“You shall have all we possess,” said the ex-King of Nebuhwa. “Kätchen,” added he to his consort, “get the bread, and bring out the Beethoven.” The Queen took the loaf and the duet out of a large fish-kettle which lay in one corner of the apartment. The King placed upon the table a guitar, four pewter plates, a violin, and a piece of cheese. Their Majesties dispensed their hospitality with much grace, a quality that is seldom wanting where there is goodwill. They apologized for the absence of wine, spirits, and beer, but they praised the virtues of the water of Hokianga. The beverage having been poured into horns, and each guest supplied with cheese and bread, her Majesty, at a signal from the King, who had assumed the violin, took up the guitar, and in a minute they were deep in the melodious mysteries of Beethoven. That Titan’s music on the guitar was something of an anomaly; but the truth is, that the lady’s copy was written for the piano, and it was her German ingenuity that adapted it to the only instrument she possessed. The guests had long terminated their repast, and ventured, as the duet proceeded, to make an occasional remark, which was speedily hushed by the _chef d’orchestre_, who would tolerate no commentaries during the interpretation of so splendid a text. The duet was finished only to be recommenced; detached passages were repeated over and over again; and the guests meanwhile were awed into absolute silence by the look, speech, and action of their host. It was a singular exhibition in a singular locality:—Beethoven in New Zealand, and free-born Englishmen subdued at Hokianga by the despotism of a French monarch in a foreign territory. “You play superbly, Baron,” at length said one of the four travellers. “Sir,” said the sovereign chief, “it is impossible to play ill on such an instrument as this. I adore my wife; I love my subjects, whom I would dress like Parisians if they would only heed me; but I venerate my violin.” “He has caught heathenism, and worships his fiddle,” whispered Chalton to a missionary on his right hand. “This violin, Sir,” resumed the Baron, “has seen as many lands as the Wandering Jew. It had been all over the world before it got into the hands of Platt; and it has been all over the world since it left them.” “And who is Platt?” said the missionary. “Platt, Sir,” answered the Baron, “was one of the first violin-players in England; but he was afflicted with modesty, and consequently was only known to his friends. He led your Duke of Cumberland’s private band at Kew,—and what a well-dressed band that was! it did honour to its tailor; and it had a European reputation for excellence. I wish I were as rich as a duke, and possessed so great a _maestro di capella_.”