A yell of disappointment burst from the house. "The man," continued Elliston, raising his voice, "of whatever name or nation he may be, who breaks his word, commits an offence which----" The rest of this Joseph Surface sentiment was drowned in furious clamour, and for some minutes he could not make himself heard, until he drew some letters from his pocket, and held them up. "Here is the correspondence," he said. "Does any gentleman here understand German? If so, will he oblige me by stepping forward?" The Birmingham public were not strong in languages in those days, it would seem, for no gentleman stepped forward. "Am I, then, left alone?" he exclaimed in tragic accents. "Well, I will translate them for you." Here there was another uproar, out of which came two or three voices, "No, no." Like Buckingham, he chose to construe the two or three into "a general acclaim." "Your commands shall be obeyed," he said bowing, and pocketing the correspondence, "I _will not_ read them. But my dear patrons, your kindness merits some satisfaction at my hands; your consideration shall not go unrewarded. You shall not say you have paid your money for nothing. Thank heaven, I can satisfy you of my own integrity, and present you with a portion of the entertainment you have paid to see. The Bohemian, the villain, is not here. But the _stone_ is, and YOU SHALL SEE IT." He winked at the orchestra, which struck up a lively strain, and up went the curtain, disclosing a huge piece of sand rock, upon which was stuck a label, bearing the legend in large letters, "THIS IS THE STONE." It need scarcely be added that the Bohemian existed only in the manager's brain. But it is a question whether the audience which could be only brought together by such an exhibition did not deserve to be swindled.