they did in learning three or four different parts, whisking in
and out of various costumes, and managing the stage besides. It
was excellent drill for their memories, a harmless amusement, and
employed many hours which otherwise would have been idle, lonely,
or spent in less profitable society.

On christmas night, a dozen girls piled onto the bed which
was the dress circle, and sat before the blue and yellow chintz
curtains in a most flattering state of expectancy. There was a
good deal of rustling and whispering behind the curtain, a trifle
of lamp smoke, and an occasional giggle from Amy, who was apt to
get hysterical in the excitement of the moment. Presently a bell
sounded, the curtains flew apart, and the _operatic tragedy_ began.

"A gloomy wood," according to the one playbill, was represented
by a few shrubs in pots, green baize on the floor, and a
cave in the distance. This cave was made with a clothes horse
for a roof, bureaus for walls, and in it was a small furnace in
full blast, with a black pot on it and an old witch bending over
it. The stage was dark and the glow of the furnace had a fine
effect, especially as real steam issued from the kettle when the
witch took off the cover. A moment was allowed for the first
thrill to subside, then Hugo, the villain, stalked in with a
clanking sword at his side, a slouching hat, black beard,
mysterious cloak, and the boots. After pacing to and fro in much
agitation, he struck his forehead, and burst out in a wild
strain, singing of his hatred for Roderigo, his love for Zara,
and his pleasing resolution to kill the one and win the other.
The gruff tones of Hugo's voice, with an occasional shout when
his feelings overcame him, were very impressive, and the audience