Some are _sometimes_ correct, through chances boon, But Ruffman never _deviates into_ tune! Their sufferings, however, are silent; until peradventure, when ‘the operation’ is at length over, they do such discredit to their conscience as to stammer out a tremulous “bravo!” or a “very well!” in accents of courtesy that seem to sicken at their own import. Your _very_ bad player, be it remarked, is hardly ever content with plain toleration—he must have the sugared comfits of praise[63]. Admitting, as a reluctant principle, that we should lend our ears _at all_ to those fanciers of the instrument who are so bad as to be out of sight of mediocrity, and below the point where improvement _begins_, it is clearly of urgent consequence that we should demand (or beseech) to be indulged with the _shortest_ infliction that may be—an air _without_ the variations, or a quick movement _without_ the prefatory adagio. The Horatian precept, ‘Esto brevis,’ was never more applicable than here; but, alas! in no case is it less heeded. “As you are strong, be merciful,” says Charity; but the spirit of this fine recommendation is reversed by the Amateur belonging to “le genre ennuyeux”—reversed in conformity with his own predicament. As he is weak, he is cruel. He will not abate one minim, nor afford a single bar’s rest. He goes on and on, with no other limit, oftentimes, than that which is eventually imposed by the laws of physics, in the shape of personal fatigue. Such, in his _worst_ state, is the Young Pretender! But if so much is to be endured from an individual tormentor—from _one_ exercise of a “violon faux, qui jure sous l’archet,” _what_ are the sufferings which may be produced by a _combination_ of such barbarous bowmen—_all_ eager and emulous, _all_ rough and ready?—The multiplication of discord _thus_ generated, who shall calculate? It is past all understanding: it is the Babel of the tongues of instruments! _This_ species of compound misery is too painful to dwell upon, unless in mollified association with the ludicrous. Under this impression, I will proceed to give a sketch of an affair of Amateur Chamber-Music—being the description of a _Quartett-Party_, freely drawn from the French of an eminent living writer, whose lively and graphic powers in the delineation of familiar scenes have procured him very extensive admiration among his own countrymen, and some share of credit _parmi nous autres Anglais_. Here then is the exposition: but let imagination first draw up the curtain, and place us in view of the convened guests at a musical _soirée_, given by some people of middling condition, but somewhat ambitious pretensions, in a private apartment somewhere in Paris:—