I AM INTRODUCED TO A THEATRICAL FAMILY.

I think if I had been suddenly plunged into Aladdin's cave, I should not have been more amazed. There I should have expected to see the rich treasures of gold and precious stones and the magic fruit growing on magic trees with which that cave is filled, but for the strange wonders by which I was here surrounded I was totally unprepared. These loomed upon me only gradually, for the two tallow candles which threw light upon the scene were but a dim illumination. The kitchen, which comprised nearly the whole of the basement, was irregularly shaped, and so large that the distant corners were almost completely in shade. Lurking, as it were, in one of these distant corners was a man strangely accoutred, whom I expected would presently step forward and join our party, but not a motion did the figure make. I subsequently discovered that it was a dummy man, in chain armour, which had once played a famous part (the armour, not the man) in a famous drama of the middle ages. Hanging upon the walls were numberless articles of male and female attire, some mentionable, some un-ditto; but with rare exceptions the dresses were not such as I was accustomed to rub against in my daily walks. These that I saw hanging around the room, covering every inch of available space from ceiling to floor, were theatrical dresses of different fashions and degrees; many were of silk and satin, very much faded, for persons of quality, and some were of commoner stuff for commoner folks--which latter, from their appearance, seemed to have worn better. Here the dress of a noble Roman fraternised with the kilts of a canny Scotchman, and here the satin cloak and trunks of a fashionable melodramatic nobleman contemplated (doubtless with sinister designs) the modest bodice which covered the breast of female virtue. High life and low life, in every description of ancient, mediæval, and modern fashion, were here represented, and to an eye more practised and fanciful than mine, the room might have been supposed to be furnished with all the cardinal vices and virtues in allegory. Here were long boots whose character could not be mistaken--they represented villainy of the very deepest dye, and they frowned upon the heavy hobnails of a model peasantry. Here were the woollen garments and broad-buckled belt which had played their parts in a hundred smuggling adventures; and here the breeches, stockings, and natty shoes which had danced hundreds of jigs amidst uproarious applause. Here was a harlequin's dress ready to flash into life and play strange antics at the mere waving of the wand which hung above the mask; and clinging to it on either side, as if in fond memory of old triumphs, were the short skirts of dainty columbines. Here was the dress of Wah-no-tee, feathers, bald scalp, moccasins, and hatchet, all complete, side by side with the fripperies of my Lord Foppington. Among the pots and pans on the dresser were polished breastplates and gauntlets and shields of various patterns. There were other dresses, very much bespangled and be-jewelled, and pasteboard helmets and crowns of priceless value, and masks that had had a hard life of it, being dented here and bulged there and puffed up and bunged up in tender places, worse than any prizefighter's face after the severest encounter. A donkey's head and shoulders hung immediately above me, and by its side the plaster cast of a face without the slightest expression in it, and which is popularly supposed to represent an important branch of the histrionic art. Whichever way I turned, these and a hundred other strange articles most incongruously mixed together met my gaze.

'Well, what do you think of us?' asked Miss West. 'We're a queer bunch, ain't we?'

'It's a strange place,' I said, thinking it best to avoid personalities. 'I never saw anything like it.'

'We're a theatrical family, my dear,' said Miss West complacently, 'born in the profession every one of us. Are you fond of theatres?'

As a matter of fact, I had only been twice to a theatre, but it was a place of enchantment to me, and I said as much to Miss West.

'Ah!' she mused. 'It looks so from the front, I daresay; and a good job for us that it does. But it is bright, and it does carry you away.'

A familiar voice behind the curtain caused a diversion, and I turned eagerly in that direction. Miss West gave me another of her sharp looks.

'Don't you wish you had eyes in your ears?' she said. 'You're one of the bashful ones, I can see. Could you play the part of the Bashful Lover do you think?' (This question was accompanied by a significant dig in the ribs and a merry laugh.)

'I don't think,' I stammered, very red and confused, 'that I should ever be able to act.'