with pin-holes with a portion of the desired
pattern, is laid against the scene ; the whole
is then gently beaten with a worsted bag full
of powdered charcoal, which, penetrating
through the pin-holes, leaves a dotted outline,
capable of repetition ad infinitum by shifting
the pattern. This is called " pouncing."
Then some of the outlines of decoration are
" stencilled ; " but for foliage and rocks,
flowers and water, I need not tell you, my
artistical friend, that the hand of Mr. Brush
is the only pouncer and stenciller. For so
grand a pantomime as " Fee-fo-fum," a scene
will, probably, after artistic completion, be
enriched with foil paper and Dutch metal.
Admire the celerity with which these
processes are effected. First, an assistant cuts
the foil in narrow strips with a penknife ;
another catches them up like magic, and glues
them ; another claps them on the canvas, and
the scene is foiled. Then Mr. Brush advances
with a pot, having a lamp beneath, filled with
a composition of Burgundy pitch, rosin, glue,
and bees-wax, called " mordant." With this
and a camel-hair brush he delicately outlines
the parts he wishes gilt. Half-a-dozen assistants
rush forward with books of Dutch metal,
and three-fourths of the scene are covered, in
a trice, with squares of glittering dross. The
superfluous particles are rubbed off with a
dry brush, and, amid a very Danaëan shower
of golden particles, the outlines of
mordant, to which the metal has adhered,
become gradually apparent in a glittering
net-work.

All around this chamber of the arts are
hung pounces and stencils, like the brown-
paper patterns in a tailor's shop. There is a
ledge running right round the room, on which
is placed a long row of pots filled with the
colours used, which are ground in water, and
subsequently tempered with size, a huge
cauldron of which is now simmering over the
ample fire-place. The colour-grinder himself
stands before a table, supporting an ample
stone slab, on which, with a marble muller,
he is grinding Dutch pink lustily. The
painter's palette is not the oval one used by
picture painters, but a downright four-legged
table, the edges of which are divided into
compartments, each holding its separate dab
of colour, while the centre serves as a space
whereon to mix and graduate the tints. The
whitewashed walls are scrawled over with
rough sketches and memoranda, in charcoal
or red lead, while a choice engraving, here
and there, a box of water colours, some delicate
flowers in a glass, some velvet drapery
pinned against the wall, hint that in this
timber-roofed, unpapered, uncarpeted, size-
and-whitewash-smelling workshop, there is
Art as well as Industry.

Though it is only of late years, mind you,
that scene-painters have been recognised as
artists at all. They were called daubers,
whitewashers, paper-hangers, by that class of
artists to whom the velvet cap, the turn-down
collars, and the ormolu frame, were as the
air they breathed. These were the gentlemen
who thought it beneath the dignity of
art to make designs for wood engravers, to
paint porcelain, to draw patterns for silk
manufacturers. Gradually they found out
that the scene-painters made better architects,
landscape painters, professors of perspective,
than they themselves did. Gradually
they remembered that, in days gone by, such
men as Salvator Rosa, Inigo Jones, and Philip
de Loutherbourg were scene-painters ; and
that, in our own times, one Stanfield had not
disdained size and whitewash, nor a certain
Roberts thought it derogatory to wield the
"double tie " brush. Scene-painting thence-
forward looked up ; and even the heavy
portals of the Academy moved creakingly on
their hinges for the admittance of
distinguished professors of scenic art.

We have been hindering Mr. Brush quite long
enough, I think, even though we are invisible;
so let us descend this crazy ladder, which leads
from the painting-room down another flight
of stairs. So: keep your hands out before
you, and tread cautiously, for the management
is chary of gas, and the place is pitch
dark. Now, as I open this door, shade your
eyes with your hand a moment, lest the
sudden glare of light dazzle you.

This is the " property room." In this vast,
long, low room, are manufactured the
"properties" — all the stage furniture and
paraphernalia required during the performance of
a play. Look around you, and wonder. The
walls and ceiling are hung, the floor and
tables cumbered with properties: — Shylock's
knife and scales, Ophelia's coffin, Paul Pry's
umbrella, Macbeth's truncheon, the caldron
of the Witches, Harlequin's bat, the sickle of
Norma, Mambrino's helmet, swords, lanterns,
banners, belts, hats, daggers, wooden sirloins
of beef, Louis Quatorze chairs, papier-mâché
goblets, pantomime masks, stage money,
whips, spears, lutes, flasks of " rich
burgundy," fruit, rattles, fish, plaster images,
drums, cocked hats, spurs, and bugle-horns, are
strewn about, without the slightest attempt at
arrangement or classification. Tilted against
the wall, on one end, is a four-legged banqueting
table, very grand indeed, — white marble
top and golden legs. At this table will noble
knights and ladies feast richly off wooden
fowls and brown-paper pies, quaffing,
meanwhile, deep potations of toast-and-water sherry,
or, haply, golden goblets full of nothing at all.
Some of the goblets, together with elaborate
flasks of exhilarating emptiness, and dishes
of rich fruit, more deceptive than Dead Sea
apples (for they have not even got ashes
inside them), are nailed to the festive board
itself. On very great occasions the bowl is
wreathed with cotton wool, and the viands
smoke with a cloud of powdered lime. Dreadfully
deceptive are these stage banquets and
stage purses. The haughty Hospodar of
Hungary drinks confusion to the Bold Bandit