to her ladyship's commands, feeling that
such commands were very glorious to him, and
conferred a high distinction. And Arthur Skidley
was present, and had even whispered a vague
hint of the possibility of the concert being
honoured by the presence of his excellency in
person. To which my Lady Popham had
replied briefly, "Tant mieux if he comes, for
Alfred's sake. But the fact is, his excellency
is no connoisseur. I wouldn't give anything
for his opinion, you know, Arthur. I used to
know him years ago when he was quite a young
fellow at Naples; and he never appreciated poor
Pizzicati the least in the world."

Pizzicati had been one of Lady Popham's
numerous "geniuses," who was confidently
expected to eclipse Rossini, but didn't.

The rooms filled up rapidly. The company
was seated chiefly in the large drawing-room
opposite to the widely opened folding-doors, but
there were a few seats arranged in the second
apartment of the suite, around a clear space in
the centre of which stood a grand pianoforte,
and where the performers were to be stationed.
The third and smallest drawing-room was used
as a retiring-room for the artists. Within this
third room now stood Signor Bensa and Alfred
Trescott. The latter was dressed with scrupulous
care and even elegance. Ugly and
unbecoming as a modern gentleman's evening
costume is usually considered, it must be owned
that the plain black coat and white neckcloth
set off Alfred's clear olive-coloured face to
advantage; and no one could have seen the
young man that evening without being struck by
the remarkable beauty of his face, and the lithe
picturesque grace of his figure. In one corner
of the room, seated in an easy-chair, was a very
stout, florid lady, glistening with ornaments, and
attired in very splendid garments, made in so
outré and elaborate a manner, as is rarely seen
except in those highly coloured works of art
that illustrate the fashion-books. This was
Madame Olga Boschka, a concert-singer of
recent fame from London, who had been engaged,
at Lady Popham's expense, to give additional
éclat to her protégé's debut. Madame Boschka
sang in almost all European languages, but
spoke none of them, except English, fluently.
Her nationality was for a long time doubtful;
but at length it was announced, on her own
authority, that Madame Olga Boschka was a
native of Wallachia. One ill-natured critic,
remarking on her singular pronunciation of the
English language, averred that he had heard
something very like it in Lancashire. But
everybody else overwhelmed him with indignant
asseverations that Madame Boschka's accent
was purely and unmistakably Wallachian. So
perhaps it was. This magnificent lady was
attended by a meagre little woman in shabby
attire, whose position appeared to be undefined
— bordering sometimes on the confidential lady's-
maid's, and anon partaking of the poor relation's.
Her chief office appeared to be to solicit Madame
Olga Boschka to partake of refreshment, which
solicitings, coming from so spare a creature to
one so evidently well-fed and robust as the
distinguished contralto,had rather a comic character.
There were also present four gentlemen belonging
to the "Calliopean Choristers," a celebrated
metropolitan glee and madrigal society. But
they kept apart, and indulged in considerable
hilarity of a private and personal nature,
consisting chiefly of explosive bursts of laughter at
certain choice anecdotes relating to various
professional persons distinguished by nicknames,
which anecdotes might have been entertaining
had one possessed the key to them; but, wanting
that, were "caviare to the general."

The concert began with a glee by the jolly
"Calliopeans," which was — as indeed was a
great proportion of the music selected by that
cheerful choir — of a sentimental, not to say
lugubrious, character. And when the alto, a
very fat short man, declared in a thin piping
tone that "For Chloe" he was "dy-y-ying," the
effect upon several young subalterns placed
within range of Lady Popham's awful eye-glass
was extremely trying. Then came a scena in
Italian, executed by Madame Olga Boschka, in
a mellifluous smothered voice, that suggested a
nightingale singing through a feather-bed. And
then the hero of the evening, the bénéficiaire,
Mr. Alfred Trescott, appeared, fiddle in hand,
long-haired, bright-eyed, pale, interesting,
everything that the most romantic could desire.
After him trotted little Carlo Bensa, his quick
eyes and ugly intelligent face taking in every
particular of the appearance and manner of such
of the audience as came within range of his
vision; and glancing hither and thither, whilst
his hands were busied with the arrangement of
his music on the pianoforte, with the sort of
melancholy and grave vivacity which I have seen
characterise a trained monkey on a barrel-
organ.

Alfred had chosen his first piece cunningly, if
not with the soaring ambition of a classical
musician. He had selected De Beriot's fifth
"air varié," one of the most graceful compositions
of a graceful composer, who thoroughly
understood the instrument he wrote for, Alfred
had understood his own strength and his own
weakness in making the selection. The purity
of tone, general certainty of intonation, and
singular delicate pathos (which was so
startlingly at variance with the coarse cynicism of
his moral nature) that distinguished his playing,
were all advantageously displayed, whilst no
overwhelming demand was made upon his
mechanical resources. Everything concurred to
encourage and animate him to excel; and he
played with great effect, and produced a marked
impression. Perhaps some portion of the praise
and applause he received was due to the audience
finding him much better than they had expected;
for Lady Popham's eccentric pursuit of geniuses
was pretty well known amongst her friends, and
any announcement of a new protégé was apt to
be received with cold incredulity of his merits.

Lady Popham was in ecstasies. She led the
applause and the "bravos," and at the
conclusion of the bénéficiaire's first piece she went