ve no words to
describe what a gracious comfort music has been to me all my life. It is
the noblest language which man may understand and speak. And I sometimes
think that those who know it, or know something of it, are able at rare
moments to find an answer to life's perplexing problems."

The little girl looked up from her plate. Robert Browning's words rose
to her lips, but she did not give them utterance:

God has a few of us whom He whispers in the ear;
The rest may reason, and welcome; 'tis we musicians know.

"I have lived through a long life," said another elderly man, "and have
therefore had my share of trouble; but the grief of being obliged to
give up music was the grief which held me longest, or which perhaps has
never left me. I still crave for the gracious pleasure of touching once
more the strings of the violoncello, and hearing the dear, tender voice
singing and throbbing, and answering even to such poor skill as mine.
I still yearn to take my part in concerted music, and be one of those
privileged to play Beethoven's string-quartettes. But that will have to
be in another incarnation, I think."

He glanced at his shrunken arm, and then, as though ashamed of this
allusion to his own personal infirmity, he added hastily:

"But when the first pang of such a pain is over, there remains the
comfort of being a listener. At first one does not think it is a
comfort; but as time goes on there is no resisting its magic influence.
And Lowell said rightly that 'one of God's great charities is music.'"

"I did not know you were musical, Mr. Keith," said an English lady. "You
have never before spoken of music."

"Perhaps not, madam," he answered. "One does not often speak of what one
cares for most of all. But when I am in London I rarely miss hearing our
best players."

At this point others joined in, and the various merits of eminent
pianists were warmly discussed.

"What a wonderful name that little English lady has made for herself!"
said the major, who was considered an authority on all subjects. "I would
go anywhere to hear Miss Thyra Flowerdew. We all ought to be very proud
of her. She has taken even the German musical world by storm, and they
say her recitals at Paris have been brilliantly successful. I myself
have heard her at New York, Leipsic, London, Berlin, and even Chicago."

The little girl stirred uneasily in her chair.

"I don't think Miss Flowerdew has ever been to Chicago," she