Year: 1877

v,
for, when l would pour forth my soul in
some grandly thrilling measure, q star
tied look would creep into her sweet
young eyes, and the little hand would
tremble as she turned the leaves of her
song book.


This was sasfaras our acquaintance went.
We talked only in music; and how eag-
erly | watched for Sundays dawn, that
| might, as bird to its mate, tell of my
love IN song.


One Sunday, after year of exquisite
enjoyment of my untold love, when the
bright May poured its yellow streaks of
gold into the whispering baby leaves of
the oaks, drinking softly, as fairies might,
the glittering dew drops nesting in the
flower cups, missed the fresh young
voice in our church music, and the little
daintily dressed figure in the large old
family pew. Glancing at the pulpit, l
found stranger filling DIR. Auderly s
place. A wild fear of something in the
future seized my heart, and that day I'm
sure the music must have been poor.


AS | was hurrying out Of the organ
loft, wild with fear and uneasy thoughts,
some one of the choir remarked behind
me in tone of deep sympathy


Poor little May Auderly! Is it not
sad that one so young and beautiful
should lie dying this sunlit spring morn
ing?"


! stopped to hear no more, but, stun
ned and bewildered, sought my shabby
room and locking out the cold, unfeeling
world, tainted upon the floor. When
consciousness returned, [ thought how
drear my future life must henceforth be.
believed then (in the first great shock
that death had thus afflicted me, because
| |, the plebeian musician, had no right
to look upon the purple aud golden
! hangings of "young loves dream.
That was only for the rich and high.
Since then, years with their better,
cooler judgment have taught me where
to look for the silver lining to the thun-
der cloud and tonight [ smile upon
even this shadow, knowing that in the
bright q" to come all will be clear as the
sun in mid heaven.


Stealing softly out and down the tree
darkened streets to DR.. Auderly's man.
sion, l entered the iron gate bordered
with tall, dark evergreens, and sat upon
the marble base Of the pretty fountain
sending up sprays of crystal water in the
silver moonlight as if there were no such
thing in all the world as sorrow OF death.
By the sound of passionate weeping COM
ing through the half closed parlor blinds,
[ knew all was over, and my darling
would sleep till Christ should come to
gather up his jewels; and, kneeling there
amid the flowers, watched with the
dead inside until the first faint blush of
morning painted the eastern sky.
Being neither friend nor associate of
the Auderlys,I I knew not how to gain
one more look at my frozen darling and
sitting down upon the little hard bed,
the chief attraction of my attic room,
wept as only a young, lonely man can
weep when he gives up, in the full tide
of life, his last hold Of love on earth. A
knock at my door aroused me, and SER
want handed in card with the written
request that I should play the funeral
dirge of Miss Auderly, at her late resi-
! dence. Thankful for even this chance, |
bowed assent, determining music should
tell the lowering angel spirit, my deep,
wild love-love that in life [ dared not
breathe, but which in death became
gloritied


Softly entering the dark room, fast
filling with weeping friends, [ stood for q
moment, before taking my seat at the
organ, by the side of the handsome rose.
wood casket and gazed for the last time
upon all that was mortal of my idol. The
little figure lay stiff and cold in it's bill
lowy robe of white. The waxen fingers
held to the silent breast pure white flow
ers, and lily slept in the dark brown
! curls. Bending over her, / caught sigh
of mislaid ringlet and gently replaced
it, allowing my hand to rest for an instan
/ on the pale, cold brow. That was my
farewell for earth


/ feel tonight the separation cannot bt
long, now, for have grown old in years
"and the grasshopper is become a bur
then = and often in the quiet of twilight
[ think 1 hear the dip of the boatman
oars as he crosses the "river of death,
and the cool, damp mist from it's banks
arises and vets the old mans brow.


All, Bell Seymour the hideous ole
musician so worthless in your merr,
sight has turned down leaf in his folded
life all your beauty and wealth coult
never buy. A white finger has pointeC
to me country where no fading or part
ing comes a country whose maker AM
builder is God and I know some day
perchance in the gathering twilight,
shall pass quietly away and take m,
"chamber in the silent halls of death.
Till then feel


"There's beautiful face in the upper air,


That follows me ever and near,


With soft. sweet eyes and with raven hair


With voiceless lips, yet with breath of praye