es
which you will find outlined in that little notebook is entitled, 'Is
Music a Failure?' and I endeavoured to answer the question by showing
how popular it is among all classes of the community." I will quote
pretty freely from this outlined sketch, as it will give my readers an
idea, better than anything else would do, of the manner in which Mr.
Grossmith prepares his delightful sketches.

"I am not going to treat the subject seriously," he writes, "but in my
own particular, impertinent way. The question often arises--are we a
musical nation? The foreigners think we are not. But where in the wide,
wide world is there a country where you will hear so many organs and
German bands? Where is the country, excepting ours, that can appreciate
the concertina? Where, except in England, can you hear that delightful
combination of harp and cornet outside a house of refreshment? The
prejudice of other nations is distressing; and as for their ignorance,
why, I don't suppose Italy and Germany have even heard of the ocarino
and the Jew's harp."

And so the sketch runs on, until, in speaking of the universal manner in
which music is appreciated in England by all classes, Mr. Grossmith goes
on to say: "We have made rapid strides, so have our servants. They don't
know how to dust the piano, but they can play it. Everybody plays the
piano, from the Peerage to the School Board. Then look how music has
crept into our homes and social circles. Besides the piano, the mother
and daughters play the banjo, the son plays the first fiddle, and the
father the second fiddle--as usual. I know of a Lord Mayor who plays the
trombone, a clergyman who plays the big drum--that's a nice
unpretentious, giddy instrument!--and I know of any number of members of
Parliament who blow their own trumpets!!" And so the notes go brightly
on through many pages.

[Illustration: THE STUDY.]
[Illustration: MR. WEEDON GROSSMITH.]

"This," explained my host, "is a fair specimen of the method I employ in
preparing a drawing-room sketch. As a rule, my audiences of that class
are capital. I always love a well-dressed audience, it is so cheerful.
You mayn't perhaps get as much applause as you do from the sixpenny
gallery, but then applause often spoils your point. Once, however, I
remember singing at a private house in the country to an odd assortment
of people. I was informed that the party followed a wedding which had
taken place in the morning. If it had followed a