he coats, were all accepted,
and made the most of by the now prosecuting managers of Covent-garden, who
cleared out of the said Cooke, score, and coats, one thousand pounds at
half-price on the first six nights of their exhibition. This is a fact;
nay, we have lately heard it stated that all the sum was specially banked,
to be used in a future war against the minors. Cooke was then engaged for
twelve more nights, at ten pounds per night--a hackney-coach bringing him
each night, hot from the Surrey stage, where he had previously made
bargemen weep, and thrown nursery-maids into convulsions. Well, time drove
on, and Cooke drove into the country. Elliston, who was always classical,
having a due veneration for that divine "creature," Shakspeare, announced,
on the anniversary of the poet's birth-day, a representation of the
Stratford Jubilee. The wardrobe was ransacked, the property-man was on the
alert; and, after much preparation, every thing was in readiness for the
imposing spectacle.--No! There was one thing forgotten--one important
"property!" _Bottom_ must be a "feature" in the procession, and there was
no ass's head! it would not do for the acting manager to apologize for the
absence of the head--no, _he_ could not have the face to do it. A head
must be procured! Every one was in doubt and trepidation, when hope
sounded in the clarion-like voice of Robert William. "Ben!" exclaimed
Elliston, "take pen, ink, and paper, and write as follows!" Ben (Mr.
Benjamin Fairbrother, the late manager's most trusty secretary) sat, "all
ear" and Elliston, with finger on nether lip, proceeded.--

"My dear Charles,

I am about to represent, 'with entirely new dresses, scenery, and
decorations,' the Stratford Jubilee, in honour of the sweet swan of Avon.
My scene-painter is the finest artist (except your Grieve) in Europe--my
tailor is no less a genius, and I lately raised the salary of my
property-man. This will give you some idea of the capabilities of the
Surrey Theatre. However, in the hurry of "getting up," we have forgotten
one property--every thing is well with us but our _Bottom_, and he wants a
head. As it is too late to manufacture, not but that my property-man is
the cleverest in the world (except the property-man of Covent-garden), can
_you_, lend me an ass's head, and believe me, my dear Charles,

Yours ever truly,

ROBERT WILLIAM ELLISTON."

"P.S. I had forgotten to acknowledge the return of the _Black-Eyed Susan_
sc