The greatest choral performance in those days, when Hannah sang _countre_, was a tune called “Majesty,” by Billings. William Billings was the musical wonder of these eventful times,—a rural Handel of the many neighborhoods of Puritan churches. He did not know much about counterpoint,—he followed only natural inspiration; but his music is still to be found in collections. This tune, “Majesty,” was thought to be his masterpiece, and was sung on all great occasions. The words were as stirring as the music:— “The Lord descended from above, And bowed the heavens most high, And underneath his feet he cast The darkness of the sky. “On cherub and on cherubim Full royally he rode, And on the wings of mighty winds Came flying all abroad.” Vigorous indeed was the rendering of this tune on Independence days, after the reading of the immortal Declaration, and before the Oration; and as inspiring also on Thanksgiving mornings, before the long sermon. It required much practice on the part of the orchestra, and hard were the bitings of the tuning fork, and severe were the rehearsals, before it could be acceptably performed. The soprano was a rural Patti, and as for the _basso profundo_, there is no present comparison. To sing _countre_ was held to be a great accomplishment in the days of the music of Billings, Maxim, and Holden. By _countre_ we do not mean the counter alto of the present time, but a kind of alto or contralto. It was often called the “natural alto,” for in these days of rural Handels, each church developed one or more female singers that were thought to have the gift of singing alto by direct inspiration. In the prosperous days of the old Swansea church, when the descendants of heroic Samson Mason, of Cromwell’s army, and of like heroes, sent out missionary colonies to Nova Scotia and elsewhere, Hannah Semple sang _countre_ in the ancient meeting-house, and her voice was the pride of the many neighborhoods. People used to visit the church from the distant villages in ark-like carryalls, and it was often said that many of them came less to hear the long sermon, in regard to the domestic affairs of the Jews in Jerusalem, than to hear musical Hannah, who sang _countre_. In the days of her musical triumphs Hannah never changed her humble name into Hannahetti. Her guileless soul never entertained any vanity like that, and yet local appreciation had given her a name as long as that of any modern singer. She was never spoken of as simply Hannah, but always as “Hannah, who sang _countre_,” a name that would be sufficiently picturesque for a modern concert bill. I first saw the old woman on a Sunday morning, as I was riding with my father to another church. It was in early May.