Altogether a gay and pretty scene. Grave persons might possibly eschew it or condemn it--but no, a large liberal spirit judges all things liberally, and would never see evil in anything but sin. I sat--enjoying all I could. But more than once ghastly imaginations intruded--picturing these young officers otherwhere than here, with their merry moustached faces pressed upon the reddened grass, their goodly limbs lopped and mangled, or worse, themselves, their kindly, lightsome selves, changed into what soldiers are--must be--in battle, fiends rather than men, bound to execute that slaughter which is the absolute necessity of war. To be the slain or the slayer--which is most horrible? To think of a familiar hand--brother's or husband's--dropping down powerless, nothing but clay; or of clasping, kissing it, returned with red blood upon it--the blood of some one else's husband or brother! To have gone on pondering thus would have been dangerous. Happily, I stopped myself before all self-control was gone. The first singer was a slim youth, who, facing the footlights with an air of fierce determination, and probably more inward cowardice than he would have felt towards a regiment of Russians, gave us, in a rather uncertain tenor, his resolution to "love no more,"--which was vehemently applauded--and vanished. Next came "The Chough and Crow," executed very independently, none of the vocalists being agreed as to their "opening day." Afterwards, the first soprano, a professional, informed us with shrill expression, that--"Oh, yes, she must have something to love,"--which I am sure I hope she had, poor body! There was a duet, of some sort, and then the _primo tenore_ came on for an Italian song. Poor youth!--a fourth-rate opera-singer might have done it better; but 'tis mean to criticise: he did his best; and when, after a grand roulade, he popped down, with all his heart and lungs, upon the last note, there arose a cordial English cheer, to which he responded with an awkward duck of the head, and a delighted smile; very unprofessional, but altogether pleasant and natural. The evening was now half over. Mrs. Granton thought I was looking tired, and Colin wrapped my feet up in his fur coat, for it was very cold. They were afraid I was not enjoying myself, so I bent my whole appreciative faculties to the comical-faced young officer who skipped forward, hugging his violin, which he played with such total self-oblivious enjoyment that he was the least nervous and the most successful of all the amateurs; the timid young officer with the splendid bass voice, who was always losing his place and putting his companions out; and the solemn young officer who marched up to the piano-forte as if it were a Redan, and pounded away at a heavy sonata as if' feeling that England expected him to do his duty; which he did, and was deliberately retreating, when, in that free-and-easy way with which audience and stage intermingled, some one called him:--