Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, No. 436

presides over the whole. Many of the ladies are young--quite girls; and a good many of the gentlemen are solemn old foggies, who appear strongly inclined to go to sleep, and, in fact, sometimes do. Meantime, the music goes on. A long, long sonata or concerto--piano and violin, or piano, violin, and violoncello--is listened to in profound silence, with a low murmur of applause at the end of each movement. Then perhaps comes a little vocalism--sternly classic though--an aria from Gluck, or a solemn and pathetic song from Mendelssohn: the performer being either a well-known concert-singer, or a young lady--very nervous and a little uncertain--who, it is whispered, is 'an Academy girl;' a pupil, that is, of the institution in question. Sometimes, but not often--for it is de rigueur that entertainments of this species shall be severely classic--we have a phenomenon of execution upon some out-of-the-way instrument, who performs certain miracles with springs or tubes, and in some degree wakens up the compa