The program of my mostly choral music last night sounded balanced: Three Motets, Water Music, Give All To Love (world premiere of this two-part chorus and piano affair, on Emerson verses, sung with the antiphonal choreography of which Gregg's so fond), Hearing (the four-voices and nine-instruments version), and finally Letters from Paris of which the fourth movement brought tears to my eyes, now so much for the beauty of the music as for the aptness of Janet's text about the funeral of Colette, which could as easily been her own, with its picture of 'the palatial tree-filled Palais Royal Garden, at the opposite end of which she lived for many years, and where she had died suddenly, and painlessly, in the evening, after a small sip of champagne.'