COOKE (G.F.) drank everything.

HENDEESON, gum arable and sherry.

INCLEDON sang on madeira.

JOEDAN (Mrs.) drank calves’-foot jelly and sherry.

KEAN (C.) took beef-tea for breakfast, and preferred a rump-steak for dinner.

KEAN (Edm.) EMERY and REEVE drank cold brandy-and-water.

KEMBLE (John) took opium.

LEWIS, mulled wine and oysters.

MACEEADY used to eat the lean of mutton-chops when he acted, and subsequently lived almost wholly on a vegetable diet.

OXBERRY drank tea.

RUSSELL (Henry) took a boiled egg.

SMITH (W.) drank coffee.

WOOD (Mrs.) sang on draught porter.

WEENCH and HAELEY took no refreshment during a performance.—­W.  O.
Russell, Representative Actors. 272.

DIE’TRICH (2 syl.).  So Theod’oric The Great is called by the German minnesingers.  In the terrible broil stirred up by Queen Kriemhild in the banquet hall of Etzel, Dietrich interfered, and succeeded in capturing Hagan and the Burgundian King Ghinther.  These he handed over to the queen, praying her to set them free; but she cut off both their heads with her own hands.—­The Niebelungen Lied (thirteenth century.)

Dietrich (John), a laborer’s son of Pomerania.  He spent twelve years under ground, where he met Elizabeth Krabbin, daughter of the minister of his own village, Rambin.  One day, walking together, they heard a cock crow, and an irresistible desire came over both of them to visit the upper earth, John so frightened the elves by a toad, that they yielded to his wish, and gave him hoards of wealth, with part of which he bought half the island of Riigen.  He married Elizabeth, and became founder of a very powerful family.—­Keightley, Fairy Mythology. (See TANHAUSER.)

DIETZ (Bernard). Broad-shouldered giant who wears an air of deep and gentle repose, and comes like a benediction from heaven to the sick room of Count Hugo in Blanche Willis Howard’s novel The Open Door. He is a stone-mason who says with a genial laugh,

“I hope if I’m lucky enough to get into the New Jerusalem they talk about, there’ll still be a little building going on, for I shouldn’t feel at home without a block of stone to clip.”

His grand simplicity and strong common sense medicine the morbid soul of the more nobly-born man.  His argument against the suicide Hugo contemplates as an open door out of the world, surprises the listener profoundly.

“You see, you can never destroy anything.  You can only seem to.  The life in us—­it doesn’t ask us if we want to be born,—­it doesn’t ask us if we want to die.  It is beyond us, and I don’t believe it can be destroyed” (1889).