A NOTE FROM THE ORCHESTRA.
I am a musician. I constitute one twenty-fourth of the orchestra at BOOTH'S. I nightly blow the drum. Thus much by way of introduction to the dear public, whose devoted servant I am, preliminary to a recital of my woes. Whoever has been inside the theatre named has probably noticed the peculiar construction, or rather location, of the enclosure wherein we manipulators of melody are penned up. I know not what cause or provocation the architect of BOOTH'S Theatre may have had, but certain it is that he entertains a horrible spite against musicians. He may have been distracted by diabolical hand-organs, or driven wild by bungling buglists, but why should he include worthy and unoffending artists in his hatred? The revenge of a BORGIA was not more terrible or cruel than that of this architect. He has put the orchestra so far below the stage that no part of the latter is visible to the poor musicians.
Fearful that some unusually tall one should catch an occasional glimpse of the apex of some equally tall performer, he has made the front of the stage project, like an overhanging Table Rock, above the devoted orchestral heads. And there we sit, like a row of human Stoughton bottles, having eyes, yet seeing not the plays that we hear enacted. I am disgusted. I am mad about it. It is a way of "coming it over us," that is contemptible.
What I want to know is, how can I derive any satisfaction from HAMLET'S death when I don't see him die? How can I sit quietly there and see the audience go into convulsions over Major WELLINGTON DE BOOTS, when I can by no possibility see the point of the joke?
Alas! There are no convulsions for me! Every night for two weeks has the Huguenot slain the hectoring HECTOR, and I remain in blissful (no, not blissful) ignorance of the manner of his taking off. It has gone far past endurance, and I humbly trust that the public, or Mr. BERGH, or somebody imbued with philanthropic feelings, will do something for that suffering body—BOOTH'S orchestra.
A SUFFERER.
People are dying of cholera in New York at the rate of 353 a day. Six emigrant ships arrived this morning, having on board 374 cases of small-pox, 685 of cholera, and 897 of yellow fever. No alarm is yet felt, however.