I find in Miss Logan's book from which I have before quoted in this chapter, the following funny inventory of properties furnished a new lessee of the Drury Lane Theatre, London: "Spirits of wine, for flames and apparitions, £12 2_s._; three and one-half bottles of lightning, £--; one snow-storm, of finest French paper, 3_s._; two snow-storms of common French paper, 2_s._; complete sea, with twelve long waves, slightly damaged, £1 10_s._; eighteen clouds, with black edges, in good order, 12_s._, 6_d._; rainbow, slightly faded, 2_s._; an assortment of French clouds, flashes of lightning and thunder-bolts, 15_s._; a new moon, slightly tarnished, 15_s._; imperial mantle, made for Cyrus, and subsequently worn by Julius Cæsar and Henry VIII., 10_s._; Othello's handkerchief, 6_d._; six arm-chairs and six flower-plots, which dance country dances, £2." The same author adds another quotation that gives a better idea of the quantity and character of the property-man's possessions, saying:-- "He has charge of all the movables and has to exercise the greatest ingenuity in getting them up. His province is to preserve the canvas water from getting wet, keep the sun's disk clear and the moon from getting torn; he manufactures thunder on sheet iron, or from parchment stretched drum-like on a frame; he prepares boxes of dried peas for rain and wind, and huge watchman's rattles for the crash of falling towers. He has under his charge demijohns for the fall of concealed china in cupboards; speaking trumpets to imitate the growl of ferocious wild beasts; penny whistles for the 'cricket on the hearth;' powdered rosin for lightning flashes, where gas is not used; rose pink, for the blood of patriots; money, cut out of tin; finely cut bits of paper for fatal snow-storms; ten-pin balls, for the distant mutterings of a storm; bags of gold containing bits of broken glass and pebbles, to imitate the musical ring of coin; balls of cotton wadding for apple dumplings; links of sausages, made of painted flannel; sumptuous boquets of papier mache; block-tin rings with painted beads puttied in for royal signets; crowns of Dutch gilding lined with red ferret; broomstick handles cut up for truncheons for command; brooms themselves for witches to ride; branches of cedar for Birnam wood; dredging boxes of flour for the fate-desponding lovers; vermilion to tip the noses of jolly landlords; pieces of rattan silvered over for fairy wands; leaden watches, for gold repeaters; dog-chains for the necks of knighthood, and tin spurs for its heels; armor made of leather, and shields of wood; fans for ladies to coquet behind; quizzing-glasses, for exquisites to ogle with; legs of mutton, hams, loaves of bread and plum-puddings, all cut from canvas, and stuffed with sawdust; together with all the pride, pomp, and circumstance of a dramatic display. Such is the property-man of a theatre. He bears his honors meekly; he mixes