I was at this time about sixteen and a member of the Brighton Symphony Society. We played the symphonies of the old masters to not very critical audiences in the Pavilion, and I have also played in the Brighton Town Hall. It was at these meetings I first fell in with OURY. I noticed a little group in the ante-room on one of the rehearsal nights; they were chattering round a thickset crotchety-looking little man and trying to persuade him to do something. He held his fiddle, but would not easily yield to their entreaties. They were asking him to play. At last he raised his Cremona to his chin and began to improvise. What fancy and delicacy and execution! what refinement! His peculiar gift lay not only in a full round tone, but in the musical" embroideries "the long flourishes, the torrents of multitudinous notes ranging all over the instrument. I can liken those astonishing violin passages to nothing but the elaborate embroidery of little notes which in CHOPIN'S music are spangled in tiny type all round the subject, which is in large type. When OURY was in a good humour he would gratify us in this way, and then stop abruptly, and nothing after that would induce him to play another note.