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calf； you German sausage on legs！ You
HE。 Go along。 Your mother brought you up on sour milk。
SHE。 Yah！ They weaned you on thistles； didn't they？
And so on； with such like badinage do they hang about in the middle of
that road； showering derision and contumely upon each other for full
ten minutes； when； with one culminating burst of mutual abuse； they go
off together fighting and the street is left once more deserted。
It is very curious； by the bye； how deserted all public places become
whenever a stage character is about。 It would seem as though ordinary
citizens sought to avoid them。 We have known a couple of stage
villains to have Waterloo Bridge； Lancaster Place； and a bit of the
Strand entirely to themselves for nearly a quarter of an hour on a
summer's afternoon while they plotted a most diabolical outrage。
As for Trafalgar Square； the hero always chooses that spot when he
wants to get away from the busy crowd and commune in solitude with his
own bitter thoughts； and the good old lawyer leaves his office and
goes there to discuss any very delicate business over which he
particularly does not wish to be disturbed。
And they all make speeches there to an extent sufficient to have
turned the hair of the late lamented Sir Charles Warren White with
horror。 But it is all right； because there is nobody near to hear
them。 As far as the eye can reach； not a living thing is to be seen。
Northumberland Avenue； the Strand； and St。 Martin's Lane are simply a
wilderness。 The only sign of life about is a 'bus at the top of
Whitehall； and it appears to be blocked。
How it has managed to get blocked we cannot say。 It has the whole
road to itself； and is； in fact； itself the only traffic for miles
round。 Yet there it sticks for hours。 The police make no attempt to
move it on and the passengers seem quite contented。
The Thames Embankment is an even still more lonesome and desolate
part。 Wounded （stage） spirits fly from the haunts of men and； leaving
the hard； cold world far； far behind them； go and die in peace on the
Thames Embankment。 And other wanderers； finding their skeletons
afterward； bury them there and put up rude crosses over the graves to
mark the spot。
The comic lovers are often very young； and when people on the stage
are young they _are_ young。 He is supposed to be about sixteen and
she is fifteen。 But they both talk as if they were not more than
seven。
In real life 〃boys〃 of sixteen know a thing or two； we have generally
found。 The average 〃boy〃 of sixteen nowadays usually smokes cavendish
and does a little on the Stock Exchange or makes a book； and as for
love！ he has quite got over it by that age。 On the stage； however；
the new…born babe is not in it for innocence with the boy lover of
sixteen。
So； too； with the maiden。 Most girls of fifteen off the stage； so our
experience goes； know as much as there is any actual necessity for
them to know； Mr。 Gilbert notwithstanding； but when we see a young
lady of fifteen on the stage we wonder where her cradle is。
The comic lovers do not have the facilities for love…making that the
hero and heroine do。 The hero and heroine have big rooms to make love
in； with a fire and plenty of easy…chairs； so that they can sit about
in picturesque attitudes and do it comfortably。 Or if they want to do
it out of doors they have a ruined abbey； with a big stone seat in the
center； and moonlight。
The comic lovers； on the other hand； have to do it standing up all the
time； in busy streets； or in cheerless…looking and curiously narrow
rooms in which there is no furniture whatever and no fire。
And there is always a tremendous row going on in the house when the
comic lovers are making love。 Somebody always seems to be putting up
pictures in the next room； and putting them up boisterously； too； so
that the comic lovers have to shout at each other。
THE PEASANTS。
They are so clean。 We have seen peasantry off the stage； and it has
presented an untidyoccasionally a disreputable and
unwashedappearance； but the stage peasant seems to spend all his
wages on soap and hair…oil。
They are always round the corneror rather round the two cornersand
they come on in a couple of streams and meet in the center； and when
they are in their proper position they smile。
There is nothing like the stage peasants' smile in this worldnothing
so perfectly inane； so calmly imbecile。
They are so happy。 They don't look it； but we know they are because
they say so。 If you don't believe them； they dance three steps to the
right and three steps to the left back again。 They can't help it。 It
is because they are so happy。
When they are more than usually rollicking they stand in a semicircle；
with their hands on each other's shoulders； and sway from side to
side； trying to make themselves sick。 But this is only when they are
simply bursting with joy。
Stage peasants never have any work to do。
Sometimes we see them going to work； sometimes coming home from work；
but nobody has ever seen them actually at work。 They could not afford
to workit would spoil their clothes。
They are very sympathetic； are stage peasants。 They never seem to
have any affairs of their own to think about； but they make up for
this by taking a three…hundred…horse…power interest in things in which
they have no earthly concern。
What particularly rouses them is the heroine's love affairs。 They
could listen to them all day。
They yearn to hear what she said to him and to be told what he replied
to her； and they repeat it to each other。
In our own love…sick days we often used to go and relate to various
people all the touching conversations that took place between our
lady…love and ourselves； but our friends never seemed to get excited
over it。 On the contrary； a casual observer might even have been led
to the idea that they were bored by our recital。 And they had trains
to catch and men to meet before we had got a quarter through the job。
Ah； how often in those days have we yearned for the sympathy of a
stage peasantry； who would have crowded round us； eager not to miss
one word of the thrilling narrative； who would have rejoiced with us
with an encouraging laugh； and have condoled with us with a grieved
〃Oh；〃 and who would have gone off； when we had had enough of them；
singing about it。
By the way； this is a very beautiful trait in the character of the
stage peasantry； their prompt and unquestioning compliance with the
slightest wish of any of the principals。
〃Leave me； friends；〃 says the heroine； beginning to make preparations
for weeping； and before she can turn round they are clean goneone
lot to the right； evidently making for the back entrance of the
public…house； and the other half to the left； where they visibly hide
themselves behind the pump and wait till somebody else wants them。
The stage peasantry do not talk much； their strong point being to
listen。 When they cannot get any more information about the state of
the heroine's heart； they like to be told long and complicated stories
about wrongs done years ago to people that they never heard of。 They
seem to be ab