In St. Louis

The first act of The Music Robber, an opera in jazz, with music by an American (Isaac Vangrove, onetime assistant conductor of the Chicago Opera Company) and with lyrics by an American (Richard L. Stokes, dramatic critic of the St. Louis Post-Despatch) was given a gentle premier in the St. Louis Municipal Theatre last week. Dignity was the keynote. There was no saxophone in the orchestra, nor any instrument with a belly for giggling, or a ribald larynx. Tenor Forest Lament lifted up his voice impressively. An audience of some 9,000 who had come to catcall, hump their shoulders and shuffle their feet, went off to their homes or their cabarets feeling-- some of them--that they had been cheated.

In Buenos Aires

On July 2 the baton of Conductor Serafin of the Opera, Buenos Aires, commenced to tap, to sweep in great circles, to dip, slither, crash. For two months not Ted Lewis' favorite wand exceeded it in frenzy. Then on Aug. 31 "A cabado !" (perfect, complete!), cried Serafin. "Delicioso," cooed the senoritas. "Bravo! Bien!" throated generous caballeros.

Standing alone, en face an entire square, fronted by a great piazza, opulent, spacious, its auditorium seven tiered, its broad stairways of scintillant marble, the Teatro Colon easily outranks, surpasses all other South American opera centers. Its seating capacity is 3500- It has been spoken of by Burton Holmes, famed traveler, loquacious lecturer, as "the best appointed theater I ever inspected." Commenced in 1889, completed in 1908, it has teemed ever since with the most consistently well dressed public in the world. To those not in evening dress--the embellished portal is Cerrado, Chiuso, Ferme, Locked.

On opera nights the broad Avenida de Mayo, famed Fifth Avenue of Buenos Aires, purrs with the opulent Panhards, Renaults, Minervas of opera bound millionaires. The antithetically poor move slower, but in the same direction, stopping at dingy cigarrerias for fat pendulous cigars. From the Loterias, orthodox and legal vendors of chance, stream the fortunate, to cash their winnings, for a stall, a box, in La Colon.

The house fills, glitters, every glitter caught and sifted, anatomized, dissected by high power opera glasses. Potent heads of distinguished families deign to perform the nod of grand grandees. Fierce caballeros bristle, melt before shrill senoritas, bristle again at other cocks, conquistadors. Programs, chiefly of native and Italian opera, rustle. In La Colon's unique gallery, sacred to unattended women, the fair sit sequestered, safe. In the huge "mourning boxes," equipped with iron screens, the rich lounge in privilege. One can peer out, not in. El telon (curtain) rises.

This year it rose upon Frances Alda, Beniamino Gigli, Giuseppe de Luca, Adam Didur, upon dancer a la Russe Adolph Bolm. In former years it has risen upon Caruso, Ruffo, Martinelli, Galli-Curci, upon famed and glorious chanteur a la Russe Chaliapin.

This year was the first time that La Colon had been operated as a municipal opera. Opening with Falstaff the present repertoire included Manon, La Boheme, Romeo and Juliet, Parsifal,--excuses for every summersault possible to Argentine emotions. Said Senor Al-vear, Argentine President, present on the opening night: "I am glad that Falstaff is back."

-The New York Hippodrome seats 6,000.