A MUSICAL EVENING.

Dominion, Volume 5, Issue 1498, 22 July 1912, Page 6

A MUSICAL EVENING.

WITH AUNT SOPHIA,

' AND A GRAMAPnONE. [Bt Wi.] The other day somebody presented me *ittt a,~ gramophone, iind fifty records. It was a.good machine, and the records jnado up a repertoire which no man of taste would disdain, to listen to. All the same I regarded my now property n-itli a doubtful eye. My instincts are ' conservative, and these instincts insisted - that I. should have nothing to do with iaetory-made art. I felt very much as many a man must havo felt when he • sold'his horses and bought a. motor-car in the days when motor-cars were first coining, in; as tho son of a painter might probably feel if ho resolved, in a degenerate moment, to buy a camera. I tinco ventured, in a tentative .way, to sug- ; fcest to an artistic soul that if the cx- ' cjuisito colouring of Nature could be as exquisitely reproduced by photographic art.there would bo an end, ultimatelv, to, our royal academicians. 'I need hardly .say that my suggestion was ridiculed. Precisely tho same kind of ridicule was heaped upon the temeritous prophet who in somo previous generation predicted the •ultimate-removal of the horse from the road. So, whilo my instincts recoiled from tho acceptance of the gramaphone, . I hestitated to condemn it unheard.' In my hour, of indecision I received o. visit from my maiden Aunt Sopliia, "Bless me!" she exclaimed, as she made "n dead point in front of the gramaphone. , "What is this?" . 1 If I em a-conservative',--my. maiden] Aunt. Sophia is a bigot. Given a good 1 case, there is some hope'for the convert-1 ing of the former, but precious little for the latter. To. give the gramaphono a 'v.-.--sporting .chance for its life, so to speak, I briefed mvself as counsel for the defence, and "lit a cigarette. "Tt's a—a. rn-esent, Aunt ?" , I began, feeling my, way. "H'm—l should hope' so, Charles," said ;,_ the.lady.- "I was afraid'it was.some new extravagance. What is-it,•pray?" . "A gramaphone, Aunt, haven't you 'Been ono of these things before?" . "No—l have heard nbout them,", she Baid. as. if that were cAifficicnt. ' "Cnro to hear it?". : 'My aunt hesitated, "<ind was lost. Cur-: \ iosity wrestled with settled convictions. '. '■ In a woman the result of s'u.cli a conflict I ■ ' may be regarded as a foregone conclusion. '± " ■ Aunt Sophia seated herself. ''They are •horribly loud and screechy, I've heard," sho «iid.

