ery moment to
have their chairs knocked from under them. This made this
should-be-magnificent dinner into a sort of circus. No persuasion or
threats could induce this terrible child to go away, and he continued
during the dinner to do his velocipede exercises. He must be a very
trying boy. His mother told me herself that he forces both her and his
father to take castor or any other oil when the doctor prescribes it
for him. People tell horrible stories about him. I am sure you will say
what every one else says--"Why don't his parents give him a good
spanking?"

At a small dinner at the English Embassy I met the celebrated tenor,
Mario. I had not seen him since in Paris in 1868, when he was singing
with Alboni and Patti in "Rigoletto." Alboni once invited the Duke and
the Duchess of Newcastle, Mr. Tom Hohler, and ourselves to dinner to
meet Mario in her cozy apartment in the Avenue Kleber. I was perfectly
fascinated by Mario and thought him the beau ideal of a Lothario. His
voice was melodious and _caressante_, as the French say, and altogether
his manners were those of a charmer. It was a most interesting dinner,
and I was all ears, not wanting to lose a word of what Alboni and he
said. What they talked about most was their many reminiscences, and
almost each of their phrases commenced, "_Vous rappelez vous_?" and
then came the reminiscence. After fourteen years I meet him here, a
grandpapa, traveling with his daughter. He is now the Marquis di Candia
(having resumed his title), _et l'homme du monde parfait_; he is
seventy years old and has a gray and rather scanty beard instead of the
smooth, carefully trimmed brown one of _autrefois_. Why do captivating
and fascinating creatures, such as he was, ever grow old? But, as Auber
used to say, "the only way to become old is to live a long time."

At the Embassy dinner he did not sit next to me, alas! but afterward we
sat on the sofa and talked of Alboni, Paris, and music. I told him that
the first time I had heard him sing was in America, when he sang with
Grisi.

"So long ago?" he said. "Why, you couldn't have been born!"

"Oh yes," I answered; "I was born, and old enough to appreciate your
singing. I have never forgotten it, nor your voice. One will never hear
anything like it again. Have you quite given up singing?" I asked.

"Why, I am a grandfather! You would not have a grandfather sing, would
you?"

"I would," I answered, "if the grandfather was Mario."

ROM