profound commentary on the state of the
weather and the wind's quarter, followed by
anticipations of a pleasant evening.

I observed that Mr. Lavrock was received
with a respect and deference, which he
accepted with a quiet ease and self-possession,
indicating a desert of such homage. His seat
was at the upper end of the room, within two
of the chair of the President or Speaker.
Gradually all the seats were occupied, and,
at half-past five precisely, the Speaker for the
evening took his chair. All rose, and a grace
was chanted; the attendance of professional
members was full, and the Sanctification one
of Dr. Greene's. So solemnly and gracefully
was the service sung, that I felt moved beyond
degree; none of the noise, chatter, or
indifference of a public dinner-table was there,
and it seemed to me a very pleasant earnest
way of fore-hallowing a meal. Before each
was a pint decanter of wine, and, after the
first courses of soups and fish, (the carrot
soup is to be commended here) a general
health-drinking ensued, friendly and familiarly
performed.

"Our dinners are very plain, sir," said a
cheery-voiced neighbour on my right hand,
"but we are renowned for our boiled beef, Irish
stew, and beefsteak pudding. Till they arrive,
the pleasure of a glass of wine?" I bowed
— and my neighbour, Mr.——, the great
music publisher, of Regent Street, continued,
"Haunch of mutton at the Thatched House;
black puddings at the Piazza; Irish stew at
the Cheshire Cheese, are also three celebrities,
which to my fancy rank equally high."

Of course, after this gentleman's suggestion,
I made my dinner off beefsteak pudding, and
am bound to say that Mr. Cuff's cook well
deserves his reputation.

The thanksgiving, "Non nobis," closed the
meal; as fine a canon as ever was written,
and of which the Italians at various times
tried to despoil us.

The Chairman, or Speaker, after proposing
"The Health of the Queen," presently
announced the first glee of the evening— old
Webbe's glorious "Come thou Monarch of the
Vine." The words are those of Shakspeare's
song before Caesar Augustus, Lepidus, Pompey,
and Marc Antony, in the revel scene of "Antony
and Cleopatra." The members sang it nobly:
they fulfilled Enobarbus's prologue— "The
holding every man shall bear, as loud as his
strong sides can volley." Anon came the
"Prince Consort and the Royal Family,"
succeeded by Dr. Calcott's tender and earnest
harmony to Southey's words from Kehama,
"Thou art beautiful, Queen of the Valley." The
counter-tenor (the voice which bears the strain
of the glee) on this occasion was one of the
most delicate and perfectly controlled voices I
have ever heard— "a mellifluous voice, as I am
true knight." The next toast deserved the
heartiness with which it was received; and I
know I drank to it in thorough sincerity—
"Prosperity to the Round Catch and Canon
Club." Afterwards came a harmonised version
of the merry trolling song of Amiens, "Under
the greenwood Tree," which Jaques so
fantastically commends— "O, I can suck
melancholy out of a song as a weasel sucks eggs."
I regret my inability to commend the next
part of the entertainment; such an opportunity
to some men is the cream of enjoyment:
but for myself, I would at any time as soon be
pilloried as be called upon to make a speech;
and, to my horror, I found myself specially
named to return thanks for "the visitors."
I leapt into the gulf, like Curtius. I could
but thank the Club, I said, in the name of the
company, for their "sweet voices;" and I
thought we must needs ask for more, as we had
enjoyed what they had already given us: it
was better for us to hear them sing, than for
them to hear us talk, and so I would at once
be silent, and resume my seat." Very neatly
done," said Mr. Lavrock.

The two glees subsequently sung were
Stevens's "Cloud-capt Towers," and Mr.
Horseley's "By Celia's Arbour," both exquisite
glees; and then we had Baildon's famous
catch— "Mr. Speaker, though 'tis late." This
catch imitates a scene in the Lower House of
Parliament. A member rises, and sings "Mr.
Speaker, though 'tis late, I must lengthen the
debate." A second gets up, and repeats this
announcement, whilst the first voice cries
"Question! Question! Hear him! Hear
him! Sir, I shall name you, if you stir." A
third member appears, to claim the attention
of the Speaker. The second voice continues
— " Question! Question!" &c., whilst the
first voice exclaims "Order! Order! Pray
support the Chair." All the members gradually
take up the parts. The confusion, outcry,
press, and throng of voices— the uprising of
each member to catch the Speaker's eye— give
dramatic action to the catch. One member
made a great sensation, by ascending from his
chair on to the table, in the height of his
energy. During the rest of the evening we
had Dr. Cooke's "Hark, the lark at heaven's
gate sings!"—that affecting round of Battishill
(a musician who sickened and died, they
say, of a broken heart), "I loved thee, beautiful
and kind"— Dr. Harrington's capital
catch for three old crones on the death of
a neighbour, "Look, neighbours, look! here lies
poor Thomas Day;"— the glee for five voices
enriching Sheridan's compliment to his wife,
the beautiful Miss Linley of Bath, "Mark'd
you her eye of heavenly blue?"— Lord
Mornington's "Here in cool Grot" (the composer
was the father of the Duke of Wellington, and
gained the gold medal for this glee from the
Catch Club in 1799; and at the conclusion
Dean Aldrich's "Hark the bonny Christ
Church Bells." I venture to particularize them
as an acknowledgment of the good taste which
had provided such a varied and excellent
choice.

As we walked home, Mr. Lavrock of course
sought my commendation of the evening's