United States or Vietnam ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
But when the clock showed two minutes before the hour of one in the morning these words came in a blast: "The hou-ou-our of de-eath is at hand. The Gr-r-rim Rea-eaper is at the doo-oor!" "Then please, please, please GO AWAY!" screamed Hen, his teeth clacking a bone solo. Then half an hour passed, a quarter-gale of wind making the only sound that came from outside.
Of course there was always a waiting list of youngsters who would coax a few hoarse toots out of the alto horn, and we always had a bunch of kid clarionetists who would sail along grandly through the soft parts and then blow goose notes whenever they hit the solo part. But try as we would, we could never get more than two cornets. One of these was Ad Smith.
Won't my old aunt be in a way though, when she sees the surplice, and finds she has another to make! I say, Hurst, didn't you croak out that solo! Their lordships in the wigs will be soliciting your photograph as a keepsake." "I hope they'll set it in diamonds," retorted Hurst. The boys began to file out, putting on their trenchers, as they clattered down the steps.
Here, at last, the Schérézade phrase is heard on the violin solo, to chords of the harp; but presently it is lost in the concluding strains of the love story. In the quality of the romance it approaches the legends of a later age of chivalry. In the main it is the long quest and the final meeting of a prince and a princess, living in distant kingdoms.
Once I answered an ad. to join a county fair. I even sent money to a vaudeville agent in Cincinnati. "Nothing doing in vaudeville for our kind of talent. It's cabaret where the money and easy hours is these days. Just a plain little solo act contralto is what you can put over. A couple of 'Where Is My Wandering Boy To-night' sob-solos is all you need. I'll let you meet Billy Howe of the Bijou.
Her movement across the room had a union of conscious stateliness and virgin grace which became her style of beauty; it was in itself the introduction to fine music. Mrs. Rossall went to accompany. Choice was made of a solo from an oratorio; Beatrice never sang trivialities of the day, a noteworthy variance from her habits in other things.
"Amarilly," he replied fervently, with the look that Colette was learning to love, "you did just right to use the surplices, and this contribution means more to me than any I have received. It was a sweet and generous thought that prompted your concert." Amarilly's little heart glowed with pride at this acknowledgment. At that moment came Bud, singing a snatch of his solo.
He swung a creditable racket at tennis, was always ready to contribute a baritone solo to charity concerts, and gave freely to the poor. He was what you might call a golden-mean man, good-hearted rather than magnetic, with no serious vices and no heroic virtues.
Nowadays proceedings in Parliament seem to be limited to a very occasional solo from the one star-performer, the rest of the time being occupied by uninteresting interludes by his understudies, all of which may serve to explain the decline in public interest.
"Oh, you would remember if you were really there," persisted Peggy, "because the program was extra fine and the solos were something to dream of." "Yes, yes the music was er, very er, musical, and the soloist, that is, the one who sang a solo, was er, the only one who er sang alone, I believe."
Word Of The Day