robes, he triumphantly contemplated the astonished and indignant
audience. It ended:--"Richard was himself again," and "_Now_ is the
winter of our _discontent_ made glorious summer" was given with equal
emphasis, feeling, and effect.

At the time that _greater_ performer, the elephant, made his appearance
on the boards, his own _board_ became a subject of no trifling
consideration with the managers, particularly as the African had taken a
predilection for _rum_, which the new actor used to quaff with
extraordinary zest. On one occasion Cooke was missing from a morning
rehearsal, and all had been some time in waiting for the tragedian,
when the messenger whom Kerable despatched in search of him, returned
grinning to the green-room. "Where is Mr. Cooke, sir?" demanded Kemble.
"He is below _breakfasting_ with the _elephant_, sir!" was the reply.

It was too much for Cooke, after having so frequently disappointed full
houses, to be obliged to play to an empty theatre. It was like playing
whist with _dummy_. However, towards the close of the O. P. war, (which,
by the way, excited more the attention of the Parisians than the
national contest in which we were engaged,) the public had adopted the
plan of never commencing operations until half-price, to the injury of
the manager's purse. It was during the earlier acts of "The Man of the
World," that Cooke, in performing to "a beggarly account of empty
boxes," was addressed by one of the actors, in accordance with the
scene, in a whisper; when the _elevated_ comedian, casting a glance
around, bitterly observed, "Speak out: there need be no secret. _No one
hears us._" Poor Cooke could not plead in excuse what an actor did on
being hissed for too _sober_ a representation of a _drunken_ part,
"Ladies and gentlemen, I beg your pardon: but it is really the _first
time_ I ever was _intoxicated_."