e
might vent his zeal in the trombone, or make melody on a triangle;
then, the orchestra was a kind of safety valve, where zealous men might
exert their powers until they were bathed in perspiration and
exhausted. In those days the musicians were men of considerable
influence in the public services; they could any time keep the
congregation waiting while they tuned up to harmony, or while the first
fiddle mended his string, or rosined his stick. True, a little
accident would occasionally happen in the midst of the service, such as
the falling of a bridge, but nobody was hurt, it was only a
fiddle-bridge; a nervous preacher might be just a little startled by
the thwack behind him, and a few of the light sleepers might be
suddenly aroused from their deep meditations to venture an
inappropriate response; and other little matters might occasionally
happen, as when some conspicuous instrument became excited, and played
somewhat sharper than the others in the band, thereby giving a twinge
of neuralgia to a few sensitive persons in the congregation; but then
they shouldn't be so sensitive,--others were not, not even the
musicians, and why should they? Besides, all these things, and a great
many more, too numerous to mention, helped to throw some variety and
feeling into the proceedings, and frequently afforded matter for lively
conversation when the people came out of chapel. Can any one wonder,
therefore, that the musical taste of the past should steadfastly resist
every effort to bring about a change in the composition and conduct of
our chapel orchestras?

Abe lived and flourished as a singer in those good old days, and it was
one of his greatest enjoyments to take his place among the singers in
the old High Street Chapel, and raise his alto voice in honour of Him
"whose praise can ne'er be told."

But there was another little pleasure which Abe very much enjoyed after
the services, and that was to walk home in company with a young woman,
one of the singers, too, named Sarah Bradley. She lived at Berry Brow,
and was a member in the same class as himself; she was about his own
age, and while she made no pretensions to beauty, she was what the
neighbours called "a real bonny lass." Abe thought her the nicest and
handsomest young woman he ever gazed upon. She was the very light of
his eyes, and her conversation was real music to him; he was so charmed
with her, that he would run a mile any time to look at her bonny fa