or two in certain of his great towns. They
are not by any means racy of the soil,
and have but a sickly growth. That canal
atmosphere cannot be salubrious: and the
loose shifting soil is not adapted for the
nurture of the gay theatrical plant. The
keen sense of enjoyment is much diminished
by having to struggle down a noisome alley,
and by the consequent bearing in to the Temple
of damp boots. Much diminished, too, by
canal miasma in hot pursuit, which enters
with you, and takes a ticket simultaneously,
and obligingly bears you company through
the entire piece. Altogether, then, it is
scarcely a Dutch institution. I do
suppose that about six might be set down as the
full complement of theatres in the whole
country. But, alack! even these are not in
full work more than half the year round: and
that so lamely and unfashionably, as to
break the hearts and banks of hapless
Managers. There is a dead season and
a live season, with sure preponderance of
the dead. It is such an existence as
certain of our own provincial houses enjoy:
opening spasmodically, and closing spasmodically
on seizure of properties and scenic
effects.

There is a huge sheet, large as a flag, to be
seen adhering to coffee-room walls, which is
the conveniently-sized handbill or bill of
dramatic fare for the night. The stranger
has choice— if he come in the quick or live
season, that is— of recreating himself with a
little free French comedy at the Vaudeville,
or an he so list, with broad Dutch fun at the
Dutchman's own theatre. If he be a curious
man, he will elect at once the native growth,
setting aside the spurious French crop, which
may be seen to better advantage on its own
ground. And so, on one slack night, being
utterly stranded and left high and dry on the
shore of Ennui, my eye lights lazily on one
of the broad sheets, fluttering idly against
the wall. The play bill for that night play
bill of the Rijks Dutch Theatre— which sets
put in thick squat characters — quite in keeping
with the country very fair promise of
entertainment. I will go.

It is a great way off, and entails certain
loss of way, and questioning, and setting
right, and loss of road again. Which little
contradictions were all to be taken æquo
auimo, as the Roman has it: this country
being, in truth, full of such crosses. And so
I get myself lost and found again, with
singular evenness of temper, until at last it
seems good to fall back upon a guide, in the
shape of a man with a pipe.

The man with the pipe has nothing to say.
He can only point. So when he is questioned
as to remoteness of place of entertainment,
he points in a promiscuous way, giving
his hand a sort of here, down, and
everywhere flourish. Was it distant, near one
furlong away, or two?  Flourish of assent.
It was still towards that point of the compass,
indicated promiscuously. He was a
Moslem, that man with the pipe; and as he
received his fee, I fancy I saw his lips move,
uttering the believer's aspiration of, God is
great!

A dark ungainly building the place of
entertainment, with a dim lamp or two overhead.
A little pond before the principal
entrance, and no public. No eager rush of
enthusiastic pit populace; no unruly gallery
element; no clamorous obtrusion of bills;
no importunate pressure from the orange
interest. A dark, dull, repelling entrance to
Hades, suggesting to such as go in, to leave
all hope behind.

At a little counter, the stranger may
pay down his money, but may not take
his choice, for there is but one price to all
portions of the house. He has fears that he
will have to sit solitarily in his loge, balcon,
or box; but still such lonely grandeur
bringeth with it a certain salve, ministering
to that aristocratic seed sown deeply in the
hearts of all men— pre-eminently in that of the
Briton abroad. Boxkeeper will be so good,
therefore, as to lead the way to convenient
seat in the balcon— a good seeing and
hearing place.

Grim shrug from the man of boxes. I
have a shrewd suspicion he is laughing
inwardly, somewhere towards the pit of his
stomach, where Dutchmen usually laugh.
But he makes no sign, merely leads the way
downwards, opens a door, and goes back as
he came. He is the only living thing I have
seen as yet about the place; and to this hour
I am not quite sure but that it was the same
hand that received my money at the little
counter, and then went round privily, and
took the ticket. Like the theatrical official
in the Rejected Addresses, he was thus
enabled to give the check he takes.

But, stepping across the threshold of that
opened door, the disgusted stranger finds
himself standing in the bare solitude of the
pit. Comfortless place enough for the
theatrical man's recreation! And that Utopia
of balcon loge, or box,— one glance upwards
will lay such notions for ever. A heavy
gallery, such as is found in Dissenting places
of worship, supplies the place of such vanities,
Everything rude, everything in the rough,
everything untheatrical. A horrid doubt
crosses the mind of the stranger,— perhaps,
after all, it may be a Dissenting place of
worship?

Some fifty souls in the house mostly men,
but more females than ladies. There is also
in the house, what could have been very
well dispensed with: a thick cloud of
tobacco vapour, which does not minister to
the theatrical man's delectation; for, every
man present is diligently engrossed with
keeping a cigar alive, working on with
strange vigour and perseverance. A few
more come in, and light at their neighbour's
fire, and then sounds of tuning are