equivalent was to be found, a large and important section maintaining sturdily that the farmyard at the break of day provided a variety of such notes (examples given); while the lower forms rather more than hinted at their impression that not dawn but moonlight was made vocal with such sounds--moonlight and tiles, or perhaps a garden wall. Mr. Kelton was unable to profit by this purely academical discussion, or to give his casting vote to decide which of the theories--equally well supported by the disputants--was the more plausible. His weird shriek had struck terror even to his own soul--the ravening howl of Morley Quorn’s old “Wolf” sounded domestic by comparison--and with a gasp he had crumpled up the pages of his music and dashed the parcel at his feet, making a rush for the door, through which he went, closing it with an echoing bang that deprived the scene of the last shred of seriousness, and Mr. Kelton of the last shred of sympathy which his misfortune may have tended to excite among the audience. Miss Wadhurst, every one agreed, had behaved nobly under the ordeal to which she, as (to some extent) a participant in the fiasco, had been subjected. She showed that she was doing her best to mask the retreat of the tenor by limbering up and bringing into action all the heavy artillery within the compass of her piano, and she was smiling so good-naturedly all the time that soon the cat-calls and cock-crowing merged into applause. When she rose from the instrument with a laugh, and took her call, nodding to the boys in the distance, she received an ovation, and made a graceful retreat to a chair just below the altos of the chorus. In another minute Mr. Mozart Tutt was tapping with his _bâton_ on the music stand, the members of the chorus sprang to their feet, and order came about quite naturally while “When the Wind Bloweth in from the Sea” was being charmingly sung by the choir; and the remaining details of an admirably selected programme were tastefully performed. The performing members of the choir seemed extremely well satisfied with themselves, especially the “bassi”; but Mr. Morley Quorn wore a solemn look, while his friends were inclined to be jocular. He was wondering if, in spite of the verdict of science and the agnostic trend of modern thought, there was not such a thing as retributive justice. He felt strongly on the vexed question of “lessons.” Surely the downfall of Mr. Kelton the tenor should convey to the most careless of amateurs the necessity for the maintenance of a spirit of meekness even though he may be able (upon ordinary occasions) to produce the high A. Mr. Quorn tried to feel subdued; so that when young Titmus assured him that he had never sung “The Wolf” with greater effect, he only shook his head.