“The Tenor takes advantage of this interval, to _study_ a passage that he fears is likely to ‘give him pause;’ and the Bass takes a consolatory pinch of snuff. “‘I’ve done it now,’ ejaculates at length the Second Violin.— “‘That’s well, then; attention again, gentlemen, if you please! Let us play the _allegro_ very moderately, and the _adagio_ rather fast—it improves the effect.’— “‘Ay, ay, just as you like; only, you must beat the time.’ “The signal is given; the First Violin starts off, the rest follow, after their peculiar fashion. It becomes presently evident that, instead of combination, all is contest; notwithstanding which evidence of honorable rivalry, somebody has the malice to whisper, pretty audibly, ‘The rogues are in a conspiracy to flay our ears!’ “Presently, the First Violin makes a dead halt—‘There’s some mistake: we’re all wrong.’ “‘Why, it seems to _go_ well enough,’ observes the Tenor. “‘No, no, we’re out _somewhere_.’— “‘Where is it then?’ “‘Where? That’s more than I can tell.’— “‘For my part,’ says the Second Violin, ‘I have not missed a note.’— “‘Nor I either.’— “‘Nor I.’— “‘Well, gentlemen, we must try back.’ “‘Ay, let us begin again; and pray be particular in beating the time.’ “‘Nay, I think I mark the time _loud_ enough.’ “‘As for _that_,’ exclaims the hostess, ‘the person who lodges below has already talked about complaining to the landlord.’ “The business is now resumed, but with no improved success, although the First Violin works away in an agitation not very dissimilar to that of a maniac. The company relax into laughter—and the performers come to a stand-still! “‘This is decidedly _not_ the thing,’ says the conducting violinist, Monsieur Longuet,—‘There is doubtless some error—let us look at the bass part.—Why, here’s a pretty affair!—_you_ are playing in B flat, and we are in D.’ “‘I only know that I’ve been playing what you told me—the first quartett in the first book’—replies old Monsieur Pattier, florid with rage. “‘_How_ on earth _is_ it then? let us see the title-page. Why, how is this? a quartett of _Mozart’s_, and _we_ are playing one of _Pleyels_! Now really that is too good!’ “Renewed laughter is the result of this discovery, and the abortive attempt ends with a general merriment, the contagion of which, however, fails to touch old Monsieur Pattier, who can by no means turn into a _joke_ his indignation at a mistake that has effectually put a stop to the performance of _the Quartett_.” * * * * * For the credit of English Amateurs, it is to be hoped that so elaborate a display of incompetence—so complete a _fiasco_—as is presented in the foregoing sketch, has very rarely its parallel among ourselves.