edium of soups, patés and fricasées, lose their liquidity, and film, mantle and stagnate into monotony. How the tenor is occupied until the hour of supper, we shall relate in another chapter; suffice it to say that he is at home--that is to say, on the stage.
But when supper comes he is no longer prevented by fear of "lost voice" or any other dire calamity, from giving way to the cravings of hunger and thirst. He eats with the relish of hunger induced by labor, and drinks with the excitement arising from the consciousness that he is, what in the language of the turf is styled "the favorite." The ladies and gentlemen of the troupe usually assemble at supper, and it is then that the tenor again bestows his galanteries on the prima donna, and says many more really complimentary things than are to be found set down in his professional role.
In concluding this sketch of the tenor, the writer would, with all due submission to the opinion of the public, venture to discover his se