admirably supported, and drew
down from the audience--no mean one as judges of music--the loudest
thunders of applause. As for me, the house was a great a curiosity as
the opera. The novel spectacle of some hundred (thousand?) people
relishing and appreciating the highest order of musical genius, was
something totally new and surprising to me. The curtain at length fell
upon the fifth act.

And now the deafening roar of acclamation was tremendous; and amid a
perfect shout of enthusiasm, the manager announced the opera for the
ensuing evening. Scarcely had this subsided, when a buzz ran through the
house; at first subdued, but gradually getting louder--extending from the
boxes to the balcone--from the balcone to the parterre--and finally even
to the galleries. Groups of people stood upon the benches, and looked
fixedly in one part of the house; then changed and regarded as eagerly
the other.

What can this mean? thought I. Is the theatre on fire? Something surely
has gone wrong!

In this conviction, with the contagious spirit of curiosity, I mounted
upon a seat, and looked about me on every side; but unable still to catch
the object which seemed to attract the rest, as I was about to resume my
place, my eyes fell upon a well-known face, which in an instant I
remembered was that of my late fellow-traveller the courier. Anxious to
avoid his recognition, I attempted to get down at once; but before I
could accomplish it, the wretch had perceived and recognised me; and I
saw him, even with a gesture of delight, point me out to some friends
beside him.

"Confound the fellow," muttered I; "I must leave this at once, or I shall
be involved in some trouble."

Scarcely was my my resolve taken, when a new burst of voices arose from
the pit--the words "l'Auteur," "l'Auteur," mingling with loud cries for
"Meerberger," "Meerberger," to appear. So, thought I, it seems the great
composer is here. Oh, by Jove! I must have a peep at him before I go.
So, leaning over the front rail of the box, I looked anxiously about to
catch one hasty glimpse of one of the great men of his day and country.
What was my surprise, however, to perceive that about two thousand eyes
were firmly rivetted upon the box I was seated in; while about half the
number of tongues called out unceasingly, "Mr. Meerberger--vive
Meerberger--vive l'Auteur des Franc Macons--vive Franc Macons," &c.
Before I could turn to look for the hero of the scene, my leg