among those of Harris’s friends who have heard him try, is that he can’t, and never will be able to, and that he ought not to be allowed to try.

When Harris is at a party and is asked to sing, he replies: ‘Well, I can only sing a comic song, you know,’ and he says it in a tone that implies that his singing of that, however, is a thing that you ought to hear once, and then die.

‘Oh, that is nice,’ says the hostess. ‘Do sing one, Mr Harris’; and Harris gets up, and makes for the piano, with the beaming cheeriness of a generous-minded man who is just about to give somebody something.

‘Now silence, please, everybody,’ says the hostess, turning round. ‘Mr Harris is going to sing a comic song!’

‘Oh, how jolly!’ they murmur; and they hurry in from the conservatory, and come up from the stairs, and go and fetch each other from all over the house, and crowd into the drawing-room, and sit round, all smirking in anticipation.

Then Harris begins.

Well, you don’t look for much of a voice in a comic song. You don’t expect correct phrasing or vocalization. You don’t mind if a man does find out, when in the middle of a note, that he is too high, and comes down with a jerk. You don’t bother about time. You don’t mind a man being two bars in front of the accompaniment, and easing up in the middle of a line to argue it out with the pianist, and then starting the verse afresh. But you do expect the words.

You don’t expect a man to never remember more than the first three lines of the first verse, and to keep on repeating these until it is time to begin the chorus. You don’t expect a man to break off in the middle of a line, and snigger, and say, it’s very funny, but he’s blest if he can think of the rest of it, and then try and make it up for himself, and, afterwards, suddenly recollect it, when he has got to an entirely different part of the song, and break off without a word of warning, to go back and let you have it then and there. You don’t—well, I will just give you an idea of Harris’s comic singing, and then you can judge of it for yourself.

Harris (standing up in front of piano and addressing the expectant mob): ‘I’m afraid it’s a very old thing, you know. I expect you all know it, you know. But it’s the only thing I know. It’s the Judge’s song out of Pinafore—no, I don’t mean Pinafore—I mean—you know what I mean—the other thing, you know. You must all join in the chorus, you know.’

[Murmurs of delight and anxiety to join in the chorus. Brilliant performance of prelude to the Judge’s song in ‘Trial by Jury’ by nervous pianist. Moment arrives for Harris to join in. Harris takes no notice of it. Nervous pianist commences prelude over again, and Harris, commencing singing at the same time, dashes off the first two lines of the First Lord’s song out of ‘Pinafore.’ Nervous pianist tries to push on with prelude, gives it up, and tries to follow Harris with accompaniment to Judge’s song out of ‘Trial by Jury,’ finds that doesn’t answer, and tries to recollect what he is doing, and where he is, feels his mind giving way, and stops short.]

Harris (with kindly encouragement): ‘It’s all right. You’re doing it very well, indeed—go on.’

Nervous Pianist: ‘I’m afraid there’s a mistake somewhere. What are you singing?’

Harris (promptly): ‘Why the Judge’s song out of Trial by Jury. Don’t you know it?’

Some Friend of Harris’s (from the back of the room): ‘No, you’re not, you chuckle-head, you’re singing the Admiral’s song from Pinafore.’