ience work
better together, for while _we_ admired, _they_ relished the praise with
all the gusto of individual approbation, frequently stopping to assure
us that we were right in our applause, that their best hits were exactly
those we selected; and that a more judging public never existed. Stauf
was carried away in his ecstasies, and between laughing and applauding,
I was regularly worn out with my exertions.

Want of light--Stauf's candles swilled frightfully from
neglect--compelled them to close the piece somewhat abruptly; and in the
middle of the second act, such was the obscurity, that the Herr Berg-Bau
und Weg-Inspector's wife, fell over the prompter's bulk, and nearly
capsized Stauf into the bowels of the big fiddle. This was the finale,
and I had barely time to invite the corps to a supper at the Fox, which
they kindly accepted, when Stauf announced that we must beat a retreat
by "inch of candle." This we did in safety, and I reached the Fox in
time to order the repast, before the guests had washed off their paint,
and changed their dresses.

If it has been my fortune to assist at more elegant "re-unions," I can
aver with safety I never presided over a more merry or joyous party,
than was our own at the Fox. Die Catinka sat on my left, Die Vrau von
"Mohren-Kopf," the "Mere noble" of the corps, on my right, the Herr
Director took the foot of the table, supported by a "bassoon" and a
"first lover," while various "trombones," "marquis," waiting maids,
walking gentlemen, and a "ghost," occupied the space at either side, not
forgetting our excellent friend Stauf, who seemed the very happiest man
of the party. We were fourteen souls in all, though where two-thirds
of them came from, and how they got wind of a supper, some more astute
diviner than myself must ascertain.

Theatrical folks, in all countries, are as much people in themselves as
the Gypsies. They have a language of their own, a peculiarity of costume
and a habit of life. They eat, drink, and intermarry with each other;
and, in fact, I shouldn't wonder, from their organization, if they have
a king in some sly corner of Europe, who, one day will be restored, with
great pomp and ceremony. One undeniable trait distinguishes them all--at
least wherever I have met them in the old world and in the new--and
that is, a most unbounded candour in their estimation of each other.
Frankness is unquestionably the badge, of all their tribe; and they are,
without exce