The Englishman who shows his feelings loses his self-control, and becomes an object for the contemptuous pity of his compatriots. It is bad form. The sympathetic voice is unknown: people sing more or less loudly, more or less out of tune. When the hostess comes and tells you: "This gentleman is going to sing; he has a magnificent voice," that means that he has the voice of a Stentor. If I had to describe the nearest approach to the effect produced on one by Mrs. John Bull's _soirées musicales_, I should say, intense pains which I can only compare to toothache in the intestines. Imagine yourself to be having a molar tooth extracted from the depths of your stomach. * * * * * The musical evenings, _passe encore_: people make a good deal of noise, and you have the satisfaction of feeling that you are alive. Besides, when the row is over, you sup; and, as I have told you, Mrs. John Bull's suppers are very good. But there is something worse than the musical party; it is the _conversazione_, so called, because at this entertainment, you walk about a great deal and converse very little. On your arrival, you go and shake hands with your host and hostess, then off you go: your card of invitation is as good as a _feuille de route_. You walk at a funeral pace, with slow and solemn steps, until your knees give way, or your head swims. Then you steer for the buffet, and if you know how to use your elbows, you get a cup of tea or coffee, an ice, or a few biscuits. The buffet, being generally the great attraction of the evening, sustains a formidable siege, and you will not get at it without a struggle or even a few bruises. But after your first stage, you feel you must halt and take some refreshment, even though it cost you two or three blows: it is a case of necessity.