"Look at old Auntie Barber mouthing it; won't she have a time, though, keeping up with the next strain!" Whereat the first soprano giggled, and whispered to the second soprano, who giggled, and passed the whisper down the line, and all were so much amused that they liked not to have been ready for the next strain, which ran so high that they expected to leave old Auntie in the lurch. But this time the gentlemanly Theodore was mistaken. Old Auntie's mouthing reached higher than any strain of music his small soul had ever felt. Whether the pipe organ was at fault, or whatever was the cause of it, hilarity seemed to develop in our choir, during the spring, to a really alarming extent. The gentlemanly Theodore took to writing notes, not always about the next selection, as was proved by finding one or two ran thus: "Father Stearns didn't approve of our last effort. Notice his face; it looks as though he had eaten a ten-penny nail preserved in vinegar." At another time a paper containing advice as to the next selection was found, and read as follows: "If Dr. Prosy ever subsides, let's sing 'Oh, long expected day begin,' as more appropriate to our feelings than the one we have chosen." Those notes, of course, had to travel the entire length of the large choir, and great was the amusement created; fans, handkerchiefs and hymn books were in constant requisition to cover the explosions of untimely mirth. There were also sundry little private missives, passed by the leader to his special favorites, which, of course, must be answered; and as there were young men in the choir who had favorites, and as a leader is to be followed of course, this form of entertainment became very popular. The gentlemanly Theodore also developed artistic talent, and adorned the fly-leaves of his note book with certain photographs labeled "The Deacon in the dumps," or "Old Auntie in a seraphic state;" and down the line would be passed the caricature of Deacon Slocumb with his chin dropped into his shirt collar, his thumbs interlocked in the act of twirling, and a frown on his forehead so deep that it seemed to cast a shadow over his whole face. Then dear old Auntie Barber's face would travel from one simpleton to another— her rather old-fashioned black bonnet exaggerated until it was larger and queerer than any she ever thought of wearing, and yet looking enough like it to suggest the old lady, even though her placid face hadn't peeped out from under it, her head slightly thrown back, her eyes closed, a pair of immense spectacles pushed up on her forehead, and a sort of exaggeration of satisfaction on her old face; the whole calculated to make the young and heedless laugh. It was really a good comic likeness of the old lady; there is no denying that the affable Theodore had other than musical talent. But there was that about the picture, after all, which it seemed to me was calculated to make a young person who had a dear old mother flush with indignation.