hung from the ceiling; a looking-glass, from which a considerable quantity of the mineral fluid had escaped, a deal table, and a few ricketty chairs, formed the remaining furniture.

From pegs in the wall hung the Jew's gaberdine, his hat, wig, beard, and stick. An embroidered coat and waistcoat, and a powdered peruque, were in the hands of the 'dresser,' and 'coiffeur,' ready to be put on. The great man himself was seated in a state theatrical chair, covered with purple velvet and gold tinsel, by the side of a small table, upon which were sundry decanters and wine glasses. Hot water, lemon, and sugar, and a liqueur case had just been brought in, through the public boxes, as we entered.

The consultation was speedily over, over, and another bandage applied. During this operation I had a good opporunity of scanning the physiognomy of the great tragedian. The most prominent features of his countenance were a broad, long, hooked nose-dark eyes,

full of fire and expression,-a strongly-marked and flexible brow, a high forehead, with a mouth capable of delineating the worst passions of our nature.

Cooke's manners were polished and refined, until maddened with the invincible spirit of wine; and, as at the time I saw him he had partly recovered from his excess, nothing could surpass his urbanity. Come, my boy, sit down-a capital bowl of punch-take a glass," said the actor, as he filled me a tumbler of this most potent beverage. "So I hear you like my Shylock-I was rather wild in the trial scene; but wait for the farce, I'll give it them in my best style."

With all the enthusiasm of youth I launched forth into a criticism upon his unrivalled performance.

Another glass, my boy; if you come up to London, send your name into me at the stage door-you must see me in Richard."

Bowl after bowl was now vanishing, and the strength of the whiskey was evidently

VOL. I.

F

operating upon the toper. "The audience are getting impatient," said the manager; "would you kindly finish dressing?"

"Impatient!" responded the tragedian, raising his voice from the low tone in which he had been speaking to its sharp, emphatic key. "Tell the Coventry watch-makers and riband manufacturers, that George Frederick Cooke will not be dictated to by them; I that have acted before royalty will not stoop to these peeping Toms."

Mr. Trapleigh did all in his power to soothe the ruffled temper of the star.'

"Trapleigh, a glass of punch -I must drink your health," continued the histrionic hero of the night. "Mr. Courtenay, a bumper"

"Thank you, Mr. Cooke," responded the manager; "but pray consider the audience— the lateness of the hour-your kind friends, the British public."

"All right, my boy; go and tell them that I'll soon astonish their weak minds."

A sound of hissing and catcalling was now

heard, and the wretched manager, anticipating a riot, again urged Cooke to prepare himself for the performance.

"It shall be done-I will arraign them straight," he replied, and was rising from his chair, when the entrance of Simon Cobb gave another current to his thoughts. "Oh! Sir," said the property man, "they're getting quite obstreperous in the gallery, and the Mayor is quite impatient."

-Let the great gods,

That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now :'

responded the tragedian; "and as for the chief magistrate, in the words of Buckingham, say

And so, my good Lord Mayor, we bid farewell,'

for I will not be hurried by any man, much less, by one 'drest in a little brief authority.""

Cobb looked qnite disheartened, when the great man continued-"Sim, my dear boy, a glass of punch ?"

The property man was all gratitude; before, however, he sipped the liquor, he ventured to make one more appeal, urging the danger a further delay might cause.

"Avaunt!" cried Cooke, in his sharpest and shrillest tone-" one word more, and I'll walk out of the theatre. Trapleigh, return the money to the discontented crew. I'll none of it.

The manager looked horror-struck at the idea of refunding,-fully agreeing with valiant Jack Falstaff, that paying back, is a double labour.'

Fortunately for Trapleigh's interest, and the public benefit, a simple remark made by a stripling, produced more effect than the urgent appeal of the manager and his property man. "Is Sir Archy as good a part as Shylock?" I inquired, with boyish curiosity.

"I forgot you shall see, and judge for yourself:" so starting up, he finished dressing, and, with a chuckle, said, in a strong Scotch dialect, "Vary weel, vary weel, hear what Sir Archy has to say."