In the old days of the Paris Cirque, a rule is said to have obtained, compelling supers who had incurred the management’s displeasure to go on as ‘the enemy,’ destined to succumb to native valour, by which means the difficulty of getting men to appear as the foes of France was obviated. When the _Battle of Waterloo_ was first produced on the English stage, in one of the battle-scenes the French troops drove a British division across the mimic field. This was done for a few nights. One morning, after rehearsal, the leader of the supernumerary red-coat corps, gathering his followers around him, said: ‘Boys, we mustn’t retreat before the Johnny Crapauds again, to be goosed by the pit. It’s all very well at rehearsal, but when it comes to real acting it won’t do. Let us turn upon the yelling demons and pitch them into the pit!’ And they did it too, astonishing the ‘Frenchmen,’ to say nothing of the audience; as greatly as Mr George Jones was once astonished by certain theatrical pirates. He, as an American sailor, had to rescue a fair captive from the clutches of the aforesaid ruffians. Unfortunately he had contrived to mortally offend the four supers concerned; and when he rushed to the lady’s aid with: ‘Come on, ye villains! One Yankee tar is more than a match for four lubberly sharks!’ instead of leading off in a broadsword fight, the pirate captain shouted: ‘I guess not!’ and seizing Jones by the legs and arms, the pirates carried him off the stage, deposited him in the property closet, and then returning, bore off the damsel to their rocky retreat; leaving the curtain to come down before a very much puzzled audience, to whom no explanation was vouchsafed. Somebody—we think Mr Dutton Cook—tells a good story of an _accessoire_ once attached to the Porte St-Martin Theatre. M. Fombonne had won managerial praise for the adroitness with which he handed letters or coffee-cups upon a salver and his excellent manner of announcing the names of stage-guests and visitors. Naturally enough, he thought his services might be more liberally rewarded, and made his thought known. ‘Monsieur Fombonne,’ said the manager, ‘I acknowledge the justice of your application. I admire and esteem you. You are one of the most useful members of my company. I well know your worth; no one better.’ Glowing with pleasure at this recognition of his merits, M. Fombonne, with one of his best bows, said: ‘I may venture then to hope’——