provokingly good-humoured and so laughingly cruel.

Benjamin Baroski was one of the chief ornaments of the musical
profession in London; he charged a guinea for a lesson of
three-quarters of an hour abroad, and he had, furthermore, a school
at his own residence, where pupils assembled in considerable
numbers, and of that curious mixed kind which those may see who
frequent these places of instruction. There were very innocent
young ladies with their mammas, who would hurry them off trembling
to the farther corner of the room when certain doubtful professional
characters made their appearance. There was Miss Grigg, who sang at
the "Foundling," and Mr. Johnson, who sang at the "Eagle Tavern,"
and Madame Fioravanti (a very doubtful character), who sang nowhere,
but was always coming out at the Italian Opera. There was Lumley
Limpiter (Lord Tweedledale's son), one of the most accomplished
tenors in town, and who, we have heard, sings with the professionals
at a hundred concerts; and with him, too, was Captain Guzzard, of
the Guards, with his tremendous bass voice, which all the world
declared to be as fine as Porto's, and who shared the applause of
Baroski's school with Mr. Bulger, the dentist of Sackville Street,
who neglected his ivory and gold plates for his voice, as every
unfortunate individual will do who is bitten by the music mania.
Then among the ladies there were a half-score of dubious pale
governesses and professionals with turned frocks and lank damp
bandeaux of hair under shabby little bonnets; luckless creatures
these, who were parting with their poor little store of half-guineas
to be enabled to say they were pupils of Signor Baroski, and so get
pupils of their own among the British youths, or employment in the
choruses of the theatres.