s here, upon the same humane principle which permits poor
people's children to knock double knocks at the door of an empty
house--because they can't do it anywhere else. The two stout men in the
centre box, with an opera-glass ostentatiously placed before them, are
friends of the proprietor--opulent country managers, as he confidentially
informs every individual among the crew behind the curtain--opulent
country managers looking out for recruits; a representation which Mr.
Nathan, the dresser, who is in the manager's interest, and has just
arrived with the costumes, offers to confirm upon oath if
required--corroborative evidence, however, is quite unnecessary, for the
gulls believe it at once.

The stout Jewess who has just entered, is the mother of the pale, bony
little girl, with the necklace of blue glass beads, sitting by her; she
is being brought up to 'the profession.' Pantomime is to be her line,
and she is coming out to-night, in a hornpipe after the tragedy. The
short thin man beside Mr. St. Julien, whose white face is so deeply
seared with the small-pox, and whose dirty shirt-front is inlaid with
open-work, and embossed with coral studs like ladybirds, is the low
comedian and comic singer of the establishment. The remainder of the
audience--a tolerably numerous one by this time--are a motley group of
dupes and blackguards.

The foot-lights have just made their appearance: the wicks of the six
little oil lamps round the only tier of boxes, are being turned up, and
the additional light thus afforded serves to show the presence of dirt,
and absence of paint, which forms a prominent feature in the audience
part of the house. As these preparations, however, announce the speedy
commencement of the play, let us take a peep 'behind,' previous to the
ringing-up.

The little narrow passages beneath the stage are neither especially clean
nor too brilliantly lighted; and the absence of any flooring, together
with the damp mildewy smell which pervades the place, does not conduce in
any great degree to their comfortable appearance. Don't fall over this
plate basket--it's one of the 'properties'--the caldron for the witches'
cave; and the three uncouth-looking figures, with broken clothes-props in
their hands, who are drinking gin-and-water out of a pint pot, are the
weird sisters. This miserable room, lighted by candles in sconces placed
at lengthened intervals round the wall, is the dressing-room, common to
the g