FullReads

It is a curious thing how we all like applauding and making a noise. If you notice, at organ recitals in the Church we feel quite uncomfortable. We think we ought to do something at the conclusion of the pieces; so, as we may not clap our hands, we all give a little rustle and cough. This is to show our approbation. Everyone coughs. It is astonishing how many people have bad colds. For my part I think it is a pity applause is not allowed. It is infinitely preferable to the coughing at any rate.

Of course the comic singer goes down best. He is called back three, sometimes four times. The schoolboys behind grow excited, and greet him with a whistle that would do credit to the “gods.” This is too much for decently-clad minds, anything so profane as that whistle. The clergyman, who is in the chair (the proceeds are always to be devoted to some charitable object), rises and insists “that if that most objectionable noise does not cease, the boys will have to be turned out.”

Where the “objectionable” comes in I cannot think. The boys are very clever to be able to do it. I have often tried it, and cannot succeed, and so conclude it must be a difficult accomplishment. They stick about four fingers in their mouths, and thereby make quite a different sound to any ordinary whistle. However, it is no wonder the chairman discourages it. When he was reading a few minutes before, reading out some dry little tale with a moral, in which the humorous parts were the heaviest, no encore whistle was accorded him. He was clapped loudly, of course–is he not one of the chief men in the parish? But no one wished to hear him read again, so we stopped our applause just in time to prevent him from re-appearing.

We go home glad at heart, and two mornings later read an account of the evening’s performance in the local paper.

We find there a few statements which agree with our own feelings. They say that “Mr. Jones sang in a pure and cultured manner, and deserves special attention for his sweet tenor voice and the refinement of the sentiment in his songs” (whatever that may mean!) “Mr. Smith played two violin solos with remarkable precision of touch and with the greatest ease;” while “Miss. Blank, with a good contralto, was all that could be desired in both her songs!” They were none of them there, but that does not matter. They were praised up more than anyone else, which must be very discouraging to those who did perform. But on account of their non-appearance alone we feel they deserve some approbation, and so do not grudge it them. It is of no consequence to a newspaper reporter who is there and who is not. He takes the programme, ticks off the names, and writes his remarks and criticisms just as he likes. It would be wiser, all the same, on his part, if he found out the absentees, for otherwise his little hints rather lose their effect.

He writes that this one wants a little “animation,” that one “sings out of tune.” Miss So-and-So plays the piano “with faultless manipulation, the only drawback being a slight preponderance of pedal,” and so on. He generally has as good an ear for music as a parish priest who only knew two tunes: one of which was “God save the Queen,” and the other wasn’t. And once, when a brass band was playing a selection outside the vicarage, he went on to his balcony, hat in hand, and waved it vigorously as he commenced to sing the first line of “God save the Queen.”

Well, it does not matter after all. The only object is to appear learned, and to use long words. If the artists do not like being ignorantly criticized they must forbear to appear in public, a result which would incline us to go and shake hands with the reporters all round in the exuberance of our gratitude.