Mozart’s “The Magic Flute” is a story about harmony, enlightenment and a flute. It was recently presented in a heartwarming concert version in the performance barn of the Surry Opera Company. Director Walter Nowick plays lead piano, runs the lights and conducts the singers. The whole scene is positively charming, in a no-frills kind of way. You should go there sometime.

But that’s not what this story is about. Surry Opera will be our setting, but this is about guilt. Not the guilt you feel when you don’t attend the annual family reunion. Not the guilt you feel when you cheat on your taxes or don’t answer the phone.

This is pure professional guilt. More specifically, reviewer’s guilt.

Guilt is not such an easy emotion to admit if you’re a critic. Critics are schooled to be thick-skinned, steely, cocksure. It’s a stick-to-your-story, make-em-squirm kind of job.

Hard as it is to admit, however, even reviewers make mistakes. I have a desk drawer full of letters from readers alleging just that.

The particular mistake I seek to correct in this column occurred more than a year ago after a combined performance of “H.M.S. Pinafore” and “Trial By Jury,” put on by the Gilbert & Sullivan Society of Hancock County in Ellsworth. It was a perfectly lovely event. Fun, upbeat, witty. I enjoyed myself tremendously and said so in the review. As is my habit for community productions, I mentioned as many names as possible in the paper, certainly all the leads.

Or so I thought. Turns out that, quite innocently and absent-mindedly, I left out the name of the lead in “Trial By Jury.” It was a mistake. Hear that. Understand that. Believe it.

About a week later, a letter arrived from David Wilson, said left-out leading man. Hey, what am I chopped liver? he wrote. (My paraphrase.) He said a lot of nice stuff, too, and that was terrific. But I felt as low as floor wax for my oversight, or undersight, as the case may be. He was right: How could I forget to mention the leading man? It was his impression I had done so because his performance was horrific.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Obviously, forgetfulness happens to all of us, except when the cook at McDonald’s forgets to give you extra pickles, only two people know. You and him. When a reporter forgets an important detail, believe me and on behalf of all my co-workers, more than one person notices. And they get mad. Very mad.

David wasn’t mad, and that was clear from the beginning. He was hurt, which is worse. So I called him and apologized. “Keep an eye to your back,” I warned. “Retribution will be big.”

That brings us to Surry Opera. When I found out David was performing in “Magic Flute” last Sunday, I secretly went to the show and here’s what I have to say about David Wilson: He’s an animated, talented, entirely pleasant tenor. When he arrives in the spotlight (such as it was in that old barn), he really takes over the stage with warmth and sparkle.

Bravo, David.

I’ve been waiting to tell you that.

I’d like very much to mention all the talented singers at Surry Opera that night but there was no program distributed. A lucky break for me actually. Sorry everybody. Please take my word for it: I did see you. But this was David’s night. It’s the one he missed out on and the one I’ve been waiting to pounce on.

Having gone public with this admission, I’d like also to say this is a one-shot, all-encompassing deal. I won’t be writing this story again. It’s both retroactive and prospective. David is my Everyman for apologies, past and future. Please, feel free to fill your name in the blank if I have maligned you similarly.

So here’s the final word. Go to Surry Opera. Go to Gilbert & Sullivan.

And at work? Forget about perfection. Strive for excellence. And stay alert, for goodness sake.

Ah, atonement. Ain’t it sweet?