“Three pieces have been successfully got through, and as yet there has been no apology,” said a young man behind Bessie and her companion. “What do you mean?” observed another of the audience. “Why, only this――that in entertainments of this sort, where amateurs are to appear, there is generally some hitch, some mistake, and as a natural consequence an apology has to be made.” “Oh, no doubt we shall have one before the evening is over.” A young lady was now led on by the director. She had a piece of music in her hand, which shook and trembled like an aspen bough agitated by a passing breeze. It was painfully evident that she was nervous, and those who have experienced that sensation upon facing an audience for the first time will, I am sure, pity her. She was set down in the programme for Haydn’s canzonet, “My mother bids me bind my hair.” Luckily for her the piece in question has a lovely introductory pianoforte prelude. This gave the singer time to recover her first shock at seeing the sea of heads before her. There was no help for it――she had to commence. The prelude was over, and in faltering accents she began to warble Haydn’s plaintive music. But her throat was dry and husky――a thing by no means uncommon with nervous singers, and even the applause she received did not appear to lubricate it. It was evident she had a magnificent organ――I say organ advisedly, as it is a term invariably made use of by musical critics, and if they don’t know who should? Vulgar, commonplace people would perhaps call it a voice, but that’s no matter; organ is the “properer” term, as Artemus Ward would say. The young lady, however, could not possibly display her full powers in consequence of timidity; yet she did contrive to get through the piece creditably. In the morning she had sung it in Mr. Knight’s room magnificently. But despite her shortcomings the audience encored her. She, however, bowed and retired. There was a clamour for her return. The director had to rise from his seat for the purpose of bringing her back, but she declined. The clamour continued. Mr. Knight apologised, and pleaded indisposition, a cold, and hence the young lady’s inability to repeat the canzonet. The tumult was hushed. Charles appeared――he was accompanied this time by a harpist. A trio for harp, piano, and violin. This proved to be a very taking piece; it seemed to give general satisfaction. It was encored. It was not, however, repeated, the performers substituting another in its stead. This was done to give a greater variety to the entertainment. After another song and a harp solo, the first part was brought to a conclusion by the choir singing a magnificent chorus from one of the oratorios. While all this had been going on, the young man or gentleman it might be, who sat beside Bessie, was unremitting in his attentions to her and her companion, Mrs. Bristow, who, albeit a married woman, was not much older than the girl.