hren in Paris--the great
city in which drama flourishes--where a reverence is exhibited for our
craft not manifested in London. On a first night over here you will find
that in many theatres the representatives of first-class papers are in
back rows of the stalls or in the dress circle, whilst deadheads of
another species are occupying most of the better places. Moreover, there
are very, very few journals to which more than one ticket is sent.

The next kind of deadhead is the unprofessional first-night deadhead, a
mixture of personal friends of the manager, the author, the principal
players and of "the backers," if any. It is said that they are the most
troublesome of all to handle, being utterly unreasonable as a body, and
refusing contemptuously seats accepted without a murmur by newspapers
that have a million or so of readers. Many are only willing to lend the
support of their presence on the first night; seats for the second or a
later night are scorned. In this class may be reckoned members of _the_
profession, who, with a strange disregard for the convenience of the
management, demand a couple of stalls for the _premiere_, though they
are in the habit of complaining that a first performance does justice
neither to the piece nor to the players. Lastly, in the group of
first-night deadheads come the members of the unrecognised,
ill-organised, generally tactless claque.

The species that lately has been attacked is divisible into two groups.
The first consists of the people who will not go to the theatre without
an order, but do not expect first-night tickets--one may call them the
"cadgers." The second species might be entitled the "window-dressers."
Volumes have been written about the "cadgers," and countless stories
told. No doubt they cause trouble and some expense in stamps, stationery
and clerical work. Probably they do not really affect the fate of a
piece, for there seems no reason to doubt the truth of the general
assertion, that nearly all of them would stay away if they could not get
a ticket for nothing.

Now we come to the really lamentable class, people who have to be
brought into a theatre "with a lassoo," to use an American term. Let us
look at the position--the melancholy position. The play is not quite a
hopeless failure; it is in a Mahomet's coffin position. If it can last a
little longer the season may improve and money be made; or it is neither
making nor losing on ordinary nights and does pay