I shall never forget the first meeting of the club. Waldteufel, who was already a tolerable violinist, had readily agreed to take the violoncello part, and Charley, though with many misgivings, had consented to tackle the viola; and the Herr was despatched to Baltimore to purchase these two instruments. Upon their arrival, it was agreed that the novices should have two weeks’ practice before any attempt at concerted music should be made, Waldteufel taking his ’cello to his rooms at the Court-House, while Charley was to attack the viola under the direction of M. Villemain; but Mr. Whacker grew so impatient for a trial of their mettle that, on Friday morning of the first week, he sent a buggy for the Herr, requesting him to bring his instrument with him; and, accordingly, just before dinner, up drove the bass, his big fiddle occupying the lion’s share of the vehicle. Dinner over, my grandfather could allow but one pipe before the attack began. The centre-table in the parlor was soon cleared of books; the stands were placed upon it; the performers took their seats; the parts were distributed, “A” sounded, the instruments put in tune. The composition they had selected was that quartet of Haydn (in C major) known as the Kaiser Quartet, in the slow movement of which is found the famous Austrian Hymn. “We are all then ready?” asked M. Villemain (in French), placing his violin under his chin. “Ah!” added he, in that short sharp tone so peculiarly French, and the bows descended upon the strings. It was worth while to watch the bearing and countenances of the four players. The Frenchman, entirely master of his instrument and his part,—glancing only now and then at his music,—ejaculating words of caution or encouragement; Waldteufel, taking in the meaning of the printed signs without an effort, but doubtful as to his fingering,—correcting his intonation with a rapid slide of his hand and an apologetic smile and nod to his brother artist; Charley, serene and imperturbable, but putting forth all that was in him; while my grandfather, conscious that the second violin was most likely to prove the block of stumbling, and anxious not to be utterly outdone by the “boys,”—his eyes riveted upon the page before him, his face overspread with a certain stage-fright pallor,—played as though the fate of kingdoms hung upon his bow. At last, not without a half-dozen break-downs, they approached the end of the first movement; and when, with a sharp twang, they struck, all together, the last note, my grandfather’s exultation knew no bounds. “By Jove,” cried he, slapping his thigh,—“by Jove, we can do it!” And congratulations were general.