Part 19 (1/2)

Eu un Da' ei u aa an oo. By oo eeeeyee aa Vaullee, Vaullee, Vaullee, Vaullee, Vaullee om is igh eeaa An ellin in is ud.

_Mrs. Dodd._ That sounds like gibberish.

_Sampson._ It is gibberish, but it's Drydenish in articulating mouths.

It is--

He sung Darius great and good, By too severe a fate Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, Fallen from his high estate, And wiltering in his blood.

_Mrs. Dodd._ I think you exaggerate. I will answer for Julia that she shall speak as distinctly to music as you do in conversation.

_Sampson_ (all unconscious of the tap). Time will show, madam. At prisent they seem to be in no hurry to spatter us with their word-jelly.

Does some spark of pity linger in their marble bos'ms? or do they prefer inaud'ble chit-chat t' inarticulate mewing?

Julia, thus pressed, sang one of those songs that come and go every season. She spoke the words clearly, and with such variety and intelligence, that Sampson recanted, and broke in upon the--”very pretty”--”how sweet”--and ”who is it by?” of the others, by shouting, ”Very weak trash very cleanly sung. Now give us something worth the wear and tear of your orgins. Immortal vairse widded t' immortal sounds; that is what I understand b' a song.”

Alfred whispered, ”No, no, dearest; sing something suitable to you and me.”

”Out of the question. Then go farther away, dear; I shall have more courage.”

He obeyed, and she turned over two or three music-books, and finally sung from memory. She cultivated musical memory, having observed the contempt with which men of sense visit the sorry pretenders to music, who are tuneless and songless among the nightingales, and anywhere else away from their books. How will they manage to sing in heaven? Answer me that.

The song Julia Dodd sang on this happy occasion, to meet the humble but heterogeneous views of Messrs. Sampson and Hardie, was a simple eloquent Irish song called Aileen Aroon. Whose history, by-the-bye, was a curious one. Early in this century it occurred to somebody to hymn a son of George the Third for his double merit in having been born, and going to a ball. People who thus apply the fine arts in modern days are seldom artists; accordingly, this parasite could not invent a melody; so he coolly stole Aileen Aroon, soiled it by inserting sordid and incongruous jerks into the refrain, and called the stolen and adulterated article Robin Adair. An artisan of the same kidney was soon found to write words down to the degraded ditty: and, so strong is Flunkeyism, and so weak is Criticism, in these islands, that the polluted tune actually superseded the clean melody; and this sort of thing--

Who was in uniform at the ball?

Silly Billy,

smothered the immortal lines.

But Mrs. Dodd's severe taste in music rejected those ign.o.ble jerks, and her enthusiastic daughter having the option to hymn immortal Constancy or mortal Fat, decided thus:--

When like the early rose, Aileen aroon, Beauty in childhood glows, Aileen aroon,

When like a diadem, Buds blush around the stem, Which is the fairest gem?

Aileen aroon.

Is it the laughing eye?

Aileen aroon.

Is it the timid sigh?

Aileen aroon.

Is it the tender tone?

Soft as the string'd harp's mean?

No; it is Truth alone, Aileen aroon.

I know a valley fair, Aileen aroon.