The rustler., 1891-11-06

under the stage, looking like n square
rat hole, opened, and one by ono the
little pigny members of the orchestra
crawlcd out from some region lower
than the gods Of the gallery could see
They assumed their places like auto
mnta, and the little squcalSs Of their
hddlcs the scpulchral moans and
groans of the cellos, and the 'fraid-lilSe
little tones of the cornet ascended INTO
our heaven. These were the premoni-
tory symptoms Of music, and soon we
had IL; and we had the best of Il, too.
Sound ascends rapidly, and the gallery
Is the best place ! ever occupied for
enjoying u good theatrical orchestra. AS
the leader strikes an attitude, Just be-
fore striking his stradivarius, we real
ize that an hour has passed while we
have witnessed the play before the
play. But II Is too soon to heave n sigh
Of relief. The overture is prolonged
almost beyond endurance, and yet the
leader gives no sign Of stopping. Why?
Because at this late moment, the aisles
are filling with great big hats covering
little bits Of heads; striking costumes
are parading TO seats which ought 10
have already been occupied; ushers are
rushing here and there, when they
ought TO have been permitted to attend
TO their duties long ago; but the late ar
rivals still come in, and the orchestra
toots. II has ceased TO be music. II Is
torture; and all because lot OF ladies'
wanted TO come late, TO show their
plumage and disport themselves before
an impatient audience. They are bor-
ing u.s. They win not single plaudit.
In the gallery they are provoking COM
ments and criticisms which are well
timed, and ought 10 be whispered into
the ears of these disturbers of the pub
lie peace.
But, fortunately, all things have an
end, even that vanity of vanities, which
is all vanity, the display of dress goods
upon feminine backs; SO the music
stops, and the curtain rises. Every
inch of the stage is visible from the
gallery. Every actor appears TO good
advantage. Every lineament every
smile, every gesture, every intonation
seems studied for our especial delecta-
ton. The comments about me are pro-
found. The actors are compared, in n
learned manner, with others who have
appeared in the same parts during the
past twenty-five years. Three seats to
my left is little dried-up Briton, who
heard Macready, Edmund Kean, Cush-
man and the elder Booth. A mulatto
compares the star with Z. L. Davenport,
Edwin Forrest and John Mccullough.
II grows more and more interesting. /
see the players and hear the play me-
charically. The running fire Of COM
ment all around me is more interesting.
My tragedian friend is right The peo-
pie of the gallery have seen more, seen
more critically, understand better than
those pheasants and jays ueiow rs.
They applaud at the right time; they
exhibit delight, impatience; they have
hissed once during the first act, and
they Missed at the right time and at Ghe
right actress. Those people on the
stage down there are playing 10 the
gallery. They are looking up, verify ut
me and at my neighbors. Every one of
them is seeking the appreciation of this
old-time NEGRO heaven" IL is palpa-
BILE as print; plain as MONDAY sunlight.
Down in the orchestra circle they know
nothing of this. In the boxes they are
talking of society. The actors know it.
Only in the gallery is the play intelli-
gently watched, from curtain rise TO
curtain fall. The audience is above.
The money-bags are below. The actors
are playing to the audience, the real
audience in the gallery.
SMITH ID. FRY.