love you; I am—rich ; I have—a castle and—an
estate—in England, a—park and—town—house."
Just here, while pausing to regain his breath, he
espies Mr. Hildebrand's cheese-like head in the
depths of the peanut gallery; he is overcome with
hunger and falls gracefully upon the table behind
him. At this most natural bit of acting the house
cheers tremendously; Miss Herr smiles bewitch
ingly from the manager's box ; Mr. Williamson's
thoughts return from Pine Grove and he shouts
"good ;" from the rear of the hall is heard a me
lodious cackle ; it is Dr. Holter ; and even Mr.
Weidner smiles assent to this clever tragedian.
"I—can—not—love—you," says the heroine,
and the villain staggers off the stage mil the
hisses of the Sowerstown elements of the Iptl3o.
Again we are in the Rockies, time—ten minutes
later. The omnipresent Joe Dempsey is here as
usual, accompanied by O'Flynn and Senor Pickle.
The play progresses and after many thrilling epi
sodes the curtain falls for the second act, leaving
us completely in the dark as to what is going to
happen.
Again melody floats through the air, and the
house empties. The orchestra is hardat it. Lead•
er Neidigh has entirely dropped out of the race
as no ordinary mortal could begin to keep up
with the man on the bass viol, who is in it to be
heard. Before the piece is half over he has the
floor to himself and the other musicians have laid
down their instrullients exhausted. At last he
ceases; up roles the curtain and now we are in a
wooded dell in Arizona, near Banker Lester's gold
mine. The banker is there , conversing with, a
cowboy acquaintance, when he is startled by the
entrance of a lithe, graceful indian maiden,
Wenona by name, who points her hand toward the
window behind that oak and then delivers to the
astonished gentleman this remarkable warning of
the machinations of her enemies : "Wenona—see
—h at—bush—h o rse—d og—crac ke rs—ch ickens
—etc." The banker, to the surprise of the audi
ence, comprehends, rushes out behind the scenes,
mounts his horse and gallops toward the distant
THE FR
'E LANCE.
mountain. "Good, .good," 'comes from the gal.
lery, "encore," from the boxes, "you're doin' her
fine, George," from the parquet, as the Indian
maid Wenona bows low and then betakes herself
from the stage.
A few minutes later we are in New York, and
find there the banker and Baron Harefoot. The
plot thickens, the whole audience holds its breath
and so still are they that we fancy we can hear
the heart throbs of those around us. Suddenly
the curtain falls. The orchestra does not start up
this time, so the whole audience remains seated.
Indeed, they are in no condition for soda water
now, so intense is their excitement, The minutes
pass slowly. Five, now tep are gone. Loud whisp
ering is heard behind the scenes. "Hurry -up
there," cries the gallery. At last the curtain
rolls slowly up; Senor Pickle stands upon the
stage and bows low and then announces : Ladies
and gentlemen, the play is over." Down falls
the curtain. Loud cries of rage and excitement
comes from every corner of the house. ''Where's
the point," cries the peanut gallery as one man,
Miss Herr faints, overcome by the effect of the
tragedy, and is only saved from tumbling out of
the box, onto the orchestra, by the strong arms of
Mr. Read, S',:e there.-- 7 Mr. Crawford is compell
ed to fan the lady next him vigorously to keep
her from being overcome also'. "But," says the
man beside us, "he has been fanning her all even
ing." Slowly the audience is filing out, sad and
dejected. "Where's the point,' "What became
of Bailin Harefoot ;" with Marries Mary Lester,"
are the remarks we hear on all sides. The house
is emptying. guess .we had better go,—to the
cottage those of us who can. No! We will follow the
Four Hundred ; wevilislink . quietly to our rooms
and try to imagine the fourth act and the fate of
Baron Harefoot and the first assistant villain.
PRoVERBI TOSCANZ
Better a gentle No than an ugly Yes,
Who (oars tlie dog le surely bitten.
Believe the boaster as you would the liar