Mr. Filk. Well, I didn't like to say so before; but that's been my view all along!
Mr. Balch. And mine.
Mr. Sibb. Now perhaps you understand why we'd rather leave it to you to give him the arm-chair.
Mr. Cockcr. I give a man an arm-chair for bringing disgrace on the 'ole of Jerrymere! I'd sooner break it up for firewood! Whoever it was that first started all this tomfoolery about a testimonial, I'm not going to 'ave my name associated with it, and if you'll take my advice, you'll drop it once and for all, for it's only making yourselves ridiculous! [His companions, observing that he is in a somewhat excited condition, consider it advisable to change the subject.
OPERATIC NOTES.
"O my prophetic sole, my ankle!"
Tuesday, June 27.—Faust, in French. Jean de Reszke was to have been Faust, but the "vaulting ambition" of the eminent Polish tenor led him to attempt a high jump with another Pole—the leaping-pole—and whether he had not his compatriot well in hand, or whether, "with love's light wings," Roméo did not manage to "o'ertop" the highest note above the line, deponent sayeth not, but this much is known, that he fell at the high jump, and, feeling the pain first in the under part of his foot, and then in the leg, he exclaimed, with Hamlet, "O my prophetic sole, my ankle!" the result being that he appeareth not to-night as Faust. If Frère Jean de Reszke is going on by "leaps and bounds" in this manner, he will be known as "Brother John the Risky." Madame Nordica happy as Marguerite—at least she looked it, for even in the most tragic scenes there is always a sweet smile on her dimpled cheeks. Mlle. Bauermeister makes a Marta of herself as the merry old dame; Mlle. Guercia, as Siebel, is a Siebeline mystery; Lassalle, as Valentine, pleases la salle; but Brother Edward "prends le gâteau" as Mephistopheles.
Wednesday.—Tristan und Isolde, which may be rendered Triste 'un und I solde-not-so-many-tickets-as-usual, or Triste 'un und I'm Sold. "The fourth of the Wagner Cycle." If there are eight of them then this is the Bi-Cycle, but there's more woe than weal in it, and though extracts may be relished by the learned amateur, yet, as a whole, Wagner's Tristan does not attract our opera-going public.