A CON-CERTED CON.
“When is the helm of a ship like a certain English composer?”—said the double bass to the trombone in the orchestra of Covent Garden Theatre, while resting themselves the other evening between the acts of Norma.—The trombone wished he might be blowed if he could tell.—“When it is A-lee” quoth the bass—rosining his bow with extraordinary delight at his own conceit.