In the end, a popular song is killed by its own success; it is sung, played, and whistled to death. The hand-organs hasten the catastrophe. It is doubtful whether any popular song of to-day will have other than an ephemeral existence, there are so many more people than there used to be to wear it out. Some of the songs of forty years ago—notably, “Swanee River,” “Old Folks at Home,” and the “Mocking Bird”—are still frequently heard, which cannot be said of the popular songs of more recent years.

The war for the Union gave birth to quite a number of good songs, and “Marching through Georgia” will live as long as a soldier exists. Soon after the war we had “Silver Threads Among the Gold” and “Put Me in My Little Bed,” which were in everybody’s mouth, and put a great deal of money into the pocket of their author. But they are seldom heard nowadays; and the same may be said of “Captain Jinks of the Hoss Marines,” who fed his horse on corn and beans, and “Walkin’ Down Broadway.”

It is now some years ago since our ears were regaled with “Rock-a-Bye, Baby,” “Climbin’ Up the Golden Stairs,” and “See-Saw.” These were succeeded by “Maggie Murphy’s Home,” “McGinty,” “Annie Rooney,” the famous “Ta-ra-ra,” and “Monte Carlo,” which have already been turned down for “My Sweetheart’s the Man in the Moon,” “Daisy,” and the latest rage—“After the Ball.” It is said, by the way, that the author of the last-mentioned song is deriving a fortune from it. He has already cleared more than a popular novelist realizes from a four hundred page book.