discovering among them some theatre at which
one of his pieces has lately been performed,
and on which he can be " down " for half-a-crown
an act for each representation. Then
there is a little prematurely aged man, Doctor
Snaffles, indeed, as he is called, who did the
" old man " line of business, but who does
very little to speak of now, except drink.
Drink has been his bane through life ; has
thrown him out of every engagement he ever
had, has muddled his brain, rendered his
talent a shame and a curse, instead of a credit
and a blessing to him : made him the ragged,
decrepit, palsied beggar man you see him
now. He asks the barmaid piteously for a
pinch of snuff, which she never refuses him
—and returns' him in addition, sometimes
(when he can find no old theatrical friend to
treat him) half-a-pint of porter. He is never
seen to eat, and sleeps nowhere in particular,
and has not washed within the memory of
man.

There's a little snuggery or private parlour
behind the bar, to which are only free the
actors of the adjacent theatre, of a certain
standing, and their friends. In the intervals
of rehearsals before and after the performance
this little snuggery is crammed. The heavy
tragedian makes jokes that sets the table in a
roar, and the low comedian is very dismally
and speechlessly drawing lines in beer with
his finger on the Pembroke table. In the
chimney corner sits Mr. Berrymax, a
white-haired old gentleman, with a pleasant
expression of countenance, who, though not an
actor, enjoys prodigious consideration in the
profession, as a play-goer of astonishing
antiquity, who is supposed to remember Mrs.
Bracegirdle, Peg Woffington — nay Betterton,
almost; whose opinions on all points of
reading, business, and stage traditions, are
looked upon as oracles, whose decisions are
final, and whose word is law.

The landlord of the theatrical public-house
is, very probably, a retired actor — a prompter
who has made a little money —or, sometimes,
even an unsuccessful manager. His daughter
may be in the ballet at the adjacent theatre;
or, perhaps, if he be a little " warm," she may
have taken lessons from Signor Chiccarini,
wear a black velvet dress, carry an oblong
morocco music-case, like a leathern candle-box,
and sing at the Nobility's Concerts, and
in the choruses of Her Majesty's Theatre.
There are other theatrical publics, varying
however in few particulars from the one into
which we have peeped. There is the " public"
over the water, whither the performers at the
Royal Alexandrina Theatre (formerly the old
Homborg) resort; where Jobson, the original
Vampire of Venice, reigns supreme, and
where you may see a painted announcement,
that — " Bottles are lent for the Theatre,"
meaning that any thirsty denizen of the New
Cut, who may choose to patronise, on a given
night, the Royal Alexandrina Theatre, with
his wife, family, and suite, may here buy beer,
and borrow a bottle to hold it, wherewith to
regale himself between the acts, the standing
order of the theatre as to "No bottles allowed,"
notwithstanding. Then there is the equestrian
theatrical house, also, over the water,
where you may see fiercely moustachioed
gentlemen, who clank spurs, and flourish
horsewhips, after the manner of life-guards-men
off duty ; who swear fearfully, and
whose grammar is defective ; who affect a
great contempt for actors, whom they term
" mummies," and who should be in polite
parlance denominated " equestrian performers,"
but are generally, by a discerning but somewhat
too familiar public, known as " horse-riders."
There are, of course, different cliques
and coteries holding their little discussions,
and conserving their little prejudices and
antipathies, their likings and dislikings, in the
various classes of theatrical publics ; but
there is common to them all a floating
population of old play-goers, superannuated
pantomimists, decayed prompters, actors out of
engagement, and order-hunters and
actor-haunters.

Ramble on again, wheels of Barclay's dray;
clatter ye harness, and crack ye loud-sounding
whips; and let us leave the world theatrical
for the world pictorial. Let us see the Arts
on tap!

NOTES FROM NORWAY.

THE ROADS IN CHRISTIANIA.

CHRISTIANIA-FJORD is pleasant water. It is
about seventy English miles in length, varying
in breadth, but becoming narrower as one
gets near the head. Its shores resemble those
of the Scotch lochs, bounded by hills of moderate
elevation, and its surface is beset with
islands. Here and there are scattered little
towns, churches, and windmills; now and
then a sudden turn of the coast shuts them
all out of sight. Christiania itself stands on an
expanse formed by a southern arm of the Fjord;
water before it, and behind it a good
background of hills. The wonderful clearness of
the atmosphere brings out the gay colours
of the houses, and the bright hues of the
hills behind, with a vividness that is almost
magical. Every little detail, too, is reflected.
in the clear blue Fjord, and the whole seems
more like a gay picture or a child's toy, than
a real work-a-day town. The town, however,
has realities. The steamer did not take
us quite to Christiania; boats to land the
passengers came up in numbers; we, of course,
took one. On arriving at the Custom House
quay, something was asked of us by the
rough-looking boatmen; it was a question of
payment, as one might judge from the
outstretched hand; with us the question was,
"How much to pay? " None of us understood
a word of Norsk, nor had we any
Norsk money in our pockets. Our hesitation
was removed by a mariner, more of a linguist