He imported in the place of the irate bass singer a young man with a faultless voice and dress. To be sure, this importation created dismay; it was whispered abroad that the owner of the divine voice supported himself by selling fancy liquors in a fashionable up-town saloon! Could it be endured that he should roll out the praises of God in our choir on Sundays, and deal out liquid death to our young men during the week? There were many who thought it could not, and Deacon Slocumb was appointed chairman of a committee to interview the savage leader, who, after hearing his somewhat lengthy complaint, silenced him with the severe statement: "You are laboring under a foolish mistake, Deacon Slocumb. I engaged the young man because of his voice, not because of his business. He does not sell his fancy drinks in our choir on Sunday, and it is a form of business which has not, as yet, affected his throat. He has a very cultured voice, which can be said of very few singers in this town, I assure you; music is at a very low ebb here, and lower nowhere than in your church. I tell you frankly I do not think there is a man among you who knows real music when he hears it, and therefore it is absurdly impossible that you should be permitted to dictate to me." The deacon was silenced, but not convinced. Still, we had been through such seas of trouble with our choir that we trembled at the thought of touching it. And then, there was dear old Auntie Barber, who murmured: "Well, the young man gets to church twice a day by this means; and they do say he hasn't been in the habit of going to church for years. If he has a mother, poor soul, she must be glad of something that brings him within sound of the Gospel." And yet Auntie Barber remembered, within her honest, sinking heart, how they had rejoiced in bringing the affable Theodore under the sound of the Gospel, and how disastrous had been the apparent results. There came a morning in our church which I am inclined to think was a triumph to our highly cultivated leader. One by one the chorus had slipped away, until now there were left just four singers—the leading soprano, the best alto we had, the divine bass voice of the saloon clerk, and for tenor, Handel Beethoven himself. That he was satisfied with the situation he showed in his face, and the first piece they rendered certainly astonished the congregation. Joe Slocumb, who was learning to take notes of what was said and sung, for the benefit of the dear old grandma at home, gave the following copy of the words: "Whytee ugh seeeepro take tip ou-ou-ou-ouur Beem I'ven wiiiish us till, Nan mate is conseek raaateee tower, We uth beeeta ropes by Phil." In vain did grandma don her spectacles and study carefully for a familiar word. Then she laid the paper down with a sigh and a protest: "I didn't think, Joe, that you would be for playing tricks on your old grandma."