.

Mr. Edward Lloyd, the famous tenor vocalist, was born in London in 1845.
When seven years of age he entered Westminster Abbey choir. Afterwards
he became solo tenor at the Chapel Royal, St. James's. Mr. Lloyd sang in
Novello's Concerts in 1867, and at the Gloucester Festival in 1871,
where he attracted much attention by his part in Bach's "Passion." In
1888 he went on tour in America, and sang in the Cincinnati Festival. In
the same year he sang also in the Handel Festival; and was principal
tenor in the Leeds Musical Festival in 1889. Mr. Edward Lloyd is an
artist "to the manner born," gifted with a perfect ear, a voice not only
of exquisite quality, but of remarkable flexibility, and is without
doubt the most popular tenor now before the public.

[Illustration: AGE 17.

_From a Photo. by Alder Bros., Cheltenham._]

[Illustration: AGE 21.

_From a Photo. by Mayland, Cambridge._]

[Illustration: AGE 26.

_From a Photo. by Thomas, Gloucester._]

[Illustration: PRESENT DAY.

_From a Photo. by Falk, New York._]

_The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes._

XVIII.--THE ADVENTURE OF THE MUSGRAVE RITUAL.

BY A. CONAN DOYLE.

An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock
Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest
and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain
quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one
of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction.
Not that I am in the least conventional in that respect myself. The
rough-and-tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on the top of a natural
Bohemianism of disposition, has made me rather more lax than befits a
medical man. But with me there is a limit, and when I find a man who
keeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a
Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a
jack-knife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin
to give myself virtuous airs. I have always held, too, that pistol
practice should distinctly be an open-air pastime; and when Holmes in
one of his queer humours would sit in an arm-chair, with his
hair-trigger and a hundred Boxer cartridges, and proceed to adorn the
opposite wall with a patriotic V. R. done in bullet-pocks, I felt
strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was
improved by it.

Our chambers were always full of che