ace at which they started could not be sustained.
As Monsieur Auguste, the famous _chef des claqueurs_ at the Paris
Opera House, explained to Doctor Veron, the manager, "_Il ne fallait
pas trop chauffer le premier acte; qu'on devait, au contraire,
reserver son courage et ses forces pour enlever le dernier acte et le
denoument_." He admitted that he should not hesitate to award three
rounds of applause to a song in the last act, to which, if it had
occurred earlier in the representation, he should have given one round
only. Lamb's friends knew nothing of this sound theory of systematised
applause. They expended their ammunition at the commencement of the
struggle, and when they were, so to say, out of range. It was one of
Monsieur Auguste's principles of action that public opinion should
never be outraged or affronted; it might be led and encouraged, but
there should be no attempt to drive it. "Above all things, respect the
public," he said to his subordinates. Nothing so much stimulates the
disapprobation of the unbiassed as extravagant applause. Reaction
certainly ensues; men begin to hiss by way of self-assertion, and out
of self-respect. They resent an attempt to coerce their opinion, and
to compel a favourable verdict in spite of themselves. The attempt to
encore the prologue to "Mr. H." was most unwise. It was a strong
prologue, but the play was weak. The former might have been left to
the good sense of the general public; it was the latter that
especially demanded the watchful support of the author's friends. The
infirm need crutches, not the robust. The playbills announced, "The
new farce of 'Mr. H.,' performed for the first time last night, was
received by an overflowing audience with universal applause, and will
be repeated for the second time to-morrow." Such are playbills. "Mr.
H." never that morrow saw. "'Tis withdrawn, and there's an end of it,"
wrote Lamb to Wordsworth.

Hissing is no doubt a dreadful sound--a word of fear unpleasing to the
ear of both playwright and player. For there is no revoking, no
arguing down, no remedying a hiss; it has simply to be endured.
Playgoers have a giant's strength in this respect; but it must be said
for them, that of late years at any rate, they have rarely used it
tyrannously, like a giant. Of all the dramatists, perhaps Fielding
treated hissing with the greatest indifference. In 1743, his comedy of
"The Wedding Day" was produced. Garrick had in vain implored him to
s