ening, will be affixed over the entrance. Such an event is, however,
not in store; and at seven o'clock precisely the huge doors of the
Teatro Real de Cuba are thrown open.

The performances begin with a stirring drama in a prologue and three
acts, entitled 'Flor de un Dia.' The tone of this very favourite piece
would, without doubt, be questioned by a Lord Chamberlain, but as it
contains no political offence, it meets with the unqualified approval of
his Excellency the Spanish Censor.

Before the curtain rises, the manager peeps through a small glazed hole,
in the centre of the act-drop, and surveys the audience. The house is
full, 'de bote en bote,' as the newspapers afterwards express it. His
Excellency the Governor, attended by his staff of officers, occupies the
big stage box on the left of the proscenium, and there is a goodly
sprinkling of Spaniards in every part of the theatre.

Of course I have many friendly 'hands' in the house. The English and
American consuls are in their respective palcos. Nicasio is seated in
the third row of the stalls, together with Tunicu, Bimba, and a host of
their Pollo companions. Don Benigno, Dona Mercedes and their daughters
and friends, are also present; and Cachita and her parents occupy their
favourite private box.

Most foreign plays are divided into 'escenas,' and the farce of 'Los
Mocitos del Dia' contains no less than twenty-four. My 'call' is for
scene nine, so after the second act of the drama, I go to my
dressing-room and arrange my 'make-up' for the Cubanised Yankee.
Agreeably to the Cuban notion of American costume, I don a suit of
dark-coloured winter clothing, together with a red flannel shirt, heavy
hob-nailed boots, and an engineer's broad-peaked cap. Similarly, I apply
cosmetic to my hair, which I comb flat and lank; I rouge my cheeks and
nose plentifully with crimson colour, attach a thick tuft of hair to my
chin, and with the aid of burnt cork give to my naturally round face a
lantern-jawed, cadaverous appearance.

When the curtain has fallen upon the three-act drama, my dressing-room
is besieged by a host of Cuban friends, who have come to wish me success
and to inspect my make-up behind the scenes. All congratulate me on my
effective disguise, and promise to assist towards giving me a warm
reception.

Nicasio remains with me till the last moment, to run over my part again,
put the finishing touches to my toilette and inspire me with confidence.

But now