us in Handel's famous serenata.

I remember our first night; they gave _Masaniello_, which I had
never seen; and when the tenor sang, "Behold how brightly breaks the
morning," it came on us both as a delicious surprise--it was such a
favorite song at Brossard's--"_amis! la matinee est belle_...."
Indeed, it was one of the songs Barty sang on the boulevard for the
poor woman, six or seven years back.

The tenor, Mr. Elliot Galer, had a lovely voice; and that was a
moment never to be forgotten.

Then came _Acis and Galatea_, which was so odd and old-fashioned we
could scarcely sit it out.

[Illustration: "'PILE OU FACE--HEADS OR TAILS?'"]

Next night, _Lucia_--charming; then again _Acis and Galatea_,
because we had nowhere else to go.

"Tiens, tiens!" says Barty, as the lovers sang "the flocks shall
leave the mountains"; "c'est diantrement joli, ca!--ecoute!"

Next night, _La Sonnambula_--then again _Acis and Galatea_.

"Mais, nom d'une pipe--elle est _divine_, cette musique-la!" says
Barty.

And the nights after we could scarcely sit out the Italian opera
that preceded what we have looked upon ever since as among the
divinest music in the world.

So one must not judge music at a first hearing; nor poetry; nor
pictures at first sight; unless one be poet or painter or musician
one's self--not even then! I may live to love thee yet, oh
_Tannhaeuser_!

Lucy Escott, Fanny Huddart, Elliot Galer, and Hamilton Braham--that
was the cast; I hear their voices now....

One morning Hamilton Braham tried Barty's voice on the empty stage
at St. James's Theatre--made him sing "When other lips."

"Sing _out_, man--sing _out_!" said the big bass. And Barty shouted
his loudest--a method which did not suit him. I sat in the pit, with
half a dozen Guardsmen, who were deeply interested in Barty's
operatic aspirations.

It turned out that Barty was neither tenor nor barytone; and that
his light voice, so charming in a room, would never do for the
operatic stage; although his figure, in spite of his great height,
would have suited heroic parts so admirably.

Besides, three or four years' training in Italy were needed--a
different production altogether.

So Barty gave up this idea and made up his mind to be an artist. He
got permission to work in the British Museum, and drew the
"Discobolus," and sent his drawing to the Royal Academy, in the hope
of being admitted there as a student. He was not.

Then an immense overwhelm