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All turned their heads to listen. "Bravo! Bravissimo! A delicious idea!" cried the merry connoisseur of Art, running from one to another to arrange a rustic divertissement, as he called it. He made a beginning himself by leading out the lady who had played the guitar in the arbor.
This Francisco had composed a saraband, which either charmed or infatuated every person; for the whole guitarery at court were trying at it; and God knows what an universal strumming there was. The Duke of York, pretending not to be perfect in it, desired Lord Arran to play it to him. Lady Chesterfield had the best guitar in England.
There ain't a balcony, but see there! there's the top of the bay windy and I can lean out why didn't yer tell me yer could play the guitar?" "Because I can't." "A harp, belike?" "No; guess again." "Yer no good; but yer'll come?" "Shurre; an' more be token it's at eight 'o the clock Oi'll be under yer windy." He gave the accent with such Celtic gusto that the little girl was captivated.
Everyone knows everyone. Good natured badinage plays like wild-fire, up and down and across the street. Later on, the tinkle of mandolin and guitar is heard far into the night watches. Having determined to reach Auburn thirty miles away the next day, I made an early start. Coloma lies at the bottom of the great canon of the South Fork of the American River.
"But it isn't anyone else," persisted Iola, "and my doctor says yes. I'll only hum, Jack." "Well, one only. And mind, no fugues, arpeggios, double-stoppings, and such frills." She took her guitar. "I'll sing this for Barney's dear mother," she said.
Why, Helen, she's no taller than you are." "She's dainty," repeated her chum. "But she looks odd." Below, on the other deck, the music of a little orchestra had been tinkling pleasantly. Now a man with the harp, another with a violin, and a third with a huge guitar, came up the companionway and grouped themselves to play upon the upper deck.
Besides, she knows Mr. Spens; he has been our excellent man of business for years. But come, Fluff, I am not going to talk over weighty matters with you. Have you brought your guitar? If so, we'll go into the south parlor and have some music." "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight good nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen excellent! Oh, how out of breath I am, and how hot it is!
The jubilant shriek of the violin, the lively twang of a guitar, the "boom! boom" of a drum marking time, the stentorian voice of the master of ceremonies, reached her plainly as she lay staring at the stars through the single window of her room. She liked the sounds; they were cheerful; they helped to shut out the dying face of Alice Freoff and to dull the pitiless voice of the coroner.
Barclay, hearing her son, smiled and shook her head and knew him for a Thatcher; "No Barclay," she said, "ever could carry a tune." So the mother brought out from the bottom of the trunk her yellow-covered book, "Winner's Instructor on the Guitar," and taught the child what she could of notes. Thus music found its way out of the boy's soul.
As if the music had been powerless to express her wild delirium, she threw the guitar aside, and half rising from the couch and extending her arms toward the door, she repeated, in an expiring, languishing voice, "Oh! come, come, come!" To paint the electric look with which she accompanied these words would he impossible. Jacques Ferrand uttered a terrible cry.
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