Hon. Stage was filled with scenery, people & tragedy. I could not tell what that picture represent, but it were easy to see who was there. King Leopold of Belgium in antique bathrobe were surrounded by German Samurai on bright banks of Erie Canal where they go for fresh air while being cruel in music. Hon. King grumble some dishagreeable barytones to goldly-hair daughter who step forthly in rich nightgown & holla,
“O wat di spa!”
I turn to eye-glass gentleman next by me who were reading Book of Opera with piano-tuner expression.
“What she mean when she say, ‘O wat di spa!” I requesh.
“She say, ‘O what despair!” he pronounce distinctually.
“What language was that, please?” This from me.
“English,” he whisper peevly.
“I am glad to make its acquaintance,” I argue slightly.
Pretty soonly, after considerable choir-noise, Hon. Orchestra get into dispute with brass horners. And look, see! Down wet transportation of Erie Canal come flotting one enormalously swollen duck and on him stands riding one hansum circus man in tin clothes. Excitements. Hon. Tin Gentleman get off from that trained white chicken and throw hitching-rope around his stretched neck. Hon. Poultry bobb chin with peck-peck expression and steam away with promptness peculiar to commutation. Hon. Tin Hero wave muscles of fingers.
“Feh-wa! Feh-wa! Ma fayvu swa!” he warbule with sweet lung.