No solemnity, no gravity, no authority, not the least what is usual in a provincial town. Even where the darker groups of men were collected, there was no seriousness or "decorum," as the Town Bailiff would have said, and indeed as he did say when, at a quarter before four, he joined the guests, in full uniform, and with his wife on his arm. The guests indulged in witticisms and laughter, the result of which was not impressive; all the people looked at them with amused glances as though they were comrades. The town was unrecognisable. When two boys contrived to clamber on to the chimney of one of the houses opposite the church, all clapped their hands and snouted. This had just occurred as the Town Bailiff arrived. Amid the guests immediately following him came the organist, very drunk. He was a young Swabian, who three or four years ago came to the town in the course of a musical tour, and there remained. The then organist had recently died--the organ was a marvellous one; beside which there was excellent sea-bathing. He was a soft, fantastic, thoroughly musical man, who as a rule was every one's favourite, and who had more to do than he could manage, but who on a holiday "_Wenn Konstantinople erobet warden ischt_," as he expressed himself, got drunk. This occurred but seldom, but when it was the case he did anything which took his fancy. This culminated when one day a home missionary was speaking from the chancel steps on the subject of sin, and the organist, noticing that every one was yawning, began to play the organ till it roared! It was pretended that the missionary made such very long pauses that the organist had been misled by the longest of them.