Listen! You can
scarcely believe that the singer is the same person who has just been
rattling through the "Old Gray Horse." Sweeney is no longer mirthful;
his voice sighs instead of laughing. He is singing his tender and
exquisite "Faded Flowers." He is telling you in tones as soft as the
sigh of the wind in the great oaks, how
"The cold, chilly winds of December,
Stole my flowers, my companions from me!"
Alas! the cold, chilly winds of the coming winter will blow over the
grave of the prince of musicians! Sweeney, the pride and charm of the
cavalry head-quarters, is going to pass away, and leave his comrades
and his banjo forever!
You would say that the future throws its shadow on the present.
Sweeney's tones are so sweet and sorrowful, that many eyes grow
moist--like Rubini, he "has tears in his voice." The melting strains
ascend and sigh through the old hall. When they die away like a wind in
the distance, the company remain silent, plunged in sad and dreamy
revery.
Suddenly Stuart starts up and exclaims:--
"Stop that, Sweeney! you will make everybody die of the blues. Sing the
'Old Gray Horse' again, or 'Jine the Cavalry!'"
Sweeney smiles and obeys. Then, the gay song ended, he commences a
reel. The banjo laughs; his flying fingers race over the strings;
youths and maidens whirl from end to end of the great room--on the
walls the "old people" in ruffles and short-waisted dresses, look down
smiling on their little descendants!
O gay summer nights on the banks of the Opequon! you have flown, but
linger still in memory!
In the autumn of 1867, I revisited the old hall where those summer days
of 1863 had passed in mirth and enjoyment; and then I wandered away to
the grassy knoll where "Stuart's oak" still stands.
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