heir way of doing business; but it is
vain. Every last one of them has to slide around from B natural to F
sharp, and they do it as best they can.

Having accomplished its incendiary and revolutionary purpose, the small
reed-instrument subsides until it finds another chance to break out.
It is a mugwump.

Die Walkueren, as given us by the Damrosch Company, are nine stout,
comely young women, attired in costumes somewhat similar to the armor
worn by Herr Lawrence Barrett's Roman army in Herr Shakespeare's play
of "Der Julius Caesar." Readers of Norse mythology may suppose that
these weird sisters were dim, vague, shadowy creatures; but they are
mistaken. Brunhilde has the embonpoint of a dowager, and her arms are
as robust and red as a dairy-maid's.

As for Gerhilde, Waltraute, Helmwige, and the rest, they are well-fed,
buxom ladies, evidently of middle age, whose very appearance exhales an
aroma of kraut and garlic, which, by the way, we see by the libretto,
was termed "mead" in the days of Wotan and his court. These Die
Walkueren are said to ride fiery, untamed steeds; but only one steed is
exhibited in the drama as it is given at the Columbia. This steed, we
regret to say, is a restless, noisy brute, and invariably has to be led
off the stage by one of das supes, before his act concludes.

However, no one should doubt his heroic nature, inasmuch as the
cabalistic letters "U. S." are distinctly branded upon his left flank.

The Sieglinde of the piece is Fraeulein Slach, a young lady no bigger
than a minute, but with wonderful powers of endurance. To say nothing
of Hunding's persecutions, she has to shield Siegmund, elope with him,
climb beetling precipices, ride Brunhilde's fiery, untamed steed,
confront die Walkueren, and look on her slain lover, and, in addition to
these prodigies, participate in a Graeco-Roman wrestling-match with an
orchestra of sixty-five pieces for three hours and a half.

Yet she is equal to the emergency. Up to the very last she is as fresh
as a daisy; and, after recovering from her swooning-spell in the second
act, she braces her shoulders back, and dances all around the top notes
of the chromatic scale with the greatest of ease. She is a wonderful
little woman, is Fraeulein Slach! What a wee bit of humanity, yet what
a volume of voice she has, and what endurance!

Down among the orchestra people sat a pale, sad man. His apparent
lonesomeness interested us deeply. We could no