nd its jokes were shared alike by the smart English
coachmen and the driver of the antiquated family "carry-all." It was
impudent, too, but it was the impudence of the great Republic,--the bold
assertion of freedom and prosperity.

In the crowded lobby long lines of people were depositing wraps at the
cloak-room windows, some were standing in little groups, and hundreds of
others were passing up the grand marble staircase into the hall above;
Libretto sellers' cries and the scurrying tread of many feet upon the
hard mosaic mingled with the distant strains of music, and scores of
glittering lights shone upon the marble walls, and the countless,
brilliant dresses of the moving throng. On into the great hall the
people went. Five thousand seats were being filled, and, tier above
tier, they rose like a section of a Roman theatre. Two rows of boxes
lined the sides. Delicate wall tints and carefully toned lights blended
softly with pretty faces and many colored gowns. The colors were an
artist's work and masterly was it done. Up from the stage rose a mass
of faces. An unbroken multitude it was, grand and impressive. Down at
the front a little man was frantically leading an army of skilled
musicians, whose rhythmical efforts filled the noble audience-room with
the overture of Verdi's masterpiece, and as the last note rolled far
away, up into the balcony loft, and was lost amid the subdued
whisperings and rustling programmes, the lights were dimmed, the stately
curtain slowly rose, and ten thousand hands applauded a welcome to the
great singer from distant Italy. Thousands of music lovers wonderingly
listened to the amazing power and range of Tamagno's voice, hundreds
stood at the back of the amphitheatre, and even the little swinging
gallery away up in the eaves was crowded with humble enthusiasts. But
there were a conspicuous few whose whisperings and laughter mingled with
the artist's notes; a few whose bids were highest at the auction sale of
boxes, and whose tardy, noisy coming accentuated their social prominence
and exasperated every lover of good music and good manners.

Among these was Mrs. Roswell Sanderson, who, with her husband, Florence
Moreland, and Mr. Walter Sedger, had just entered a box, in the upper,
left-hand tier.

"What a superb audience-room," said Florence Moreland as she put aside
her fur-lined cloak and took her opera glass out of its case. "How
beautifully it lights up. I don't think I ever saw a fin