upon the wraiths of Shakespeare, Whitman, and Co., I would light
out without delay. Good heavens! I blush at the thought of it! A
header through a cloud would be the only thing.--Seriously, I was
deeply touched by your praise and wish I were more worthy."

His pupil and friend, Mr. W.H. Humiston, recalls that, in going over
MacDowell's sketchbooks and manuscripts after his death, he found that
many of the manuscripts had been rewritten several times: "I would
find a movement begun and continued for half a page, then it would be
broken off suddenly, and a remark like this written at the end:--'Hand
organ to the rescue!'"

I told him once that I had first heard his "To a Wild Rose" played by
a high-school girl, on a high-school piano, at a high-school
graduation festivity. "Well," he remarked, with his sudden
illumination, "I suppose she pulled it up by the roots!" Some one sent
him at about this time, relates Mr. Humiston, a programme of an organ
recital which contained this same "Wild Rose" piece. "He was not
pleased with the idea, having in mind the expressionless organ of a
dozen years ago when only a small portion of most organs was enclosed
in a swell-box. Doubtless thinking also of a style of organ
performance which plays Schumann's _Träumerei_ on the great organ
diapasons, he said it made him think of a hippopotamus wearing a
clover leaf in his mouth."

A member of one of his classes at Columbia, finding some unoccupied
space on the page of his book after finishing his exercise, filled up
the space with rests, at the end of which he placed a double bar. When
his book was returned the page was covered with corrections--all
except these bars of rests, which were enclosed in a red line and