Master Willie Cathcart, with his dog Leo, who barks for lumps of sugar. Mr. Cathcart, with a prodigious white vest and a black bâton, “as leader of the choir.” Rat-tat-tat! Misses and Masters, Misters and Mistresses, _ad lib., ad infin._ Tea and coffee at six o’clock—and why that should mean from half-past six to seven, custom must reply—is much better than tea at six o’clock. A sit-down tea is a mistake; it tries the temperament, terrifies the timid, and taxes the talkers, whereas tea and coffee implies wandering about with a cup in your hand, and spilling it as occasion requires; it makes work for the lads and pleasure for the lassies, and it breaks the ice between strangers. Little groups form and chat, and when a joke has taken with effect, it is passed on to a neighbouring group, and so all the company gets jocular. For instance, Tom Martin was surrounded by his favourites, and was replying to their questions as to how his violin had stood the cold journey. “Delightfully. But she is now reclining on the couch up-stairs, in order to get up her strength for the evening.” “That’s all fiddle de dee, said one.” (Applause.) “Why do you call the violin she?” asked another. “Because I have named her Pysche; she has so much life in her,” answered Tom. “You are her _sycophant_, then!” said another. (Renewed applause.) “It seems to me your violin always has a very _guttural_ sound with it,” remarked Alec Boyce. (Laughter.) “Yes,” replied Tom Martin; “and no doubt the poet detected the same thing in other instruments, when he composed those time-honoured lines— “Hey diddle diddle, The _cat_ and the fiddle.” Then the applause reached its climax, and of course the little jokes were retailed to other groups. By degrees the company in the tea-room began to decrease. In the cold months, however temperate the atmosphere may be kept, there is always a chilliness in passing from one room to another, and especially at parties. When, therefore, the drawing-room began to fill, Charlie started a proposition—“Had we not better have a dance to warm us?” and he added, “It used to be the fashion to terminate a concert with _God save the Queen_; and now the _National Anthem_ comes first, and it used to be the fashion to wind up a party with _Sir Roger de Coverley_, but why should we not begin with it?” Of course nobody knew of any just cause or impediment, and so the proposition was carried without a dissentient voice.