HARRIS (upon whom the explanation of matters has slowly dawned—­laughing):  “By Jove!  I beg your pardon.  Of course—­I’ve been mixing up the two songs.  It was Jenkins confused me, you know.  Now then.”

[Singing; his voice appearing to come from the cellar, and suggesting the first low warnings of an approaching earthquake.]

  “’When I was young I served a term As office-boy to an attorney’s
  firm.’”

(Aside to pianist):  “It is too low, old man; we’ll have that over again, if you don’t mind.”

[Sings first two lines over again, in a high falsetto this time.  Great surprise on the part of the audience.  Nervous old lady begins to cry, and has to be led out].

HARRIS (continuing):

  “’I swept the windows and I swept the door,
    And I—­’”

No—­no, I cleaned the windows of the big front door.  And I polished up the floor—­no, dash it—­I beg your pardon—­funny thing, I can’t think of that line.  And I—­and I—­oh, well, we’ll get on the chorus and chance it (sings):

  “’And I diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-de,
    Till now I am the ruler of the Queen’s navee.”

[Illustration:  “WHEN I WAS YOUNG”]

“Now then chorus—­it’s the last two lines repeated, you know.”

GENERAL CHORUS: 

  “’And he diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-did-dle-dee’d,
    Till now he is the ruler of the Queen’s navee.’”

And Harris never sees what an ass he is making of himself, and how he is annoying a lot of people who never did him any harm.  He honestly imagines that he has given them a treat, and says he will sing another comic song after supper.

Speaking of comic songs and parties, reminds me of a rather curious incident at which I once assisted; which, as it throws much light upon the inner mental working of human nature in general, ought, I think, to be recorded in these pages.

We were a fashionable and highly cultured party.  We had on our best clothes, and we talked pretty, and were very happy—­all except two young fellows, students, just returned from Germany, commonplace young men, who seemed restless and uncomfortable, as if they found the proceedings slow.  The truth was, we were too clever for them.  Our brilliant but polished conversation, and our high-class tastes, were beyond them.  They were out of place among us.  They never ought to have been there at all.  Everybody agreed upon that, later on.

We discussed philosophy and ethics.  We flirted with graceful dignity.  We were even humorous—­in a high-class way.

Somebody recited a French poem after supper, and we said it was beautiful; and then a lady sang a sentimental ballad in Spanish and it made one or two of us weep—­it was so pathetic.

And then those two young men got up, and asked us if we had ever heard Herr Slossenn Boschen (who had just arrived, and was then down in the supper room) sing his great German comic song.