The unexpected had happened, and such a shout as went up from that throng I have never heard equaled. Hats were tossed in the air, gray-bearded men embraced, and for a few minutes a jubilant pandemonium reigned supreme. During the rest of our stay in Fayetteville the repertoire of the Marine Band was on this order: "Yankee Doodle,"--"Dixie;" "Star-Spangled Banner,"--"Dixie;" "Red, White and Blue,"--"Dixie." In all my experience the acme of patriotic fervor was reached during a reunion of the Loyal Legion at Philadelphia some years ago. The exercises were held in the Academy of Music, and the band occupied the orchestra pit in front of the stage, which was crowded with distinguished veterans. I had strung together for the occasion a number of war-songs, bugle-calls and patriotic airs, and when the band played them the martial spirit began to stir the people. As we broke into "Marching Through Georgia," a distinguished-looking old soldier stepped to the foot-lights and began to sing the familiar words of the famous song in a loud, clear voice. The entire audience joined in, and as the swelling volume of melody rolled through the house, the enthusiasm waxed more intense. Verse after verse was sung, interrupted with frantic cheers, until it seemed that the very ecstasy of enthusiasm had been reached. It was only when physically exhausted that the audience calmed down and the exercises proceeded. A Chorus of Ten Thousand. During the World's Fair at Chicago my present band was giving nightly concerts in the Court of Honor surrounding the lagoon. On one beautiful night in June fully ten thousand people were gathered round the bandstand while we were playing a medley of popular songs. Director Tomlins, of the World's Fair Choral Associations, was on the stand, and exclaiming, "Keep that up, Sousa!" he turned to the crowd and motioned the people to join him in singing. With the background of the stately buildings of the White City, this mighty chorus, led by the band, sang the songs of the people-"Home, Sweet Home," "Suwanee River," "Annie Laurie," "My Old Kentucky Home," etc., and never did the familiar melodies sound so grandly beautiful. The influence of music to quiet disorder and to allay fear is quite as potent as its power to excite and to stir enthusiasm. A case in point happened at the St. Louis Exposition, where my band was giving a series of concerts. There was an enormous audience in the music hall when, in the middle of the programme, every electric light suddenly went out, leaving the house in complete darkness.