nd in every bush." On the evening of the day when this colloquy
occurred, the manager was driving to another town, where he intended "to
carry on the war," when he perceived Liston standing in the middle of a
hedge by the road-side. "Good heavens! Liston," cried the manager, "what
are you doing there?" "Only looking for some of the actors you told me of
this morning," was the reply.

Good-natured Author.--The late M. Segur, among other literary productions,
supplied the French theatres with a number of pleasing trifles. If he was
not always successful, he was at least always gay in his reverses. When his
works were ill received by the public, he consoled himself for a failure by
a bon-mot; he made even a point of consoling his companions in misfortune.
A piece of his was once brought forward called the _Yellow Cabriolet_,
which happened to be condemned on the first representation. Some days
afterwards a piece, by another author, was presented, which was equally
unfortunate. The author, petrified at his failure, stood for a moment
immoveable. "Come, come, my dear sir," said M. Segur, "don't be cast down,
I will give you a seat in my _Yellow Cabriolet_."

A Heavy Play.--When Sir Charles Sedley's comedy of "Bellamira" was
performed, the roof of the theatre fell down, by which, however, few people
were hurt except the author. This occasioned Sir Fleetwood Shepherd to say,
"There was so much fire in his play, that it blew up the poet, house and
all." "No," replied the good-natured author, "the play was so heavy, that
it broke down the house, and buried the poor poet in his own rubbish."

Monsieur de la Motte, soon after the representation of his "Ines de
Castro," which was very successful, although much censured by the press,
was sitting one day in a coffee-house, when he heard several of the critics
abusing his play. Finding that he was unknown to them, he joined heartily
in abusing it himself. At length, after a great many sarcastic remarks, one
of them, yawning, said, "Well, what shall we do with ourselves this
evening?" "Why, suppose," said de la Motte, "we go to the _seventy-second_
representation of this bad play."

The Sailor and the Actress.--"When I was a poor girl," said the Duchess of
St. Albans, "working very hard for my thirty shillings a week, I went down
to Liverpool during the holidays, where I was always kindly received. I was
to perform in a new piece, something like those pretty little dramas they