As part also of the modern regard for realism may be noted the “cooking scenes” which have frequently figured in recent plays.  The old conjuring trick of making a pudding in a hat never won more admiration than is now obtained by such simple expedients as frying bacon or sausages, or broiling chops or steaks, upon the stage in sight of the audience.  The manufacture of paste for puddings or pies by one of the dramatis personae has also been very favourably received, and the first glimpse of the real rolling-pin and the real flour to be thus employed has always been attended with applause.  In a late production, the opening of a soda-water bottle by one of the characters was generally regarded as quite the most impressive effect of the representation.

At Christmas-time, when the shops are so copiously supplied with articles of food as to suggest a notion that the world is content to live upon half-rations at other seasons of the year, there is extraordinary storing of provisions at certain of the theatres.  These are not edible, however; they are due to the art of the property-maker, and are designed for what are known as the “spill and pelt” scenes of the pantomime.  They represent juicy legs of mutton, brightly streaked with red and white, quartern loaves, trussed fowls, turnips, carrots, and cabbages, strings of sausages, fish of all kinds, sizes, and colours; they are to be stolen and pocketed by the clown, recaptured by the policeman, and afterwards wildly whirled in all directions in a general “rally” of all the characters in the harlequinade.  They are but adroitly painted canvas stuffed with straw or sawdust.  No doubt the property-maker sometimes views from the wings with considerable dismay the severe usage to which his works of art are subjected.  “He’s an excellent clown, sir,” one such was once heard to say, regarding from his own standpoint the performance of the jester in question; “he don’t destroy the properties as some do.”  Perhaps now and then, too, a minor actor or a supernumerary, who has derided “the sham wine-parties of Macbeth and others,” may lament the scandalous waste of seeming good victuals in a pantomime.  But, as a rule, these performers are not fanciful on this, or, indeed, on any other subject.  They are not to be deceived by the illusions of the stage; they are themselves too much a part of its shams and artifices.  Property legs of mutton are to them not even food for reflection but simply “properties,” and nothing more.

CHAPTER XXIII.

STAGE WIGS.

Wigs have claims to be considered amongst the most essential appliances of the actors; means at once of their disguise and their decoration.  Without false hair the fictions of the stage could scarcely be set forth.  How could the old look young, or the young look old, how could scanty locks be augmented, or baldness concealed, if the coiffeur did not lend his aid to the costumier?  Nay, oftentimes