roportions in such strong relief.

Sometimes the tenor is seen riding out with the prima donna, with whom
he is nearly always a favorite. He is the gentleman who makes himself
useful in assisting her to destroy time; he performs for her those
thousand and one little delicate attentions for which all women are so
truly grateful; and then he sings with her every night those sentimental
duos, that necessarily produce their effect upon the feminine bosom.

Whether walking with his gigantic friend, or riding with his fair one,
the tenor behaves himself with the greatest propriety and gentleman-like
bearing, excepting always a certain air which leads us to believe that
he thinks "too curious old port" of himself. He is more grave, but
apparently more vain when on foot, than when seated in the carriage with
the prima donna; at which time his gesticulation becomes very animated,
sometimes very extravagant; though we must always accord it the
attraction of gracefulness.

The time is thus agreeably walked, ridden and "chaffed" away, until the
hour for the substantial dinner comes to fortify mankind against the
slings and arrows of hunger and tedium. Then the tenor does dare to
partake of a few, of what are technically called "the delicacies of the
season." But still a restraint is put upon the appetite, for in a few
hours more he must go through labours for which the "fulness of satiety"
would little prepare him. A very worthy and elderly clergyman of the
Church of England once made known to the writer his opinion concerning
after-dinner sermons, in the following words; "I believe, sir, that
though sermons preached through the medium of simple roast beef and
plum-pudding may have been sermons invented by inspiration; they are
sure to be enunciated through the agency of the devil." So melting
strains of solos and duos, when sung through the medium of soups, pates
and fricasees, lose their liquidity, and film, mantle and stagnate into
monotony. How the tenor is occupied until the hour of supper, we shall
relate in another chapter; suffice it to say that he is at home--that is
to say, on the stage.

But when supper comes he is no longer prevented by fear of "lost voice"
or any other dire calamity, from giving way to the cravings of hunger
and thirst. He eats with the relish of hunger induced by labor, and
drinks with the excitement arising from the consciousness that he is,
what in the language of the turf is styled "the favorite