d.
Dixie's land has been fairyland. Strange and gorgeous Princesses from
the East have entered mighty appearances. One has captivated the Prince,
said to be the handsomest man in Paris. Russian and Polish great ladies
have done the honours--according to the newspapers--with their
'habitual charm.' The Misses Bickers have had their beauties sung by a
chorus of chroniqueurs. Here the shoulders of ladies at a party are as
open to criticism as the ankles of a stage dancer. The beauties of our
blonde Misses have made whole bundles of goose-quills tremble. Paris
society is made up not even chiefly of Parisians; the rich of all
nations flock to us, and are content to pay a few hundred pounds per
month for a floor of glass and gilding. The Emperor has made a show
capital as a speculation. All Europe contributes to the grandeur of the
fashionable world of Paris. And suddenly what do we hear?

"That we, whose blood is good enough for England; who _can_ speak a few
foreign languages in addition to our own; who know our neighbours by
having lived among them; who have travelled enough to learn that good
breeding is not confined to England or to France, are accused of having
destroyed the high tone of the Opera audiences in this city. We are good
enough, as to manners, for Her Majesty's Theatre, but not for the
Italiens. Tell Mrs. Sandhurst of this: she will be _so_ mad!

"A few nights before La Patti left us, to degrade herself by warbling
her wood-notes in the ignorant ears of the Opera public whom Mr. Gye is
about to assemble, and on whom the leadership of Costa is thrown away,
an unfortunate incident happened at the Italiens. Patti had been
announced, and Mdlle. Harris appeared instead. Whereupon there was an
uproar that could not be stilled. La Patti wept; la Harris wept also.
Finally, the spoilt child appeared, like Niobe, all tears. Who created
the uproar? The French chroniqueur answers: a cosmopolitan audience--an
audience from the Grand Hotel. He is good enough not to pick us out, but
we are included with the rest. The foreign residents have degraded the
Opera. The audience which greets Patti is a rabble compared with that
which listened to Sontag. 'The exquisite urbanity which is proverbially
French,' and which was apparent at the Italiens fifteen or twenty years
ago, has disappeared since Paris has become the world's railway
terminus. M. Emile Villars, who is so obliging as to make the
observation, proceeds to be very cle