The modern airs are cheerful, melodious and sweet; we hear them sung
and whistled all day upon the street. Some lilting ragtime ditty
that's rollicking and gay will gain the public favor and hold it--for a
day. But when the day is ended, and we are tired and worn, and more
than half persuaded that man was made to mourn, how soothing then the
music our fathers used to know! The songs of sense and feeling, the
songs of long ago! The "Jungle Joe" effusions and kindred roundelays
will do to hum and whistle throughout our busy days; and in the garish
limelight the yodelers may yell, and Injun songs may flourish--and all
is passing well, but when to light the heavens the shining stars
return, and in the cottage windows the lights begin to burn, when
parents and their children are seated by the fire, remote from worldly
clamor and all the world's desire, when eyes are soft and shining, and
hearths with love aglow, how pleasant is the sinking of songs of long
ago!