that box on the right of the second tier a man has
entered. What an Apollo he is? How the audi
ence quails under the fire of that eye? Genius is
written in every line of that face. "Who is he,"
every one is asking? Here came the answer from
a lady right behind us—''lt is Mr. Weidner, the
great critic of the Drama, and a man of great tal
ent. Is he not charming ?" Every seat now is
filled and yon usher announces that hundreds have
been turned away from the door. We have ob
served all this while the orchestra have been re
covering their breath, and now we will turn our
eyes toward the stage, and Banker Lester. "My
daughter—wants—to--be—married," he exclaims
in apnize l tones as though.his heart were break
ing at the thought, "Oh can —I spare—her,"
Just here a lou I unearthly scream comes from the
peanut gallery, which causes the banker to trem
ble visably for he thinks that the house is. starting
to fall ; but it is found out to be Mr. Cartwright
executing his fog horn.
Now the play pr,rgreising ; the plot thickens
aid the relatives of th! actors are'cheering trc-
mendously
At last comes the star. Aglstus Read applauds
loudly and Miss Herr gives him a lovely smile of
encouragement from the manager's box, •It is
Senor Pickle who is posing tonight as a sable son
of Africa.
"This," crie Irishman O'Flynn producing a
"is a gun."
"And this," answers the quickwitted Etheopian
presenting a pistol, "is a s m of a gun."
My ! how the house thunders applause ; the
very building shakes under the storm, and even
Mr. Williamson wakens and crizs "good, good,"
as is always his wait at the Pine Grove singing
school.
Now the whole audience is on the qui vive, for
the plot is fist thickening and something must hap
pen soon. The lad ie3 are paling visably in their
excitement ; and sweet Mary Lester has conquered
the sympathy of the gallery gods by the touching
love which she bears toward the villainous baron.
8' LANCE
THE FgE
All are convulsed with sorrow for s.e, Murphy
Small is weeping quarts of tears into the coal scut
tle bonnet, of yon society dame from Pudding
town below him.
Intense interest is written on every face now,
and all are carried away by the natural acting of
the company and the realistic stage settings.
Now we are in another scene, in a narrow gulley
in the wild west. Baron Harefoot has turned out
to be a border desperado, Joe Dempsey by name,
and the day after we see him in Banker Lester's
New York residence we find him fighting a duel in
this Rocky Mountain canyon. The first assistant
villain, Harry from the chemical laboratory, is
there as his second. The other participants in the
affair are not known to us, but suffice it to say
that when th,t curtain falls for• the first act it leaves
Joe Dempsey, alias Baron Herefoot, bleeding in
the arms of his assist Ant in villainy.
Once more the wheezy strains of the orchestra
float through the air, but the house is rapidly
emptying now. There are little knots of men out
in the lobby discussing the tragedy; there are
hundreds of others rushing down the broad stair
way and in a few minutes they will be standing in
a mass fifty deep around Snyder's soda fountain.
The music is blazing away. At last Mr. Neidigh,
the leader, has succeeded in catching up and now
they are letting us have it at full blast. The first
violin has broken three strings of his instrument,
but it makes no difference to him—he is giving it
to us on one string now with full force.
The warning bell rings ; the crowds leave the
soda fountain with thirst unsatisfied ; there is a
rush for the seats, and in another moment the
house is filled to the utmost' The last melodious
strain of ''Marching through Georgia" has disap
peared through the chinks in the roof above ; the
curtain rises, and we are introduced to Mad Polly
Lester and her youthful lover. The acting here
is superb. The mystic mazes of the plot are now
beginning to unfold themselves to the delighted
spectators. 13. iron Harefoot is proposing to the
banker's beautiful daughter and exclaims, "I