“It was the 15th evening, with that long Psalm, you know, and never have I heard such chanting. T. knows his psalter by heart, and never seems to look at the book; his mind is busy with half a dozen things, and he keeps up a running commentary of the quaintest but most maddening kind on the music, the singers, the cathedral, and what not. The choir is admirably trained, and the boys’ voices are good, better than the men’s; and they pronounce every syllable, though _andanti con moto_, and got through the seventy-three verses without a slip. Trackers, as a rule, only indicates illustrations, reserving greater effects for greater needs; but once he just threw in a pedal F natural, to express his opinion of the blacklegs of Ephraim, which absolutely withered and shrivelled them up. “‘_Three chants we have for this long psalm_,’ he began, ‘_starting in A; sort of reciting, historical chant--do you understand stops? Just pull out that chap_’--and he pointed with his big nose--‘_listen to that tenor; he’s as flat as Holland_’--and he warmed him up with a reed on the solo--‘_we can’t afford Sims Reeves, and this is a decent little chap; now that coupler, please_;’ and he “brought waters out of the stony rock”: ‘_verse 19 brings us into D, with a heavy bass, good for the plagues farther on. Dean’s away this week, don’t know where--now the reeds, please_’--and he “rained down manna,” and “brought in the south-west wind,” and with a sudden cyclone “slew the wealthiest of them,” and then bit by bit he muzzled the monster, while the Israelites were falling into forgetfulness, till there was only just enough to keep up the pitch. Then he broke out again: ‘_Did you hear of the Dean’s uncle, and his will? Always hoped to get something out of him, and last Christmas the old fellow died in town--now those two at the side_:’ and suddenly the organ began to live again, and to grow, and we rushed into the plagues of Egypt. I looked over the rail and saw the eyes of the boys positively shine: the men were shifting from one leg to another, as the growl of the pedals increased.” (“Dear me! how strange,” the old man interpolated; “I always change legs every verse when I am excited.”)