In the meanwhile a clergyman, from Windsor, communicated with me through one of the musical libraries in Bond Street, and secured my services for an evening party at his house; and it is with great satisfaction that I record the circumstance that I was recommended by Corney Grain, who was first applied to, but unable, for some reason, to accept for himself. After my recent conversation with him on the subject, I thought it most kind of him to perform an action which I should never have dreamed of asking him to do. The next two seasons I was occupied in forming and increasing a connection. George Dolby sent me several engagements in London, when he found the first one I fulfilled for him passed off without complaint! Then, in time, came the best sign of all that I was progressing; viz., the people began to write to me personally. At first I found it terribly uphill work. If the people do not know the singer they wont listen, on the paradoxical principle that they sometimes wont listen if they _do_ know him. Some are wonderfully well-known and have a facility for clearing the room almost as remarkable as have some reciters. The "chandelier-shaker" is invariably a "room-clearer." If in my earlier days (or even now for the matter of fact) people displayed no anxiety to hear me, I felt thankful if they did quit the room. Such conduct is preferable to that of the more fashionable people who stop in and talk. It is a very easy thing for the ordinary drawing-room amateur comic singer to make a success. He has only to watch his opportunity. He will wait, perhaps, till his audience and himself have had supper, and all are in the mood to be amused. But let him go professionally to a dull after-dinner party, where no one knows him, and he finds eight or nine elderly ladies yawning and wondering _when_ the gentlemen will come up and join them. Let him try that audience. If he can amuse them, he will not only be satisfied at receiving his cheque, but will be conscious of the fact that he has thoroughly earned it. I feel a special delight in persevering in waking up an audience like that. I resort to all sorts of measures by which I can do so. Once I was singing at a private house in the country to an odd assortment of people. I was informed that the party followed a wedding which had taken place in the morning. If it had followed a funeral, it would have accounted for the general depression and gloom which prevailed. I played the piano and the fool for three-quarters of an hour, and anything more dismal than the result it would be impossible to imagine. A temptation seized me suddenly, and I said: "Ladies and Gentlemen,--I am going to reveal to you a secret. Pray don't let it go any further. This is supposed to be a comic entertainment. I don't expect you to laugh at it in the least; but if, during the next sketch, you would only once oblige me with a Society smile, it would give me a great deal of encouragement."