George (behind the stove).  Eh, look here, I tell you what—­she’s hit me! Think of that!

[His legs are visibly agitated for a short time.  Another shot is heard.

Mrs. E. (under the sofa).  Oh, please, not me!  Oh, goodness, now I can’t inspire anybody any more.  Oh!

[Her feet, which can be seen under the valance, quiver a little, and then are suddenly still.

Brack (vivaciously, from under the table).  I say, Mrs. HEDDA, I’m coming in every evening—­we will have great fun here togeth—­ (Another shot is heard.) Bless me! to bring down the poor old cock-of-the-walk—­it’s unsportsmanlike!—­it’s—.

[The table-cloth is violently agitated for a minute, and presently the curtains open, and HEDDA appears.

Hedda (clearly and firmly).  I’ve been trying in there to shoot myself beautifully—­but with General GABLER’S pistol—­(She lifts the tablecloth, then looks behind the stove and under the sofa.) What! the accounts of all those everlasting bores settled?  Then my suicide becomes unnecessary.  Yes, I feel the courage of life once more!

[She goes into the back-room and plays “The Funeral March of a Marionette” as the Curtain falls.

THE END (with the usual apologies).

* * * * *

OPERATIC NOTES.

[Illustration:  “J’y suis.”  Pro Arris et focus.]

Monday.—­Le Prophete.—­Notable performance.  Profit to those who were there; loss to those who weren’t.  The two Poles, NED and JOHN DE RESZKE, excellent as the Tipster, or Prophet, and the Chief Anabaptist Swindler.  Madame RICHARD—­“O Richard, Oma Reine!” repeated her grand impersonation of Fides, but being a trifle “out of it” as to tune occasionally, I cannot be Fidei Defensor, and swear she was quite correct, so can only report that RICHARD was a bit “dicky”; otherwise, sings like a Dicky-Bird.  Cathedral Scene magnificent.  Rites are wrong, probably; but these are trifles, except to strict ritualists.  Skating Scene not up to date; it was a novelty once upon a time, but rinks have done for it.  There was an unrehearsed effect in the Prison Scene, when the walls collapsed—­the imprisoned Madame RICHARD escaped, and the Curtain descended.  Nobody hurt.  The walls, which had fallen, like those of Jericho, to the sound of the trumpet, were put away carefully, for alteration and repairs.  The prisoner, issuing from her narrow fire-escape, was recaptured, and the Opera ended with the Drinking Scene, the Prophet among the Peris, a peri-lous situation, which makes the Opera go, at the climax, “like a house-a-fire.”  Burns Justice is done to the Impostor, and, at a late hour, we call our cabs, and return to hum “beviam” over “a modest quencher.”

Saturday.—­BOITO’S Mefistofele.  Strong combination.  Excellent.  But big “waits” made it heavy.