with me! Shut up the trap again! I shall prompt in my
old place; for we won't do all they do on the other side of the way
till they can do all we do on ours." So soundly English a speech is
received with great cheering--the foreigners and their new-fangled
ways are laughed to scorn, and the performance is a very complete
success.

To singers, the convenient position of the prompter is a matter of
real importance. Their memories are severely tried, for, in addition
to the words, they have to bear in mind the music of their parts.
While delivering their scenas they are compelled to remain almost
stationary, well in front of the stage, so that their voices may be
thrown towards their audience and not lose effect by escaping into the
flies. Meanwhile their hasty movement towards a prompter in the wings,
upon any sudden forgetfulness of the words of their songs, would be
most awkward and unseemly. It is very necessary that their prompter
and their conductor should be their near neighbours, able to render
them assistance and support upon the shortest notice. But this
proximity of the prompter has, perhaps, induced them to rely too much
upon his help, and to burden their memories too little. The majority
of singers are but indifferently acquainted with the words they are
required to utter. They gather these as they want them, from the
hidden friend in his hutch at their feet. The occupants of the
proscenium boxes at the opera-houses must be familiarly acquainted
with the tones of the prompter's voice, as he delivers to the singers,
line by line, the matter of their parts; and occasionally these stage
whispers are audible at a greater distance from the foot-lights. In
operatic performances, however, the words are of very inferior
importance to the music; the composer quite eclipses the author. A
musician has been known to call a libretto the "verbiage" of his
opera. The term was not perhaps altogether inappropriate. Even actors
are apt to underrate the importance of the speeches they are called
upon to deliver, laying the greater stress upon the "business" they
propose to originate, or the scenic effects that are to be introduced
into the play. They sometimes describe the words of their parts as
"cackle." But perhaps this term also may be accepted as applying,
fitly enough, to much of the dialogue of the modern drama.

It is a popular notion that, although all persons may not be endowed
with histrionic gifts, it is open to ev