The piece to be performed next was _The Coronation._ A man in the pit, at that moment when Elliston ought to have been most pathetic, mounted the boards which were erected down the middle of the pit, I suppose to obtain a better view. "You must not stand there, sir," vociferated Elliston to the man, in a loud angry voice, in the midst of his love-speech, to the utter dismay of poor Livius, who absolutely gasped for breath. Sams, who was Livius's publisher, was in my box, and ventured to hiss, which example was followed by a faint vibration from the pit. The valet's wife looked rather silly at being thus cut by her admiring swain. Elliston came forward, as though ashamed of his impetuosity, and, gracefully bowing, addressed the audience somewhat to this effect: "As manager and proprietor of this theatre, I must request and desire that none of you gentlemen mount those boards," and then, with all the impudence of the most perfect nonchalance, he turned round to his neglected fair one, and resumed his vows of love from where he had left off. "Elliston is very drunk," said poor Livius, looking as pale as a ghost with dread of what might follow. "Not so very drunk yet, neither," said I, "since he has to play again, in _The Coronation_ to-night." "Oh!" said Livius, shaking his head mournfully, "Elliston always plays the king most naturally when he is most drunk." "I have no doubt," answered I, "that Elliston plays his part best when he has been drinking, since he is always so excessively stupid and dull when sober. Except this trifling interruption, your little piece has gone off without a single accident or blunder; so be calm, man!" Livius told me that he was about to bring out a young lady of infinite talent as a singer. "She is in my private box, and Elliston has promised to hear her best song, from the pit, after the audience have left the house to-night." I asked if I might remain to hear her. "Certainly," said Livius, "and for that purpose I will conduct you to a private pit-box. The young lady is to sing on the stage." Livius's piece was announced for the next night, amidst loud plaudits. We may guess that Livius naturally had a vast number of his own friends among the audience. It was in fact a very trifling production, and yet it was dramatic. However I never heard of it after it had run its allotted time, though I think I have seen many worse things last longer. I thought that I too perhaps might find amusement in writing something from the French for the stage--so I, some days afterwards, fixed upon Moliere's comedy of the _Malade Imaginaire_, which I hastily transformed into an English three-act piece. But I forgot to mention what became of Livius's _protégée_.