s were taken
from under me, and I felt myself lifted by several strong men and held
out in front of the box, while the whole audience, rising en masse,
saluted me--yes, me, Harry Lorrequer--with a cheer that shook the
building. Fearful of precipitating myself into the pit beneath, if I
made the least effort, and half wild with terror and amazement, I stared
about like a maniac, while a beautiful young woman tripped along the edge
of the box, supported by her companion's hand, and placed lightly upon my
brow a chaplet of roses and laurel. Here the applause was like an
earthquake.

"May the devil fly away with half of ye," was my grateful response, to as
full a cheer of applause as ever the walls of the house re-echoed to.

"On the stage--on the stage!" shouted that portion of the audience who,
occupying the same side of the house as myself, preferred having a better
view of me; and to the stage I was accordingly hurried, down a narrow
stair, through a side scene, and over half the corps de ballet who were
waiting for their entree. Kicking, plunging, buffetting like a madman,
they carried me to the "flats," when the manager led me forward to the
foot lights, my wreath of flowers contrasting rather ruefully with my
bruised cheeks and torn habiliments. Human beings, God be praised, are
only capable of certain efforts--so that one-half the audience were
coughing their sides out, while the other were hoarse as bull-frogs from
their enthusiasm in less than five minutes.

"You'll have what my friend Rooney calls a chronic bronchitis for this,
these three weeks," said I, "that's one comfort," as I bowed my way back
to the "practicable" door, through which I made my exit, with the
thousand faces of the parterre shouting my name, or, as fancy dictated,
that of one of "my" operas. I retreated behind the scenes, to encounter
very nearly as much, and at closer quarters, too, as that lately
sustained before the audience. After an embrace of two minutes duration
from the manager, I ran the gauntlet from the prima donna to the last
triangle of the orchestra, who cut away a back button of my coat as a
"souvenir." During all this, I must confess, very little acting was
needed on my part. They were so perfectly contented with their
self-deception, that if I had made an affidavit before the mayor--if
there be such a functionary in such an insane town--they would not have
believed me. Wearied and exhausted at length, by all I had