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In the same way a singer trains himself to sing scales, giving every note exactly the same weight and preserving a most mechanical time throughout, so that every note of his voice may be accurately under his control and be equal to the subtlest variations he may afterwards want to infuse into it at the dictates of feeling.
In it he described himself as a lone wanderer on a strange sea in the darkness of a gathering storm and no beacon to guide him, when suddenly he hears a voice singing which guides him safe to shore. He speaks of the beauty of the singer and how dear she became to him, but he still hears the song calling him across the ocean of death." "Repeat what you remember of it," urged Wauna.
The singer stood at the kitchen-table washing the breakfast dishes a pretty picture, with her sixteen years just blossoming into pink cheeks and bright eyes a trim and dainty figure even in her simple dark print and white apron. She looked so happy and caroled forth her song so gaily, while she wiped the delicate china cups on the soft towel.
The lady, thus made her own judge, seemed to reflect a moment, and said, "I was a well-grounded musician, thanks to my parents; I was a very hard-working singer; and I had the advantage of being supported, in my early career, by a gentleman of judgment and spirit, who was a manager at first, and brought me forward, afterward a popular agent, and talked managers into a good opinion of me."
Our Smart Set is disintegrating now, and things look blue for social progress in Homeburg. Sally Singer is getting ready to be married this summer to a Pittsburgh man who wears a cane. The remaining three look like the old guard at Waterloo closing in under a heavy fire.
I can see the faces of all of them quite well, for each singer has a candle to light his music-book. And next to the monk stands the boy, the handsomest boy in the whole world probably at this moment. I can see now his great, liquid, dark eyes, and his exquisite face, and the way he tossed back his long waving hair when he struck into his part.
A offerin' Norma an' me anything we'd name to give her up, such a fancy as she's taken to her, an' wantin' her fer her own." "And you, what did you say?" asked Miss Ruth, gently, watching Mary with tender eyes as she held the beautiful, chattering little creature so jealously in her arms, and thinking as she watched, of the life and reputation commonly accorded the great singer.
The melody was lulling; it had a refrain of delicious sentiment. The listener's eyes grew moist; there rose a lump in his throat. Dear Polly! Lovely Polly! Would he not cherish her to the day of his death? How could he have fancied that he loved anyone else? Darling Polly! When the singer withdrew he clapped violently, and thereupon called for another Scotch hot, with lemon.
But he had a vague impression that the mysterious singer in the deserted camp attached no meaning to what he chanted. "Look out, I say! I don't want to come a cropper here." It was Dol's young voice which rang out shrilly among the mountain echoes.
It was the custom to hang the verses up in the smoking room, and on that fact, even, Father later wrote some doggerel. It was while on this expedition that he wrote, "Golden Crowned Sparrow in Alaska," one verse especially: But thou, sweet singer of the wild, I give more heed to thee; Thy wistful note of fond regret Strikes deeper chords in me.
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