man was present at the concert with a large party of
friends, whom he had invited to hear this particular piece of music.
When the librarian asked the musician for the parts, he could not find
them, and a search high and low for the missing music was without
avail. Much to my chagrin, it was necessary to omit the number and send
explanations and regrets to the dignitary whom it was designed to honor.

At the end of the concert, when the men were packing to go home, the
player found the missing band parts stuck in the bell of his instrument,
where he had placed them for safe-keeping.

In a little Michigan town my band was booked for an afternoon concert,
and on our arrival the local manager assured us that we should have a
good house, although there was no advance sale. He explained this by
saying that the townspeople did not like to buy their tickets until the
last minute.

The theatre was on the second floor of the town hall, the ground floor
being given over to the fire department, the especial pride of the
community. Twenty minutes before the concert a large crowd had gathered
round the box-office to buy tickets when the fire-alarm sounded, and the
entire population promptly deserted the muse of music and escorted the
engine and hose-cart to the scene of action, leaving the band absolutely
without an audience.

A Tuneful Locomotive.

Once when we were playing during warm weather in a theatre situated near
a railroad, the windows were left open for ventilation. The band
was rendering a Wagner selection, and at the climax was playing with
increasing force. The last note to be played was a unison B flat, and
as I gave the sign to the musicians to play as strong as possible the
volume of sound that followed fairly astonished me. I had never heard
fifty men play with such force before and could not account for it, but
the explanation soon became manifest. As the band ceased playing,
the same note continued in the blast of a passing locomotive that had
opportunely chimed in with us in unison.

The Marine Band was once doing escort duty on Pennsylvania Avenue in
Washington to a body of citizen soldiery returning from camp. It was
at night and the parade was preceded by a wagon-load of fireworks which
were to be discharged at appropriate intervals along the line of march.

By some accident or design the entire load of pyrotechnics was
simultaneously ignited, and the street immediately filled with a perfect