In London I had raised poor Volpini almost from the dead to make him sing the part of _Faust_, when but for his services I should have had to close my theatre. I had induced George Bolton (of whom I knew nothing at the time, except that he had a tenor voice, and that I had nearly run over him in a cab) to undertake literally at a moment's notice the part of "Lionel" in _Martha_, of which he knew nothing until I coached him, except one air. But neither a Bolton nor a Volpini was now to be found, and thanks to my lazy, superstitious, dog-ridden tenor, I had to close my theatre and send away one of the most brilliant audiences that New York could produce. I wrote a hurried notice which was put up in manuscript just as I had scribbled it down, to the effect that in consequence of Ravelli's refusing without explanation to sing, the theatre was closed for that morning. The excitement outside was prodigious. Everyone, of course, said that it was through my fault the doors were shut. "It is all that Mapleson," one charming lady was heard to exclaim. "Wouldn't I scratch his face if I had him here!" Worst of all, the "scalpers" went off with the money they had received for tickets sold outside the theatre. Let me here explain what "scalper" means. I am afraid that in America our excellent librarians who do so much for the support of the Opera would be called "scalpers;" a scalper meaning simply one who buys tickets at the theatre to sell them at an advance elsewhere. The ferocious name bestowed upon these gentry shows, however, that their dealings are not quite so honourable as those of our "booksellers." For when they had disposed of their tickets, and the performance changed, or the theatre by some accident closed, they would walk off without any thought of restoring the money they had received for tickets now unavailable. At times, too, I have caught them exhibiting a gallery diagram, and selling gallery places as orchestra stalls. They are now obliged, by a just law, to take out licenses, and register their places of abode. Nor do managers allow any one of them to buy more than four tickets for each representation. Meanwhile the New York fall season of 1882 finished up grandly with _Semiramide_, the receipts reaching 14,000 dollars, and the public mad with enthusiasm. I afterwards started with the Company for Baltimore, where we opened with rather less than our usual success, on account of the small-pox which was raging all over the city. Very few notices were given of the opera in consequence of three and four columns a day being occupied with the crusade undertaken against the small-pox by Mayor White, who had telegraphed for a large number of vaccination physicians from various States, determined as he was to stamp out the disease.