The Scribe as a Singer, 41 



bowl over them as balls do over billiard-tables. It is a 

 glide rather than a roll, with no sensation of jolting. 

 You could write or read on the coach almost as well as 

 at home. I mean you could if there was any time to 

 waste doing either, and you were not afraid of missing 

 some beautiful picture which would dwell in your mem- 

 ory for years, or Aleck's last joke, or the Prima Donna's 

 sweet song, Andrew's never-to-be-forgotten lilt, or the 

 Queen Dowager's Scotch ballad pertaining to the dis- 

 trict ; or what might be even still more likely, if you 

 didn't want to tell a story yourself, or even join in the 

 roaring chorus as we roll along, for truly the exhilarat- 

 ing effect of the triumphant progress is such as to em- 

 bolden one to do anything. I always liked Artemus 

 Ward, perhaps because I found a point of similarity 

 between him and myself. It was not he but his friend 

 who " was saddest when he sang," as the old song has 

 it. I noticed that my friends were strangely touched 

 when I burst into song. I do not recall an instance 

 when I was encored ; but the apparent slight arose 

 probably from a suspicion that if recalled I would have 

 essayed the same song. This is unjust ! I have another 

 in reserve for such an occasion, if it ever happen. The 

 words are different, although the tune may be some- 

 what similar. When I like a tune I stick to it, more or 

 less, and when there are fine touches in several tunes I 

 have been credited with an eclectic disposition. How- 

 ever this may be, there was never time upon our coach 



