“Come, Miss Simmons, do play for us now, that’s a good soul!”

“Indeed you must excuse me!”

But no excuse would be taken.  And in spite of protestations, she was forced to take a seat at the piano.

“Well, since I must, I suppose I must.  What will you have.”

“Give us ’Bonny Doon’—­it is so sweet and melancholy,” said an interesting-looking young man.

“‘Charlie over the Water,’ is beautiful—­I dote on that pong; do sing it, Miss Simmons!”

“Give us Auld Lang Syne.’”

“Yes, or Burns’s Farewell.’”

“‘Oft in the Stilly Night,’ Miss Simmons—­you can sing that.”

“Yes, ’Oft in the Stilly Night,’—­Miss Simmons,” said half-a-dozen voices, and so that was finally chosen.  After running her fingers over the keys for a few moments, Miss Simmons started off.

Before she had half finished the first verse, the hum of voices, which had commenced as soon as she began to sing, rose to such a pitch as almost to drown the sound of the instrument.  She laboured on through about a verse and a half of the song, when she rose from the piano, and was proceeding to her vacant seat.

“O no!—­no!—­no!” said half-a-dozen voices at once.

“That will never do-we must have another song.”

“Indeed I can’t sing to-night, and must be excused,” said the lady warmly, and so she was excused.  But soon another was chosen to be victimized at the piano, and “will-ye-nill-ye,” sing she must.  Simultaneous with the sound of the instrument rose the hum of voices, which grew louder and louder, until the performer stopped, discouraged and chagrined.

“That’s beautiful!  How well you play, Miss Emma!” and Miss Emma was forced to resume the seat she had left half in mortification.  All was again still for a moment.

“Can you play the ‘Harp and Lute,’ Miss Emma?”

“No sir.”

“Yes you can, though, for I’ve heard you many a time,” said a smart young lady sitting on the opposite side of the room.

The blood mounted to the performer’s cheeks.  “Indeed you’re mistaken though,” half pettishly replied Miss Emma.

“But you can play ‘Yankee Doodle,’” retorted the first speaker.  Miss Emma left the instrument in anger.

“I’ll never speak to the pert minx again as long as I live,” whispered Miss Emma in the ear of a friend.

Thus ended the musical exhibition for that evening.  As the spirit of wine grew more active, the men became less formal in their attentions, and the young ladies less reserved.  Before the company broke up, I almost blush to say, that there was scarcely a lady present who had not suffered her red-ripe lips to be touched by those of every young man in the room.  And on all these proceedings, the parents of Julia looked on with keen satisfaction!  They liked to see the young people enjoying themselves!