Bisbee daily review., 1918-03-31
A MAID LISTENED
 WHILE A NUN PLAYED

A Warren District girl. writing home form her convent school back wonder. told of entering the chapel just at twilight for a moments medi- tatiOn all alone and finding the moth CT superior seated at the organ. "I did not even know she could play wrote the girl. "and I paused in sur prise near the door, And then she dropped her fingers upon the keys, and oh. it was the voices of heaven that I heard, and not music"
 This newspaper man was much moved by this little girls feeling over the scene in that chapel and the mus ic she heard What a momenti To enter a chapel just at that hour when the twilight comes to dim the day. Of course, the tapers were burning before the altar; they always burn there, night and day, and the silver work and precious tokens gleamed in their delicate radiance. The archeo and plastered ceiling was fast filling with shadows. The Crucified One looked down from the alcOve on high upon the brown haired, blue eyed SO anu oO AeAAAF half timid. half bold and wholly en- tranced near the door, and the black robed figure at the organ keys.
 Maid and nun. One with eager feet and beaming eye upon the thresh- old of life, and the other with immO- bile face uplifted to the light of af- ternoon land and in her eye that se- renity that only the cloisters with thousand years of sacrifice and min istering grace can give.
 And the music this nun, usually so impassive, swept from the white gates of symphOnyl Where did she get the master touch and from what depths of an artist soul the expression that filled the chapers dim aisles with such sweet and moving melody oi sound? Who knows? From France, or Italy, it may be. Princess and peasant. they come to the cloisters; artist. singer, and maid with high ideas. Years ago this nun may have captivated the music lovers of old Rome, or she may have only played A tiny organ in a mountain cottage or village church. The old masters may have taught her their touch and style CT the gift may have come direct from heaven.
 What difference does it make?
 Certain it is that she played on. there in the twilight of that chapel; played so wonderfully the soft swee; notes of that chant wherein verdi sought to set his friends last sign to deathless song, that the listening. spelIbound maid began to wonder If this was a Loretto nun at the organ or St. Cecelia herself, returned Tor an hour from the quick and the dead to make of this beautiful chapel sound ing board for her matchless and mys- tic melody.
 What an hour for the maid. An, and what an hour for the nun, who might well, as she played. unconscious ly thrown off the many long years or service under those convent spires and that black hood, and, looking through those tinted panes, seen the nodding roses and flashing sunlight of some far off land where a maid wandered in the vines of an old world garden. Or, did she look forward in- stead of backward? Did she see brighter light than the sun, and fairer face than any maiden's face could be?
 Whether it was swet faced Memory who sat by her side, or Faith with inspired eyes, none may know. Bu; the maid who heard her play was haunted long after by the magic or her melody, and wrote to the folks al home that she had heard heavenly voices in that nave, although she knew full well that no one else was there except herself and the nun who sat at the organ.