WHEN the Promenade Concerts usurped the place of the regular Drama at our theatres, and Kœnig and Musard occupied the places of Kean and Macready—when Juliet was neglected for Jullien, Prospero for Prospère, and Viola for the violins, the Gent was exceedingly gratified thereby. The Promenade became his Paradise; and he used to walk round and round, keeping his face towards the audience (admiring the young ladies in the dress tier), with the pertinacity of the grand banners in stage processions; which, painted only on one side, appear to be endowed with some heliotropic principle, that causes their emblazoned surfaces to revolve always on the same plane with the footlights. But, whilst the Gent conceived that he was here “doing it—rather,” in the railway trowsers and dazzling stock, he totally forgot that the true _flaneur_ would appear in something like evening costume, although he might not altogether adopt the extreme _rigueur_. [Illustration] We were rather inquieted as to what the Gents would do when these concerts closed. We made great search, and found at length that the majority emigrated to the musical taverns, where they contrived to get through the evening under the combined influence of Bellini, bottled beer, and brandy-and-water; deriving additional excitement from the novelty of seeing Somnambula performed through a haze of tobacco-smoke. [Illustration] But the theatre proper, is a favourite resort of the Gent, and half-price to the boxes his usual plan of patronising it; more especially when there is a ballet. Of the different parts of the house he prefers the slips. If you are seated opposite, you will see him come in about nine o’clock, and, leaving the panel door open, he stands on the seat, with his hands in his pockets, his stick under his arm, and thus makes his observations. Presently getting disgusted at the want of respect shown to him by an old gentleman in front, who is watching the performance most intently, with his head reclining on his arms, which are again supported by the rail, and who requests that he will have the goodness to shut the door, the Gent walks grandly away, and goes round to the other side, evidently conceiving that his dignity has been hurt. Here the same process of observation is repeated; and, if the Gent sees a pretty girl in a private box, he stares unflinchingly at her, until he thinks he has made an impression. And this is a strange lunatic notion with Gents of every degree: they believe they have powers to fascinate every female upon whom they cast their eyes, never thinking of the utter contempt always excited by such obtrusiveness on the part of an entire stranger. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER V. OF THE GENT, AFTER THE PLAY, AT A TAVERN.