MRS. WAYLETT.

"Cheeks blushing at the insinuation of her tell-tale eyes; then her lips, Jack; lips, sweetly smiling; or if not smiling, more lovelily pouting-beautiful in sullenness; and then, Jack, her neck! Oh! Jack, Jack!"-SHERIDAN.

This charming actress and delightful songstress is the daughter of a respectable tradesman of Bath; her maiden name was Cooke, under which cognomen she recovered damages, or rather her father did, for the loss of her services from a gay Lothario of that loose city, famed for singing the song "Gee ho, Dobbin !" With this dower she won a husband, and soon found she had "gained a loss." It is not our intention to enter into the causes and effects of their separation-incompatibility of temper is the best word on these occasions.

The first time we saw the lovely Waylett was under Bunn's management at Birmingham, which afterwards led to a closer connexion between the parties.

Mrs. Waylett is a good actress, and in country girls her exquisite Somersetshire dialect is most delightful.

As a singer, she is the first and best; indeed, we may say, the only ballad-singer of the day. Who that has ever listened to her "Kate Kearney," but will agree with us in our assertion?

Mrs. Waylett in person is about the middle size, with a form modelled with the finest proportions-veltuously en bon point, and "then her neck! Oh, Jack, Jack!"

She has lived under the protection of Mr. Alexander Lee, we believe, for many years; is a well conducted and excellent woman-nor mean nor mercenary, and might, for propriety

of conduct and goodness of heart, be held up as an example to many of her more prudish contemporaries. Many a pleasant party have we joined at her residence in Birmingham, and many a good joke does this remembrance call up.

Bunn, who, as a manager, tried to imitate Elliston, was a fellow fruitful in resources in all cases of emergency. One evening during the engagement of Mr. T. P. Cooke, Frankenstein was performed to a very full house, and it was not until the last moment that it was discovered no avalanche had been prepared, under which Frankenstein and the Monster are buried in the dènouement. On Bunn being informed of the circumstance, he rushed up stairs, where a large basket elephant was kept, summoned the painter and a man who happened to be employed in white-washing some of the rooms, and in a few minutes they (first cutting off his legs) reduced the "mighty monster" into a veritable representation of an avalanche of snow; and it was thrown from the "flys" at the appointed moment, amidst general approbation and thunders of applause.

During Elliston's management of the Birmingham theatre, many strange circumstances occurred. We remember his deputy, "Old Lee," known by the cognomen of "Coronation Lee," and well remember a capital story of his, called

The Pretender!

Old Lee would always chuckle and assume a mysterious air, if the chastity of any actress, of doubtful reputation, was discussed in his presence, and at last to bring in his story by the neck and heels, would say, I fear she is but a Pretender, which reminds me of a circumstance that happened to a friend of mine, just after the last rebellion.

Major G-, of the Rifles, then quartered in Dublin, was carrying on an intrigue with a lady of reputation, and on a certain evening they were in a house, and I am sorry to say, for the sake of the lady's fame, in the same room, and n the same bed together.

At the period of the story, a report was rife in Dublin, that Charles Stuart, commonly denominated the "Pretender," was secreted in the city, and a strict search was made, if possible, to discover the hiding place.

Amongst other places, the house where the gallant Major and the frail lady were amusing themselves was visited by an officer of his guard; every room was examined, and, at length, admission demanded to the bed-room of the Major.

"What the devil do ye want here?" said he, in answer to the summons.

“Open the door, in the king's name,” replied the party. "We seek the Pretender."

"Devil a Pretender there is here," cried the Major, opening the door, "but there's some one in that bed that I would not have discovered for a thousand pounds. It's a lady, and sure you would not be ungallant enough to expose her?"

"We must be satisfied 'tis not the person we seek."

"Then you shall be," said the Major, putting the bed clothes up from the bottom of the bed, and exposing the antipodes of the head and shoulders of his fair companion. "There, by the holy-do you call that a Pretender?" said he.

The officer was perfectly satisfied-left the room with many apologies for having disturbed the Major, and taken his own wife

For the Pretender!

Most persons acquainted with the neighbourhood of Birmingham, have also visited Coventry, and are aware that at a certain period the old ceremony of Lady Godwin riding through the streets is kept, which is done by a female of exquisite proportion, dressed in a flesh-coloured suit. The female who for many years has personated the patriotic Countess, was, and is well known as a handsome nymph of

the pavé, occasionally residing at Coventry, and sometimes at Birmingham, and is denominated and called, par distinction, "The Countess."

Some few months back, an actor of some celebrity was starring at the latter town, and intrusted some of his particular friends with the secret of an intrigue he was there carrying on with a lady of title. He had, he said, become acquainted with her when she was travelling incog, and was perfectly satisfied that he had made an important conquest. He said that on no account could he prevail upon her to visit the theatre; but at length, on the night of his benefit being appointed, which was his last appearance in the town, he informed his friends that he had secured a private box, and she was to honour the theatre with her presence.

The evening arrived, and he pointed out to one or two of his friends, a lady deeply veiled and elegantly dressed, who was seated in the recess of the box, evidently avoiding observation. He hurried through his part, and joined the fair object of his adoration, and when all was over, escorted her to a carriage, which he had waiting at the door.

The friends stationed themselves so as to catch a glimpse of her as she passed; her veil was raised for an instant, and he looked towards his friends with all the exultation of a con. queror; but what was his horror at finding, that instead of the awe and deep respect her presence should have excited, a loud hoarse laugh immediately succeeded the recognition. "Lady Godiva, by God!" said one. "How are you, Sally?" ejaculated the other; and the dramatic hero found that he had achieved the conquest of one of the most celebrated pavement polishers of Birmingham and Coventry.

In noticing the Daughters of Thespis, we have not space to give even a brief chronicle of them all; indeed many of them would make but dull matter-of-fact biography. There is the lovely Mrs. West, still one of the most beautiful women of the day-the very image of the far-famed Mary Stuart, the ill-fated Queen of Scots. Her history is soon told; a good mother and a good wife, she is beloved and