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Monsieur in a greasy green dressing-gown odorous of tobacco, swearing at a boy with blear eyes, a scene-shifter. The orchestra tuning beyond the foot-lights: how vilely the first violin slurred over that second passage! "Life's Prophecy," I called it; and that "Vision of Heaven," the trombonist came in always false on the bass, because, as Monsieur said, he had always two brandy-slings too much.
I heard him crow like a barn-yard fowl on the Capitol-steps at Washington when Lincoln called for the seventy-five thousand: now, he hashes up Breckinridge's conservative speech for your hickory-backed farmers. Does he support the family, Mac?" "His election-expenses are heavy." "Brandy-slings. I know his proclivities." McKinstry colored. Dr.
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