can return, boasting, to any less fortunate brethren of the counter, of his acquaintances. So with the young soldier from Aldershot, so with the "city man," the "gent," the "swell," and the curious species known as the "Champagne Charlie." There are various ways of showing oneself "a real gentleman;" but here we can see there is one true touchstone, that is, remunerating everybody magnificently. To have the good word or the recognition of the strong men in uniform and of the glorious army of red waiters—they serve us in flame-coloured jackets—is indeed most precious. I see high-spirited young fellows, of "the true breed," giving their five shilling pieces and half sovereigns to these noble giants, who obsequiously touch their caps and go on before them, making way. To be well known at the Royal Pandemonium is grand. Many a gay spark pays heavily, but cannot succeed, for there is an art in doing this. To be "admitted to the canteen," to have that entrée, is indeed happiness. There, as Lamb says, "earth touched heaven." This select abode is under the stage, and is crowded by lovely burdens; but mark—hither resort the ladies of the stage, enwrapped in cloaks; here is your true bouquet and charm.
Many sigh to enter here, but a strong man, of yet vaster proportions than his brethren, is told off specially to guard. Only "real" gentlemen and friends of the house are admitted. The powers of recognition in the strong men must be carefully kept alive, or they forget old friends in the strangest way. But to reach the stage is bliss, reserved but for very few indeed. The tenderest friendship with the strong men, based on true pecuniary esteem, will not purchase that. Happy warders! Their lives are laid in smooth places; with them it is eternal drink, their friends treating them, from the very pride of that office. Indeed, to be even one of the army of waiters, wearing a flame-coloured jacket, seems almost a competence. Every one loads them with benefactions. At the various brilliant bars they come in for their seizings, in the shape of, I fear, unauthorised draughts. In every corner, too, are little stalls for cigars and trinkets—fans, what not, each controlled by a fascinating and highly decorated shopwoman. With these the white-tied Elegans in their apprenticeship to life, converse easily and with pleasant badinage, so as to be the envy of their friends and despair of young clerks, but have to buy their favours very dearly—a sovereign for, perhaps, ten minutes' banter, is high. Gold is expected. Everywhere gold and silver is pouring out. The admiring shopboy would give the world to have gold to give away in this fashion.
Hark to M. Breviary's orchestra, full and crashing. The flame-coloured curtains have gone up for the opening of the superb ballet. The Loves of the Water Lilies, with the skies and mountains even, rising behind, with the exquisite colours dazzling, and the waterfall trickling down with a melodious gush. In this department the Royal Pandemonium holds its own: to give the proprietor his due, so does it hold its own also, as the thousand and one limbs group and wind, and fall into artistic shapes to the sweetest music, and the fairy-like dresses glitter. Then a cave opens, and down the centre, from Paradise surely it seems to the boy clerks and shopmen, comes the famous Nudita, bounding down as if stepping on a cloud. Nudita is from some great Italian house, her services, we are told, being purchased at an enormous sum. These services are certainly of the most amazing sort, and an excess of modesty, which should have been left outside, causes some of us to droop our eyes in confusion. At another time the incomparable Minette, lured at great cost from some French dancing garden, throws us into ecstasies of delight by her diverting piquancies, kicking a supernumerary's hat off with one skilful touch, introducing for the first time to us the archest and most midnight of Paris dances. The best music hall singing, the best tumbling, the best glees sung decorously in black suits and evening dresses—for the tone of the house must be kept up—the best of everything. The army of entertainers behind the curtain is prodigious—no cost is spared. The beggarly shillings that Cox the shopkeeper gives for self and wife surely do not pay for this, neither does the profit on his meagre pint. It is wonderful how it can be done!
Such is the romantic view of the Royal Pandemonium Palace. So it appears to the young mind behind desk or counter, all the day long. It is an enchanting and fascinating temple; and he longs for night to set in, when he can go down with a friend and cheaply learn what life is. To know a real "Pandemonium girl" with that rank, is considered the height of ton, that is, provided it be known that he knows one. To this end vast sacrifices are made. To devote the Sunday to taking down one of these young ladies to Greenwich, with a
