again for another quarter of an hour.  We—­the audience—­are disappointed, we feel we have been tricked, and we therefore sulk for a season.  But the Scherzo is so long, it gives us time to get over our ill-humor, though we are mutually resolved that we will not have him back again.  Vain hope!  From the far end of the room comes thundering applause, which never dies away until the talented flutist appears on the platform again.  We find out afterwards that he treats the whole of his establishment to the cheap seats; so, of course, poor things, we cannot blame them.  They are only earning their wages.  Perhaps they are presented with an extra shilling each when their master returns home.

It is a curious thing how we all like applauding and making a noise.  If you notice, at organ recitals in the Church we feel quite uncomfortable.  We think we ought to do something at the conclusion of the pieces; so, as we may not clap our hands, we all give a little rustle and cough.  This is to show our approbation. Everyone coughs.  It is astonishing how many people have bad colds.  For my part I think it is a pity applause is not allowed.  It is infinitely preferable to the coughing at any rate.

Of course the comic singer goes down best.  He is called back three, sometimes four times.  The schoolboys behind grow excited, and greet him with a whistle that would do credit to the “gods.”  This is too much for decently-clad minds, anything so profane as that whistle.  The clergyman, who is in the chair (the proceeds are always to be devoted to some charitable object), rises and insists “that if that most objectionable noise does not cease, the boys will have to be turned out.”

Where the “objectionable” comes in I cannot think.  The boys are very clever to be able to do it.  I have often tried it, and cannot succeed, and so conclude it must be a difficult accomplishment.  They stick about four fingers in their mouths, and thereby make quite a different sound to any ordinary whistle.  However, it is no wonder the chairman discourages it.  When he was reading a few minutes before, reading out some dry little tale with a moral, in which the humorous parts were the heaviest, no encore whistle was accorded him.  He was clapped loudly, of course—­is he not one of the chief men in the parish?  But no one wished to hear him read again, so we stopped our applause just in time to prevent him from re-appearing.

We go home glad at heart, and two mornings later read an account of the evening’s performance in the local paper.

We find there a few statements which agree with our own feelings.  They say that “Mr. Jones sang in a pure and cultured manner, and deserves special attention for his sweet tenor voice and the refinement of the sentiment in his songs” (whatever that may mean!) “Mr. Smith played two violin solos with remarkable precision of touch and with the greatest ease;” while “Miss.  Blank, with a good contralto, was all that could be desired in both