It would seem, after the publication of the card, signed by Washington Irving, Charles King, and about fifty others, denouncing the outrages of Monday night, and pledging themselves to sustain Macready, that the contest took on a new character. Macready was a subordinate personage, and he was to be put down less on his own account, than to spite his aristocratic supporters. The question became not only a national, but a social one. It was the rich against the poor—the aristocracy against the people; and this hatred of wealth and privilege is increasing over the world, and ready to burst out whenever there is the slightest occasion. The rich and well-bred are too apt to despise the poor and ignorant, and they must not think it strange if they are hated in return. CHAPTER SIXTH. THE SCENES OF THE FATAL NIGHT. As the hour for the opening of the Opera House approached, excited crowds began to gather from all parts of the city. Hundreds of men were seen walking rapidly up Broadway. There was a great rush for tickets, and at an early hour the house was declared full, and the sale of tickets suspended. Among the audience in the house were seven ladies. The police were at their stations, and the doors and windows were strongly barricaded. It should here be stated that the Opera House is situated midway between Broadway and the Bowery, one side fronting on Eighth Street, the other on Astor-Place. The end toward Broadway is covered by buildings, but there is an open space to the Bowery. While the crowd was gathering outside, and endeavoring to force an entrance, in which they were prevented by the police, the curtain rose, and the mock tragedy commenced. Mr. Clark, an American actor, was vociferously applauded in the part of _Macduff_. The entrance of Mr. Macready in the third scene was the signal for a storm of cheers, groans, hisses, and yells. The whole audience rose, and the greatest part, who were friendly to Macready, cheered and waved their hats and handkerchiefs; but when these cheers were spent, the noise had not subsided. A large body in the parquette, and another in the amphitheatre hissed and groaned, and the contest was kept up until a placard was displayed on the stage, on which was written—“The friends of order will remain quiet.” The friends of disorder, however, kept up their noise through the first act, when the recorder and chief of police decided to quell the tumult; and in a few moments the noisiest of the rioters were arrested, and conveyed to a room in the basement, and the play went on in comparative quietness.