I am eight years older now. It had never occurred to me that I am advancing in life and experience until, in setting myself to recall the various details of the affair, I suddenly remembered my timid confusion before the haughty mien of the clerk at Keith Prowse's. I had asked him: "Have you any amphitheatre seats for the Opera to-night?" He did not reply. He merely put his lips together and waved his hand slowly from side to side. Not perceiving, in my simplicity, that he was thus expressing a sublime pity for the ignorance which my demand implied, I innocently proceeded: "Nor balcony?" This time he condescended to speak. "Noth-ing, sir." Then I understood that what he meant was: "Poor fool! why don't you ask for the moon?"