Boxes were sold all round the house at an average of 120 dollars premium, each purchaser calling out from the auditorium the seat he would prefer, which was accordingly marked off, and a ticket handed to him by which he could obtain the seat selected on payment at the box office. Numbers of speculators somehow or another got mixed up with the public, and thus obtained sundry tickets. The premiums for the five nights reached £3,000. Nothing but standing room and the gallery was left for the paying public. Notwithstanding this, the line I have already told the reader of still existed, and was as long as ever. This I could not account for, and on inquiry I found that numbers who had placed themselves in line never intended purchasing tickets, but waited there only for the purpose of selling their places. An order was thereupon issued by the police calling upon those nearest the office to produce their money to show that they were _bonâ-fide_ purchasers. Those who could not do so were immediately removed. This difficulty, however, was met by some enterprising Jews, who lent out money for the day, simply that it might be shown to the police. Friday was selected for the benefit and farewell of Gerster in _L'Elisir d'Amore_. Patti had chosen for her benefit _La Traviata_; which, however, was changed at the request of some 500 people, who signed a petition requesting me to substitute _Crispino_. Whilst occupied one morning in my room on the fourth story at the Palace Hotel, counting with my treasurers several thousands of pounds, the atmosphere suddenly became dark. A sort of wind was blowing round the apartment, and my senses seemed to be leaving me. I could not make out what it was. The Hotel rocked three inches one way and then three inches another; the plates and knives and forks jumping off on to the floor, whilst my money was rolling in all parts of the room. I made a rush for the door, and then for the street, realizing now that there was an earthquake. Although it lasted but ten seconds the time appeared at least half an hour. On leaving the hotel I met the landlord. "Don't be frightened," he said. "Well, but I am." "Nonsense! My hotel is earthquake-proof as well as fire-proof," he said, handing me a card, on which I found this inscribed: "_The Palace Hotel. Fire-proof and earthquake-proof._" He afterwards explained to me that everything employed in the construction of the building was either wood or iron, no plaster or stone being used. Indeed, although this hotel is six stories high, with open corridors looking into the main courtyard the length of the entire building, it is wound round the exterior with no less than four miles of malleable iron bands. The proprietor, Mr. Sharon, said it might move into another street, but could not fall down.