“‘Ay, ay,’ said Mons. Pattier, the bass-fiddle man, ‘let us begin at once, for we’ve no time to lose—but where’s my part?’
“‘There, there, on the music-desk.’—
“‘Come, gentlemen, now let us tune.’
“The constituent Amateurs proceed accordingly to the labour of getting into mutual agreement; during which process, the auditory shuffle about, and insert themselves into seats as they can. Already are yawn ing symptoms of impatience visible among the ladies, to whom the very mention of a quartett furnishes a pretence for the vapours, and who make no scruple to talk, for diversion’s sake, with the loungers behind their chairs. Whispering, laughing, quizzing, are freely indulged in, and chiefly at the special expense of the musical executioners themselves.
“The enterprising four, at length brought into unison, plant themselves severally before their desks. The elderly basso has stuck his circlet of green paper round the top of his candle, for optical protection from the glare: the tenor has mounted his spectacles: the second violin has roughened his bow with a whole ounce of rosin; and the premier has adjusted his cravat so as to save his neck from too hard an encounter with his instrument.
“These preliminaries being arranged, and the host having obtained something of a ‘lull’ among the assembly, by dint of loud and repeated exclamations of hush!—the First Violin elevates his ambitious bow-arm, directs a look of command to his colleagues, and stamps with his foot. ‘Are we ready?’ he enquires, with a determined air.—
“‘I have been ready any time these two hours,’ replies Mons. Pattier, with a malcontent shrug of his shoulders.—
“‘Stay a moment, gentlemen,’ cries the Second Fiddle; ‘my treble string is down. ’Tis a new string—just let me bring it up to pitch again.’
“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.—