r; a
long aria, or a brilliant but spasmodic cadenza, each counted one, and
one only. The Bermondsey bird, heedless of the issue at stake, devoted
the precious moments to eating, emitting nothing beyond a dyspeptic
twitter which didn't count; and his proprietor stood by me evidently
chagrined, and perspiring profusely, either from anxiety or superfluous
attire. Nearly half the time had gone by before Bermondsey put forth its
powers. Meanwhile, Walworth made the most of the opportunity, singing in
a manner of which I did not know linnets were capable. There were notes
and passages in the repertoire of Walworth which were worthy of a
canary. The bird no doubt felt that the credit of home art was at stake,
and sang with a vigour calculated to throw foreign feathered artistes
into the shade. Bermondsey evidently sang best after dinner, so he dined
like an alderman; yet dined, alas! not wisely, but too well, or rather
too long. Then he sang, first, a defiant roulade or so, as much as to
say, "Can you beat that, Walworth?" pausing, with his head wickedly on
one side, for a reply. That reply was not wanting, for Walworth was
flushed with success; and one could not help regretting ignorance of
bird-language so as to gather exactly what the reply meant. Then came a
protracted duet between the two birds, which was the piece de resistance
of the whole performance. The silence became irksome. I could not help
congratulating myself on the fact that no Corydon had brought his
Phyllis; for Phyllis, I am sure, would not have been able to stand it.
Phyllis, I feel certain, would have giggled. We remained mute as mice,
solemn as judges. The ghost of a twitter was hailed with mute signs of
approval by the backers of each bird; but a glance at the expressive
features of the host warned the markers that nothing must be chalked
down that did not come up to his idea of singing. Had the destinies of
empires hung upon his nod he could scarcely have looked more oracular.
But Walworth could afford to take matters easily now. For the last five
minutes the Bermondsey bird did most of the music; still it was a
hopeless case. Success was not on the cards. By-and-by, time was again
called. Babel recommenced, and the result stood as follows:

Walworth 3 score 18
Bermondsey 1 score 10

It was an ignominious defeat truly; and, had one been disposed to
moralize, it had not been difficult to draw a moral therefrom. It was
not