Our Church Choir by Pansy

THERE was a time when our church had no choir, but gloried in the fact that we had congregational singing. At least the conservative fathers gloried in it; but the aggressive young people grumbled much.

And certainly the most gentle spirit might have found some occasion for grumbling. If the thing had been named "congregational drawling" instead of "singing," perhaps it would have been as correct. Our church was large, and the leader, a dear old man who had led the singing from time immemorial, until his ears had deafened and his voice cracked in the service, was unable to keep the scattered elements of his army in order. Sing as slow as he might, he always finished the line at least two syllables in advance of old Auntie Barber, who sat in the southwest corner back pew, and who had a chronic affection of the nose and throat which caused her to pronounce her words somewhat after this fashion: