lady who has just come from boarding-school. "The Old Arm-Chair," or
"Woodman, spare that Tree," will be also found in easy juxtaposition.
The latter songs are usually brought into service at the instance of
an uncle or bachelor brother, whose request is generally prefaced by a
remark deprecatory of the opera, and the gratuitous observation that "we
are retrograding, sir,--retrograding," and that "there is no music
like the old songs." He sometimes condescends to accompany "Marie" in a
tremulous barytone, and is particularly forcible in those passages where
the word "repeat" is written, for reasons stated above. When the song is
over, to the success of which he feels he has materially contributed, he
will inform you that you may talk of your "arias," and your "romanzas,"
"but for music, sir,--music--" at which point he becomes incoherent and
unintelligible. It is this gentleman who suggests "China," or "Brattle
Street," as a suitable and cheerful exercise for the social circle.
There are certain amatory songs, of an arch and coquettish character,
familiar to these localities, which the young lady, being called upon
to sing, declines with a bashful and tantalizing hesitation. Prominent
among these may be mentioned an erotic effusion entitled "I'm talking
in my Sleep," which, when sung by a young person vivaciously and with
appropriate glances, can be made to drive languishing swains to the
verge of madness. Ballads of this quality afford splendid opportunities
for bold young men, who, by ejaculating "Oh!" and "Ah!" at the affecting
passages, frequently gain a fascinating reputation for wildness and
scepticism.

But the music which called up these parenthetical reflections has died
away, and with it the slight animosities it inspired. The last song has
been sung, the piano closed, the lights are withdrawn from the windows,
and the white skirts flutter away from stoops and balconies. The silence
is broken only by the rattle and rumble of carriages coming from theatre