your friend want the
other things. So the employed singer OF
the establishment Of the grill room comes
panies him. In a fine. rollicking baritone.
he sings San Antonio Wheel That gets
the Berserk blood a-tingling in you'll You
were broke in San Antoine once, and you
curl up from the river, pretty chilly. when
night fell-but that's all right! San Antoine
was and Is San Antoine, and here's fell
low that's got the spirit Of the thing in
his voice-and everybody In the ROOM
women as well as men. plays galioping
accompaniment on the black tables with
the bottoms of glasses when the chorus Is
reached, and Washington Is octillions Of
miles awayi Yee-ow! You can see the
green swinging doors of San Antoine, and
hear the all-night DRINKS laundering their
desperate songs. and even that memory
makes the world continue to swim In rose.
Then you have three more hours OF
mingled Chopin and Cheyenne, your
musical souse alternating from ecstacy
when the tables are being thumped with
the bottoms of the glasses to the deepest
despair when the cold star music of the
bleak Chopin is being sifted from the I'm
gers of the Hungarian nobleman-despair
because, blame 1t all! those people back
home will forevermore insist misunder-
standing you-and then, at 2, or 3. or 4, or
something like that In the morning, with
fragments of It all romping through your
mind your chair boy trundles you TO your
hotel.
..Er-there's a bit of music when you
come to that sounds pretty good. It's the
h. t<a lrac uaf inst Ia