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And she said to herself, "I may be a fool, but Papa or the parish would have to pay an organist at least forty pounds a year. It costs less to keep me. So he needn't talk." Then in November came the preparations for the village concert. They were stupendous. All morning the little Erad piano shook with the Grande Valse and the Grande Polonaise of Chopin.

They are going to have a bazaar next week to try to give the thing a lift, but a hundred bazaars would not produce half that is wanted." "I gathered that there were difficulties of this kind," the visitor said reflectively. "As I came out of the church after service to-day I met the organist.

Augusta Amherst Austen, another organist, has written songs and hymn tunes, while Elizabeth Mounsey, also a performer, has published songs and piano pieces as well as organ works. Bartholomew, a sister of Elizabeth, is mentioned by Spohr as a child prodigy. She was a friend of Mendelssohn, who wrote his "Hymn of Praise" for her sacred concerts in London.

Self-reliant, frivolous Audrey, sitting alone in the church she had so casually attended surely that was one of the gains of war. People all came to it ultimately. They held on with both hands as long as they could, and then they found their grasp growing feeble and futile, and they turned to the Great Strength. The organist had ceased. Audrey was kneeling now.

Perhaps it was the music of an evening meeting; or it might be that the organist and choir had met for practice. Whatever its purpose, it breathed through his heated fancy like a cool and fragrant wind.

Why, it may be thirty or forty thousand, or even more." "Don't you wish you may get it?" the organist said, raising his eyebrows and shutting his eyelids. Westray was nettled. "Oh, I think it's mean to sneer at everything the man does. We abused him yesterday as a niggard; let us have the grace to-day to say we were mistaken."

"We were conversing on prayer. He said, 'A remarkable instance occurred in connection with my father. The former organist of Surry Chapel, Mr. Howard, was dangerously ill. He was greatly beloved, and his friends met for special prayer that God would spare his life.

But his health failed. It became necessary for him to retreat from the smoke and river fog of London, to the pure air of the coast. He accepted the place of organist, at Lynn, and settled at that town with a young lady who had recently become his wife. At Lynn, in June, 1752, Frances Burney was born.

However, he felt pretty sure, though it was exciting all the same. To reach the Hessian pew he was obliged to pass Miss Emery's. And it was empty! Robert arrived. The organist finished the voluntary. The leading tenor of the choir put up the number of the first hymn.

Oswald before them, each with a blue satin bow in his button-hole, and the bag with his surplice under his arm, the organist, the schoolmaster, and the two curates, bringing up the rear. Mr. Bevan, my Lady, and Miss Price, whirled up in the carriage, the omnibus discharged the friends of the choir, and two waggon loads of musical talent from the villages came lumbering and cheering in!