■•.■ "Not in a modern instrument, if one uses, good records, Aunt," I replied,' look-Sfcjngjjj-er the, records. "You can also regulate theintensity of the pitch by adjust--ing the Speed regulator, and diminish tho volume of 'sound by using a. thin needle; Lets try this one." So saying, .1 selected the Sno contralto aria "For the Lord is Mindful of His Own," from Mendelssohn's "St. Paul." The selection whs, in effect, a subtle attack upon.an undefended position.. Aunt Sophia Had fortified , herself to. hear something very different, ' I wound rip tho , instrument ■.■inserted a needle in the. and' placed the ■record on' the turn-table." '. . -Aunt Sophia sniffed. "Reihinds me of 'an organ-grinder," she said, in a disparaging voice. ' "Ati essential preliminary, my dear A hut," said I. "A simple demonstration of the conversion of muscular energy into . mechanical force." . "H'm—l suppose—-" ' Just then the instrument gave out the orchestral prelude to the .aria,,and"niy Aunt paused to. listen. I also.sat down, and prepared to enjoy a ciffarette and study my Aunt's features. The cigarette was never lit. Just, ns I was about to strike a match (he'full, rich notes of a magnificoat contralto issued from the instrument; and compelled my attention. Quite convinced that a perfect reproduction of'the human voice could never be accomplished by mechanical means, I was, •'nevertheless, astonished to hear how far human ingenuity had progressed towards perfection. ." AVhen, at last, the little needle had the. disc, and thn aria was finished, I suddenly remembered mv Aunt. Sophia. She was sitting perfectly still. "Well?" said I. -"Wlio is. the singer?" she inquired. "Madame Kirkby Lunn," I replied. One of ■the best contralto singers, in oratorio in' England at the present time. "I-should like to hear her, Charles," said she. But. if I cannot do that, I shall have to be very grateful to your gramaphone." I smiled discreetly as I turned over tho records again. My eye fell upon Harry '. Lauder's uproarious "Stop Your Tickling, Jock!" J hesitated. No, I thought, that must come later. Aunt Sophia had been impressed,' but the foundations of the conversion must be strongly set.. So I put the irrepressible Harry on one side and selected the "Benedictus" from Mozart's "Twelfth Mass," one of the- most beautiful'choruses ever written by that prince of composers. The chorus was smig to tho accompaniment of the organ, and the reproduction Df that instrument, although characteristic, was not full enough, bait the partial suppression of the organ notes gave freer vent to the -reproduction of the voices, and ■ the divine harmonies of this magnificently devotional chorus issued full. and clear from' the instrument. ' "Want any more " I inquired of the "audience," who was sitting with wrapt expression on her severe countenance. "Please," said tho lady. -■■'•■ "Something a littlo My aunt eyed me dioubtf ul.ly. "M—yes,' said she, "but not too light,-remember." I grinned as I thought of tho "tickler." The time for Mi. Lauder was, not quite yet I decided, although I was by this Unit quite determined that Harry should make at least his first "appearance" before my Calvinistic Telative. So I tried souio selections from "Dorothy," Alfred Collier's delightful opera; from that I zig-zagged tc "Tannhauser" and back to "Pinafore,'' then I introduced the overture to "Zamna" by tho famous band of the Coldstreair Guards, and finally by a circuitous rout< , I arrived at Harry Lauder. "Like something Scotch, mint?" "Why, ccrtaii)ly, Charles."' Aunt Snjihia's "Scotch" is of Highland extraction' , the blend which frowns upon promiscuous levity. , Harry Lauder's "Scotch" is th< irresponsible dialect of Lanarkshire, oi - which the "Glcsca' kiclie" is an admirabh : exponent. Whether-the Highland in Annl Sophia and the Lowland in ITarrf Laudei would agree was a very open question, but I decided to risk it, for the lady was now in high good humour. J began witl: "ftoamirr' in tho Gloamin." a delightfii ballad of the Hanks o' Clyde, with r. litth patter, in tho dialect, at the conclusion. "Like that?" I asked, as I lifted the record'off, and "took soundings," so tt ppcak. Aunt Sophia is not what you would cal a romantic person—far from it. .But t.h< song stirred in her some memory of Hk "old country," so the item passed muster I grow bolder, and tried "Tho Wedding o: Handv M'Nab." ' -.- "This is rather funny," I said, a litth nervously. Now "The Wedding of Sandj ' M'Nab"*is a convivial reminiscence, tolc in accents appropriate to tho circum rfances. ' AIL things considered, my aim stood it- pretty well. Mind you, "Tin Wedding' is nothing but good, clean (i-'holesome rollicking fun, but then, yoi sec, Aunt appreciation of humoiii had not been vory highly cultivated, am she' was utterly without that knowledgi of the world which givos one an under standing, of the humour of things. How ever, the song, finished without any de monstration from the audience. Thei cyme the patter, which ran something lib this: '.'Liter the meenister tied the knot—ha ha! ha! lifter.the meenister tied the knot w,- dined, hell! An' then ofter wo dined hf.ii! we wined: nn' then efter we wined iwh! evcrybuddy seemed tae hev some thing tae say—ha! ha! ha! A chap rosi an' objectit tae M'Nab sittin' wi' his ar . rums roon the bride's neck, ha! ha! ha An' the next a' saw o' M'Nab, heh! In iiod 'is arrums roon the neck o' a bbtle An' then " "Charles!" ~■„+-* ~ I jumped in my seat. whats up aunt?" Meanwhile the wedding dnmei was going on fast and furious. ".' ; '. ft hcv known M'Nab, the bride groom, fur a verra considerable-—hic-period " . , ' My Aunt gesticulated violently, Stoj it!" she commanded. . "... a know 'im well, mm' ye Aw'yes.-'a.n'.'e knows that a know 'im."Can't'voii wajt, auht?" I entreated "It-will bo done in another minute." ?. . * . 37b.it a gaj-jsjas tothj

e's beieu a warmer!" declared Harry, with emphasis, happily oblivious of the. commotion he was creating in my titling room. My aunt rose and stamped her foot. Fearful lest alio should stamp on otic of my records—the collection • was littered about the floor—l hurriedly stopped the grnmaphone, and then turned to the lady. "-Now," I said, severely, "would you mind tcHiim mo what is the matter with you?" Aunt Sophia sat down again, her breath coming in short, gasps. "That man hiccoughed, Charles'! Hiccoughed, I tell you. lie is—is—intoxicated!',' "Well, hang it all, aunt, and what if ho did! Come to think of it, the machine reproduced that hiccup rather well— what?" , My aunt glared at me. "I suppose you knew he was going to hiccough?" At this dreadful moment I laughed, loudly, immoderately, till the (cars, rolled down my cheeks. Did the man ever live who could time a hiccup?

When I recovered my gravity my aunt had departed. Nevertheless, she is going to buy a graniaphone.