from complete, however, for although she could read she was but an indifferent scribe.  By the help of the scissors, needle, thread, and a bundle of old playbills, she achieved her purpose.  She cut a play from one bill, an interlude from another, a farce from a third, and sewing the slips neatly together avoided the use of pen and ink.  When the name of a new performer had to be introduced she left a blank to be filled up by the first of her actors she happened to encounter, presuming him to be equal to the use of a pen.  She sometimes beat the drum, or tolled the bell behind the scenes, when the representation needed such embellishments, and occasionally fulfilled the duties of prompter.  In this respect it was unavoidable that she should be now and then rather overtasked.  On one special evening she held the book during the performance of the old farce of “Who’s the Dupe?” The part of Gradus was undertaken by her leading actor, one Gardner, and in the scene of Gradus’s attempt to impose upon the gentleman of the story, by affecting to speak Greek, the performer’s memory unfortunately failed him.  He glanced appealingly towards the prompt-side of the stage.  Mrs. Baker was mute, examining the play-book with a puzzled air.  “Give me the word, madam,” whispered the actor.  “It’s a hard word, Jem,” the lady replied.  “Then give me the next.”  “That’s harder.”  The performer was at a stand-still; the situation was becoming desperate.  “The next!” cried Gardner, furiously.  “Harder still!” answered the prompter, and then, perplexed beyond bearing, she flung the book on the stage, and exclaimed aloud:  “There, now you have them all; take your choice.”

The lady’s usual station was in front of the house, however She was her own money-taker, and to this fact has been ascribed the great good fortune she enjoyed as a manager.  “Now then, pit or box, pit or gallery, box or pit!” she cried incessantly.  “Pit!  Pit!” half-a-dozen voices might cry.  “Then pay two shillings.  Pass on, Tom Fool!” for so on busy nights she invariably addressed her patrons of all classes.  To a woman who had to quit the theatre, owing to the cries of the child she bore in her arms disturbing the audience, Mrs. Baker observed, as she returned the entrance-money, “Foolish woman!  Foolish woman!  Don’t come another night till half-price, and then give your baby some Dalby’s Carminative.”  “I remember,” writes Dibdin, “one very crowded night patronised by a royal duke at Tunbridge Wells, when Mrs. Baker was taking money for three doors at once, her anxiety and very proper tact led her, while receiving cash from one customer, to keep an eye in perspective on the next, to save time, as thus:  ’Little girl! get your money ready, while this gentleman pays.  My lord!  I’m sure your lordship has silver.  Let that little boy go in while I give his lordship change.  Shan’t count after your ladyship.  Here comes the duke!  Make haste!  His royal highness will please to get his ticket ready while my lady—­now,