was separated from the stage by the orchestra only, which then consisted
of less than half the number of performers of which it would be composed
to-day. There were, consequently, no stalls, but a passage led from the
entrance to the front seats, known as Fop's Alley from the dandies who
lounged and promenaded there, partly to see and partly to be seen by the
ladies with whom the house was filled.

The dress of these exquisites was ruled by a punctilious etiquette, and
their knee-breeches, lace ruffles, diamond buckles, and _chapeaux bras_
were subject to the strictest regulations and to every fluctuation of the
prevailing mode. Their gold-handled spy-glasses were impartially directed
towards the stars upon the stage or to the belles in the neighbouring
boxes, where, from the grand tier to the roof, was a dazzling display of
beauty and of fashion. Their excursions to the Green Room were likewise
interspersed with visits to those amongst the audience to whose boxes they
had the entree; and as they murmured platitudes to their fair
acquaintance, they traced languidly the locality of yet other friends whom
they could visit, whose names were inserted upon the paper fans with which
each lady was provided, and on which was printed a diagram of the boxes
and a list of their owners throughout the great building.

But on this momentous night the very atmosphere of the place was
transformed. At the first token of the coming storm, many of the
frightened beaux hurriedly vacated their beloved promenade, while certain
peaceable members of the audience also endeavoured to escape from the
building. But the majority remained, brazenly instigating or prolonging
the disgraceful scene which followed. The cause of the sudden riot was
afterwards related personally by Michael Kelly, the then celebrated actor
and stage manager.