of
country, or streets, or gilded saloons, as the necessities of the drama
required. There were six of these scenes, all painted by Patching (to
oblige Mrs. Slapman) in his leisure moments, which were numerous; and
they all exhibited evidences of his style. Six sets of flies, or side
scenes, matching with the rear views, had been executed by a
scene-painter's assistant, whom Mrs. Slapman had taken under her
patronage, and were thought, by some persons, superior to Patching's
efforts. Such was the belittling criticism to which that great artist
was constantly subjected. There was a space of about four feet between
the top of the curtain and the high ceiling. The light from the parlor
chandelier directly in front, aided by six gas jets behind the scenes,
made the whole performance and performers as clear as noonday.

This miniature theatre was constructed of portable frames, which could
be put up or taken down in half an hour, and was the ingenious invention
of the scene-painter's assistant. When it was removed, the only traces
of its former presence were two brass-headed spikes in the walls, from
which the side curtains depended.

These spikes imparted anguish to the mind of Mr. Slapman whenever he
gazed upon them. Mrs. S. had heard him say, that "some people would look
well hanging up there." By "some people," he was supposed to mean the
gentlemen who participated in her dramatic entertainments. Mrs. S. bore
the cruel remark meekly, merely replying that perhaps he had better try
the strength of the spikes first, by suspending himself from one
of them.

The audience, usually numbering about fifty, were seated in chairs,
which filled the parlor, with the exception of a space of ten feet in
front of the stage. A fair view of the entire proceedings could be had
from all but the two back rows of chairs, the occupants of which were
compelled to imagine the attachment of feet and ankles to the several
characters of the drama.

From the left wing of the stage a door opened into the hall, affording
communication by the staircase to the ladies' and gentlemen's dressing
rooms on the floor above. On the third floor (it was known to some of
the guests) was the private apartment of Mr. Slapman. A strong smell of
cigar smoke, as of one fumigating sullenly and furiously, was the
unvarying proof of his presence in the house. On this eventful night, he
had been seen, at an early hour, pacing up and down the hall of his
third floor,