"Why do you not applaud? Does it not suit you?"
The composer, much amused, replied: "No, on the contrary, it displeases me. It is the work of a mere beginner, not to call him anything worse."
"Then you are ignorant of music," she said.
"Oh, no," replied the composer.
Then he proceeded to enlighten her on the subject, proving the music worthless and entirely without originality.
"See," said he, "this motive is ," and he hummed lightly a short melody; "this aria is stolen from Bizet, and that is from Beethoven." In short, he tore the whole opera into pieces.
His neighbor sat in silence, but with an air of pity on her countenance. At the close, she turned to him and said: "Is what you have said to me your honest opinion?"
"Entirely so," was the reply.
"Good," said she, and with a malicious gleam in her eyes left the theater.
Next morning, glancing over the paper, his eye fell upon the heading, "Leoncavallo on his 'Paggliacci;'" and reading further, was somewhat startled to find the conversation of the evening before fully reported and accredited to the proper source. He had, unfortunately, played his little joke on a lady reporter, who had proved too smart for him.
Leoncavallo swore off from making disparaging remarks concerning his own works to vivacious young ladies, no matter how handsome or how enthusiastic they might be.
68.—HOW TO MAKE A SINGER SING.
There are various ways of making a stubborn singer exhibit his abilities. John Abell, a celebrated tenor of the time of Charles the Second, experienced one of these methods. Being a spendthrift by nature, he once
