I've often seen them storming the Carnegie Hall stage. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. But here was new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved to and fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart. Sheppard, who had been stricken down by the blow that prostrated her assailant, looked up, she perceived Jonathan Wild kneeling beside the body of Blueskin. Once again the cavalcade was in motion, and winding its way by St.
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