ave considerable difficulty in following the prompter, whose duty it
is to dictate to the performer the words which the latter afterwards
repeats. Seated in a stage trap before the leader of the orchestra, he
is conveniently within hearing of the actors, who upon the evening of
representation never desert him if they can possibly help it. But I, who
have studied my part after the manner of English actors, could easily
dispense with the Cuban prompter's services. His prompting is
perplexing, and fills me with prospective terrors of a 'break-down.'
Often while I am in the middle of a speech, my officious friend at the
footlights has already whispered the remainder, besides uttering the
words which belong to the next speaker. If I pause for purposes of
'by-play,' the gentleman in the trap is convinced that I have forgotten
my role, and insists upon repeating the missing line, though I
expostulate in a low voice, and beg him, by all the saints in the
calendar, to hold his peace.

A copy of the new farce is dispatched, previous to its representation,
to the Spanish Censor, who, after a careful perusal, returns it with the
following foot-note:--

'Having examined this comedy, I find in it nothing which should prevent
its representation from being authorised. Signed: The Censor of
Theatres--Antonio de los Sandos y Ribaldos.'

In spite of this formal declaration, one passage in the farce is found
to bear a condemnatory red mark. The objectionable phrase belongs to
Mister Charles, the Yankee engineer, who, in the course of the play's
action, is made to observe: 'These poor Spanish brutes want civilising
badly!'

Don Baltazar is puzzled, and consults his company upon the
propriety--not to say safety--of using the questionable words. All agree
that the point is a telling one, and would gratify an audience composed
principally of Cubans, who have no affection for Spaniards; and they are
of opinion that as no written exception to the play has, as is usual in
such cases, been made by the censor, the text may safely be followed.

From the broad balcony of my private dwelling, I watch with eager
interest the Spanish orange and red banner, which, on a certain day,
waves over the Teatro Real de Cuba, in token of an evening's
performance. If the weather prove unfavourable, this fluttering emblem
of fine weather will fall like a barometer; the doors of the theatre
will close, and a notice, postponing the entertainments for another
ev