A Chorus of Ten Thousand.

During the World's Fair at Chicago my present band was giving
nightly concerts in the Court of Honor surrounding the lagoon.
Onone beautiful night in June fully ten thousand people were
gathered round the bandstand while we were playing a medley of
popular songs.

Director Tomlins, of the World's Fair Choral Associations, was on
the stand, and exclaiming, "Keep that up, Sousa!" he turned to the
crowd and motioned the people to join him in singing. With the
background of the stately buildings of the White City, this mighty
chorus, led by the band, sang the songs of the people-"Home, Sweet
Home," "Suwanee River," "Annie Laurie," "My Old Kentucky Home,"
etc., and never did the familiar melodies sound so grandly
beautiful.

The influence of music to quiet disorder and to allay fear is quite
as potent as its power to excite and to stir enthusiasm. A case in
point happened at the St. Louis Exposition, where my band was
giving a series of concerts. There was an enormous audience in the
music hall when, in the middle of the programme, every electric
light suddenly went out, leaving the house in complete darkness.

A succession of sharp cries from women, the hasty shuffling of feet,
and the nervous tension manifest in every one, gave proof that a
panic was probably imminent. I called softly to the band, "Yankee
Doodle!" and the men quickly responded by playing the good old tune
from memory in the darkness, quickly following it with "Dixie" on