seven o'clock
In another short hour and we begin , thought I , with a sinking heart , as I looked upon the littered stage crowded with hosts of fellows that had nothing to do there . Figaro himself never wished for ubiquity more than I did , as I hastened from place to place , entreating , cursing , begging , scolding , execrating , and imploring by turns . To mend the matter , the devils in the orchestra had begun to tune their instruments , and I had to bawl like a boatswain of a man-of-war , to be heard by the person beside me . As seven o'clock struck , I peeped through the small aperture in the curtain , and saw , to my satisfaction , mingled , I confess , with fear , that the house was nearly filled -- the lower tier of boxes entirely so . There were a great many ladies handsomely dressed , chatting gaily with their chaperons , and I recognised some of my acquaintances on every side ; in fact , there was scarcely a family of rank in the county that had not at least some member of it present . As the orchestra struck up the overture to Don Giovanni , I retired from my place to inspect the arrangements behind . Before the performance of the `` Family Party , '' we were to have a little one-act piece called `` a day in Madrid , '' written by myself -- the principal characters being expressly composed for `` Miss Ersler and Mr. Lorrequer . ''