sical composition had been rehearsed the week previous in the
presence of a select party of amateurs and critics, and had been
pronounced, by the sub-editor of a weekly paper, "remarkable for its
breadth and color." Under these circumstances, the overture was listened
to with much interest at first, which abated as the music progressed.
Touching the merits of "color" and "breadth" there might be some grounds
of doubt, but none whatever concerning its "length."

It lasted until twenty minutes of nine; and, toward the close, faint
scrapings of dissatisfaction were heard, which would have been more
audible had Signor Mancussi not been present. As the last twang of the
fiddle died on the air, M. Bartin was heard by several persons to say,
"Bah! a bad hash from Rossini and Auber." The remark was reported to
Signor Mancussi, and did not tend to enhance his friendly regards for
the other gentleman.

CHAPTER II.

CURTAIN UP.

At eight and three quarters P.M. the curtain was rung up, and discovered
a rustic scene, in the midst of which Mrs. Slapman (Fidelia) was seated.
She was dressed in a white frock with low neck, and a flat hat, and was
trimmed out with red ribbons in all directions. She looked young and
pretty. Only an anxious knitting of her eyebrows revealed the cares and
troubles of intellect. Mrs. Slapman was applauded by a unanimous
clapping of hands. She was seated in a red-velvet rocking chair, at a
small but costly table, on which stood an expensive vase filled with
flowers. These properties, though few, were intended to signify
boundless affluence and luxury. Fidelia languidly waved a jewelled fan,
and sighed. "Will he never come?" said she.

She had hardly made this remark, when, by a singular coincidence,
Alberto (Overtop) entered from the left wing, and threw himself, with as
much grace as his tights would permit, at her feet. She emitted a small
shriek, and gave him her hand to kiss, which he did with ecstasy.
Alberto was habited like an Italian gentleman in good circumstances; and
no one would have suspected his poverty, if he had not commenced the
dialogue by an affecting allusion to his last _scudi_, which brought
tears to the eyes of the fair Fidelia.

Such trifling questions as lovers alone can ask and answer then passed
between them; and at last came the solemn interrogatory from the
kneeling Alberto: "And will you always love me, dearest?"

Fidelia turned her meek orbs toward the ceiling, rai