contemplation--you will see
in the center of the murk above you a single point of light. It is the
spark that will ignite the great gas chandelier. I strain my neck to the
point of breaking. My grandfather strains his too, for it is a game between
us which shall announce the first spurting of the light. At last! We cry
out together. The spark catches the vent next to it. It runs around the
circle of glass pendants. The whole blazes up. The mountaineers come to
life. They lean forward on their elbows.

From the wings comes the tuning of the violins. A flute ripples up and down
in a care-free manner as though the villain Kazrac were already dead and
virtue had come into its own. The orchestra emerges from below. Their
calmness is but a pretense. Having looked on such sights as lie behind the
curtain, having trod such ways, they should be bubbling with excitement.
Yet observe the bass viol! How sodden is his eye! How sunken is his gaze!
With what dull routine he draws his bow, as though he knew naught but
sleepy tunes! If there be any genie in the place, as the program says, let
him first stir this sad fellow from his melancholy!

We consult our programs. The first scene is the magician's cave where he
plans his evil schemes. The second is the Chinese city where he pretends to
be Aladdin's uncle. And for myself, did a friendly old gentleman offer me
lollypops and all-day-suckers--for so did the glittering baubles present
themselves across the footlights--like Aladdin I, too, would not have
squinted too closely on his claim. Gladly I would have gone off with him on
an all-day picnic toward the Chinese mountains.

We see a lonely pass in the hills, the cave of jewels (splendid to the eye
of childhood) where the slave of the lamp first appears, and finally the
throne-room with Aladdin seated safely beside his princess.

Who knows how to dip a pen within the twilight? Who shall trace the figures
of the mist? The play is done. We come out in silence. Our candy is but a
remnant. Darkness has fallen. The pavements are wet and shining, so that
the night might see his face, if by chance the old fellow looked our way.

All about there are persons hurrying home with dinner-pails, who, by their
dull eyes, seem never to have heard what wonders follow on the rubbing of a
lamp.

But how the fires leaped up--how ambition beat within us--how our attic
theatre was wrought to perfection--how the play came off and wracked the
neighborhoo