C.S., the orderlies about the door, the wounded French, British and Canadian soldiers that could stand, sprang to attention and so remained while the violin, with its piano accompaniment, throbbed forth the sonorous chords.

With the last bar, Barry dropped his bow to his side, but held the violin still at his chin.

Not one of that company moved, but stood with their eyes fastened upon his face.

After a moment's pause, he quietly lifted his bow again, and on the silence, still throbbing to the strains of that triumphant martial air, there stole out pure, sweet, as from some ethereal source, the long drawn, trembling notes of that old sacred melody, which, sounding over men and women in their hours of terror and anguish and despair, has lifted them to peace and comfort and hope--"Nearer, My God, to Thee." The tension which had held the company was relaxed, the wounded men sank to their seats, the A.D.

C.S.removed his hat, which, according to military regulations, he had worn to this moment.