Occupying the O.P. box with his son H. B. and my friend Edward German on the first night, I was placed immediately above the trombones, of white frequent slips I received the full benefit and had ample cause for many audible mutterings. At the subsequent gatherings of friends on the stage, Coriolanus–in his most hospitable of humours–asked me, "Well, how did your horns behave?" Said I, "Not horns: trombones, and damnably!" Quoth the noble Roman with a twinkle in his eye: "Ah! that's why I put you in that box, old chap!"