_Ros._ Farewell, Monsieur traveler: Look you, lisp, and wear strange suits; disable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. AS YOU LIKE IT. “I did not see you at the opera, last night, Mrs. Fielding,” said Miss Collingwood. “No,” replied the other, “I was not there. How were you pleased?” “Oh, delighted!” returned the young lady, with animation. “It is an excellent company. The _tenore_ has a superb voice, and the _prima donna_ is charming. And everybody was there. You mean to go to-morrow, I suppose?” “No,” said Mrs. Fielding; “the last time I heard that opera was in Paris. Lablache, Tamburini and Persiani sang; and I cannot bear to destroy the illusion by seeing it here. When one has been abroad, and heard music in such perfection, it spoils one for all one can get in this country.” This was said in such a tone of superiority, that Miss Collingwood was a little dashed; but she replied, “Oh, we cannot expect Lablache and Persiani; but still, this is an excellent company.” “I’m told they are very tolerable,” replied Mrs. Fielding, in the same languid, supercilious manner. “But music, I think, should know no mediocrity. Now, in Paris, you have every thing in such perfection! There was nothing I enjoyed so much while I was abroad, as the opera. Persiani is an exquisite creature! And Lablache—what a voice! And Tamburini!” And Mrs. Fielding rolled up her eyes in an ecstasy, quite breathless and overcome by her recollections. “I don’t think,” she continued “I could bear hearing the same music sung by second-rate, or probably third or fourth-rate _artistes_, which I presume these people are. They are from Havana, I believe?” “Yes,” answered Miss Collingwood, now quite ashamed of the enthusiasm with which she had first spoken of them, and almost thankful she had not mentioned the “season tickets,” she had been before on the point of announcing with such pride and delight. “We had a very full house,” she continued, however, too full of the subject to desist from it altogether, though not daring to dwell upon the music any longer. “Everybody, you know, was there; and I am told every seat in the house is engaged for to-morrow.” “Is it possible!” exclaimed Mrs. Fielding. “How these people do succeed here! Poor wretches, that can scarce get an engagement at one of the third or fourth-rate theatres abroad, have nothing to do but to come to this country to make their fortunes.” “But Mr. Livingston told me that he had heard Signora D. in Paris, at the Grand Italian Opera,” replied Miss Collingwood, plucking up a little courage.