humour. It must be confessed that extreme heat is a little trying to the
temper of a critic.

The Opera then was not what it is now, nor even what it had been in a
former time. It is somewhat amusing to find Goldsmith questioning,
in one of his essays, whether the Opera could ever become popular in
England. But on the night--on which the reader is summoned to that
"theatre of sweet sounds" a celebrated singer from the Continent made
his first appearance in London, and all the world thronged to "that
odious Opera-house" to hear, or to say they had heard, the famous
Sopraniello.

With a nervous step, Clarence proceeded to Lady Westborough's box; and
it was many minutes that he lingered by the door before he summoned
courage to obtain admission.

He entered; the box was crowded; but Lady Flora was not there. Lord
Borodaile was sitting next to Lady Westborough. As Clarence entered,
Lord Borodaile raised his eyebrows, and Lady Westborough her glass.
However disposed a great person may be to drop a lesser one, no one of
real birth or breeding ever cuts another. Lady Westborough, therefore,
though much colder, was no less civil than usual; and Lord Borodaile
bowed lower than ever to Mr. Linden, as he punctiliously called him.
But Clarence's quick eye discovered instantly that he was no welcome
intruder, and that his day with the beautiful marchioness was over. His
visit, consequently, was short and embarrassed. When he left the box,
he heard Lord Borodaile's short, slow, sneering laugh, followed by Lady
Westborough's "hush" of reproof.

His blood boiled. He hurried along the passage, with his eyes fixed upon
the ground and his hand clenched.

"What ho! Linden, my good fellow; why, you look as if all the ferocity
of the great Figg were in your veins," cried a good-humoured voice.
Clarence started, and saw the young and high-spirited Duke of
Haverfield.

"Are you going behind the scenes?" said his grace. "I have just come
thence; and you had much better drop into La Meronville's box with me.
You sup with her to-night, do you not?

"No, indeed!" replied Clarence; "I scarcely know her, except by sight."

"Well, and what think you of her?"

"That she is the prettiest Frenchwoman I ever saw."

"Commend me to secret sympathies!" cried the duke. "She has asked
me three times who you were, and told me three times you were the
handsomest man in London and had quite a foreign air; the latter
recommendation being of course f