A fortnight passed. Rumours began to be rife through Verdopolis that Mr. Hamilton the architect, whose skill had long advanced him to the rank of rival to the celebrated Turner, had laid down the compasses and taken up the pen. Ere long these reports were confirmed by the appearance one Wednesday morning of Price’s bill of fare, containing the following announcement:— This evening will be performed at the Theatre Royal PETUS AND ARIA, an entirely new tragedy by Edwin Hamilton, Esq., under the patronage of the Marquis of Douro. The character of Aria to be performed by Mrs. Siddons; that of Petus by Garry David. That night Price had reason to lick his lips with satisfaction. Never before was there such a crowded house: pit, box, and gallery overflowed; and the manager after all expenses were paid netted a clear profit of five hundred pounds. It was on this occasion that I took my station among the branches of the mighty golden chandelier which hangs from the centre of the dome; and from thence obtained a bird’s-eye view of the whole magnificent scene. Certainly there are few sights more animated and inspiring than a crowded theatre. The brilliant lights, the ceaseless hum of voices, the busy and visionary stage, all conspire to raise indescribable feelings in the soul. More than a thousand of the loveliest women on earth sparkled in the dress circle, where the waving of plumes, the rustling of robes, and the light-bright eyes were perfectly dazzling. Among these my eyes singled out Lady Zenobia Ellrington. I noticed her particularly, because she seldom visits the theatre. There she sat robed in gorgeous purple, a star-light band of jewels gleaming among her rich raven locks. Lord Ellrington stood beside her in his usual plain black attire, and wearing a white cravat in the centre of which shone a single diamond. From my elevated station I beheld the entrance of Mr. Hamilton. The Marquis of Douro preceded him, accompanied by a beautiful girl in a white dress and green sash without any ornament on her head except a profusion of chestnut curls which, clustering in the most luxuriant ringlets, obliged her every now and then to raise her small hand in order to put them back from her snowy forehead and laughing blue eyes, which they almost concealed. I need not say that this was the marchioness. Who shall describe the tumultuous rush of feelings which rose in Edwin’s bosom as he glanced hurriedly round at the vast assembly on which his fate this night depended. His eyes wildly wandered from the rough tenants of the gallery to the glittering population of the boxes, and finally fixed themselves on the mighty green curtain which still hung before the stage. The few moments that elapsed before its removal seemed to him an hour, but at last the tinkle of the prompter’s bell sounded and at once it was gathered to the ceiling.