ide to pianist_): "It is too low, old man; we'll have that over
again, if you don't mind."

[_Sings first two lines over again, in a high falsetto this time. Great
surprise on the part of the audience. Nervous old lady begins to cry,
and has to be led out_].

HARRIS _(continuing):_

"'I swept the windows and I swept the door,
And I--'"

No--no, I cleaned the windows of the big front door. And I polished up
the floor--no, dash it--I beg your pardon--funny thing, I can't think of
that line. And I--and I--oh, well, we'll get on the chorus and chance it
_(sings):_

"'And I diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-de,
Till now I am the ruler of the Queen's navee."

[Illustration: "WHEN I WAS YOUNG"]

"Now then chorus--it's the last two lines repeated, you know."

GENERAL CHORUS:

"'And he diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-diddle-did-dle-dee'd,
Till now he is the ruler of the Queen's navee.'"

And Harris never sees what an ass he is making of himself, and how he is
annoying a lot of people who never did him any harm. He honestly
imagines that he has given them a treat, and says he will sing another
comic song after supper.

Speaking of comic songs and parties, reminds me of a rather curious
incident at which I once assisted; which, as it throws much light upon
the inner mental working of human nature in general, ought, I think, to
be recorded in these pages.

We were a fashionable and highly cultured party. We had on our best
clothes, and we talked pretty, and were very happy--all except two young
fellows, students, just returned from Germany, commonplace young men,
who seemed restless and uncomfortable, as if they found the proceedings
slow. The truth was, we were too clever for them. Our brilliant but
polished conversation, and our high-class tastes, were beyond them. They
were out of place among us. They never ought to have been there at all.
Everybody agreed upon that, later on.

We discussed philosophy and ethics. We flirted with graceful dignity. We
were even humorous--in a high-class way.

Somebody recited a French poem after supper, and we said it was
beautiful; and then a lady sang a sentimental ballad in Spanish and it
made one or two of us weep--it was so pathetic.

And then those two young men got up, and asked us if we had ever heard
Herr Slossenn Boschen (who had just arrived, and was then down in the
supper room) sing his great German comic song.

None of us had heard it, that