of immense comic abilities, and distinguished
for training all sorts of animals, from the
goose which follows him like a dog, to a
jackass-foal which resides in his sitting-
room), enters into an animated pantomimic
conversation with him, discoursing especially
of the immense number of "bits of fat" for
him (Clown) in the pantomime.

The author's name we need not mention:
it will appear in the bill, as it has appeared
in (and across) many bills, stamped and
unstamped, before. When the officials have
retired, he remains awhile with the management
—the subject of conversation mainly
relating to a piece of grey paper, addressed
to Messrs. Coutts, Drummonds, or Childs.

For the next few days, though work has
not actually commenced in all its vigour,
great preparations are made. Forests of
timber, so to speak, are brought in at the
stage door.  Also, bales of canvas, huge
quantities of stuffs for the wardrobe; foil-
paper, spangles and Dutch metal, generally.
Firkins of size, and barrels of whitening,
arrive for Mr. Brush; hundred-weights of
glue and gold-leaf for Mr. Gorget, not
forgetting the " power of nails and screws " for
Mr. Tacks. Another day, and the ants are
all at work behind the baize for Harlequin
Fee-fo-fum.

Fortunio's cap will stand us in good stead
again, and we had better attach ourselves to
the skirts of the stage manager, who is here,
there, and everywhere, to see that the work
is being properly proceeded with. The
carpenters have been at work since six o'clock
this nice winter morning; let us see how they
are getting on after breakfast.

We cross the darkened stage, and, ascending
a very narrow staircase at the back thereof,
mount into the lower range of " flies." A mixture
this of the between-decks of a ship, a rope-
walk, and the old wood-work of the Chain-pier
at Brighton. Here are windlasses, capstans,
ropes, cables, chains, pulleys innumerable.
Take care! or you will stumble across the
species of winnowing-machine, used to imitate
the noise of wind, and which is close to the
large sheet of copper which makes the
thunder. The tin cylinder, filled with peas,
used for rain and hail, is down-stairs; but
you may see the wires, or " travellers," used
by " flying fairies," and the huge counter-
weights and lines which work the curtain
and act-drop. Up then, again, by a ladder,
into range of flies, No. 2, where there
are more pulleys, windlasses, and counter-
weights, with bridges crossing the stage, and
lines working the borders, and gas-pipes, with
coloured screens, called " mediums," which are
used to throw a lurid light of a moonlight
on scenes of battles or conflagrations, where
the employment of coloured fires is not
desirable. Another ladder (a rope one this
time) has still to be climbed: and now we
find ourselves close to the roof of the theatre,
and in the carpenter's shop.

Such a noise of sawing, and chopping,
hammering, and chiselling! The shop is a
large one, its size corresponding to the area
of the stage beneath. Twenty or thirty men
are at work, putting together the framework
of " flats," and covering the framework itself
with canvas. Some are constructing the long
cylinders, or rollers, used for " drops," or
"cloths; " while others, on their knees, are
busily following with a hand-saw the outline
of a rock, or tree, marked in red lead by the
scene painter on profile (thin wood) required
for a set piece. Mr. Tacks is in his glory,
with his " power of nails and screws " around
him. He pounces on the official immediately.
He must have " more nails," more " hands;"
spreading out his own emphatically. Give
him " hands! " The stage manager pacifies
and promises. Stand by, there, while four
brawny carpenters rush from another portion
of the " shop " with the " Pagoda of Arabian
Delights," dimly looming through canvas and
whitewash!

A curious race of men are these theatrical
carpenters. Some of them growl bits of
Italian operas, or melodramatic music, as
they work. They are full of traditional lore
of the " Lane " and the " Garden " in days of
yore. Probably their fathers and
grandfathers were theatrical before them; for it is
rare to find a carpenter of ordinary life at stage
work, or vice versa. Malignant members of
the ordinary trade whisper even that their
work never lasts, and is only fit for the ideal
carpentry of a theatre. There is a legend,
also, that a stage carpenter being employed
once to make a coffin, constructed it after the
Hamlet manner, and ornamented it with scroll-
work. They preserve admirable discipline, and
obey the master carpenter implicitly; but,
work once over, and out of the theatre, he is
no more than one of themselves, and takes
beer with Tom or Bill, and the chair at their
committee and sick club réunions, in a
perfectly republican and fraternal manner.
These men labour from six in the morning
until six in the evening; and, probably, as
Fee-fo-fum is a " heavy pantomime," from
seven until the close of the performances.
At night, when the gas battens below the flies
are all lighted, the heat is somewhat oppresive:
and, if you lie on your face on the floor,
and gaze through the chinks of the planking,
you will hear the music in the orchestra, and
catch an occasional glimpse of the performers
on the stage beneath, marvellously
foreshortened, and microscopically diminished.
The morning we pay our visit, a rehearsal is
going on below, and a hoarse command is
wafted from the stage to " stop that hammering"
while Marc Antony is pronouncing his
oration over the dead body of Caesar. The
stage manager, of course, is now wanted
down-stairs, and departs, with an oft-iterated
injunction to "get on." We, too, must "get
on " without him; which, still using Fortunio's
invisibility, we will endeavour to do.