The Argosy — page 164: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Our Amateur Concert. £49 chord, and then, rising from her seat, she puts her fingers in her ears, and darts from the platform ! I never could make out why she put her fingers in her ears, unless to shut out imaginary hisses. Certain it is she had no real ones to fear. The audience tried to coax her back by hearty and prolonged applause. But on Mrs. Smallwood hurrying into the ante-room, poor Ella was found dissolved in tears, so there was an end of her per- formances for the evening. Old Biddlecombe was the next performer, and he certainly did not lack nerve, if he ad lack musical ability. There the old gentleman stood, bowing away and smiling in response to the clapping of hands that greeted such a remarkable figure. It was a comic song he sang; but, through the first verse, either from the broker’s indistinct articulation, or natural obtuseness on the part ef his audience, it was listened to as solemnly as if it had beena recitative from one of the oratorios. At the end of the first verse, therefore, he signed to Hardwicke, who was accompanying him, to stop for a moment, and broke out with, “‘ Ladies and gentlemen, I beg to inform you that this isa comzc song! You did not seem aware of the fact, or perhaps you were afraid I might not like too much faughter. Don’t be frightened of that! If you laugh all through it, I shan’t be offended !” Mrs. Smallwood turned scarlet, and read her programme with deep interest ; the good lady was terribly ashamed of her irrepressible rela- tive, and the audience, complying with his request full early, broke at ence into loud laughter, which lasted through the rest of the song, and was doubtless more at the singer than what he sang. For, what with his speech, his appearance, and the antiquated, over-done ‘“‘comedy business ” he introduced as the song progressed, it was a difficult matter to keep one’s cachinnations within reasonable bounds, and the old fellow ended in a roar that might have been heard a mile off. He went away beaming and triumphant to receive the congratu- lations of the poor souls in the ante-room. Then came forward Mr. Wells and his violin. It was unfortunate for this gentleman that he came before an audience worked into a laughing humour, and that he had a trick of making what the children call “faces” as he played. At each fresh bar Mr. Wells performed some new and weird grimace, and as regularly did a low murmur of merriment undulate through the room. At last, becoming aware of this, when not quite half-way through his solo, poor Mr. Wells stopped in a flurry, glanced nervously downwards to see if in his pre-occupa- tion he had put on any unusual article of dress, looked at the audience, colouring painfully, tried to resume his playing, failed, tried again, grew very white, bowed low, and scuttled off the platform, whither no amount of cheering and encouragement could entice him back. Fred Hardwicke’s sonata followed, and went in first-rate style. Fred vanished after it, amid the bravos from all parts, and I smiled to think of what must be Sutton’s feelings. CoOnmicooolkks (CO)