belching forth clouds of smoke, like Vesuvius just before a
fiery eruption.

People who were in the sad secret of Mrs. Slapman's household sorrows,
looked at each other and smiled, but said nothing; for it was a point of
good breeding not to allude to him in conversation. The newer guests,
unaware of the melancholy facts in the case, supposed that the restless
gentleman on the third floor was some one of Mrs. Slapman's eccentric
friends, working out an idea. Mrs. Slapman paid no attention to her
jealous spouse, imagining that he would smoke away his wrath quietly, as
usual, and not interfere with the evening's amusement. Hitherto, on
occasions, he had done nothing more disagreeable than to open the parlor
door furtively, cast one wild look inside, and then suddenly withdraw
his head, gently slamming the door after him.

The play of the evening was written "expressly for the occasion" by a
gentleman who had produced one melodrama at a Bowery theatre, and failed
to produce a large number of melodramas at all the theatres in Broadway.
Mrs. Slapman, a true patroness of genius, kindly permitted this
gentleman to prepare all her charades, and gratified him, on several
occasions by bringing out some of the minor plays from his stuffed
portfolio.

By eight o'clock all the chairs were filled, and the actors and
actresses were still lingering over their toilet. After waiting ten
minutes longer, and crossing and uncrossing their legs repeatedly, the
audience stamped and whistled very much in the manner of an impatient
crowd at a real theatre. Mrs. Slapman relished these little ebullitions
of natural feeling, because it made the illusion of her "Thespian
parlor" (as she called it) more complete.

At eight and a quarter o'clock, the orchestra, consisting of two flutes
and a violin, issued from behind the curtain, and seated itself before
some music stands ranged against the wall. The performers were amateurs
(two bookkeepers, and a cashier in private life), and could not have
been hired to play for any amount of money, though they were always
willing to favor a few friends. Mrs. Slapman humored them in this whim,
and they played regularly at her private theatricals.

After a few nods and facetious remarks to their friends in the audience
(familiarities from which a paid orchestra would have been totally cut
off), the musicians dashed into a new overture, composed by Signor
Mancussi, also "expressly for the occasion."

This mu