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Excerpt from True to the Core: A Story of the Armada
Although familiar to the theatrical world, it is, perhaps, not generally known that the late accomplished actor, Mr. T. P. Cooke, bequeathed a sum of money to the Royal Dramatic College, the interest of which, at certain intervals, was, in the form of a prize, to be given to the Author of the best original Nautical or National Drama, the awardment of such prize being regulated by the conditions which usually govern a public competition. The prize was £100, and the successful candidate was required, by the stipulations of Mr. Cooke's will, to surrender to the Dramatic College all right and control over the future of his drama, the Master and Council of the said College possessing the exclusive right of determining at what theatre the piece in question should be performed, and also appropriating all profits that might arise to the benefit of the excellent Institution over which they preside.
In a pecuniary sense, the reward was certainly not a tempting one, and the conditions linked with it of a somewhat stringent and irritating nature. But there is always something animating in a contest. Besides, it was of course imperative that the pieces sent in should be original. The plot and incidents could not be filched from continental dramatists, and this (to me at least) imparted, an additional zest for trying a fall in an arena from which the plunder of Parisian theatres was to be rigidly excluded. For these reasons, in a rash hour, I was tempted to become a candidate for the T. P. Cooke Prize, though not, I confess, without sundry warnings to abandon my intention.
Most of us, I believe, possess amongst our circle of friends one whose peculiarity it is to see everything through the medium of a very gloomy atmosphere. I, at any rate, am blessed with, one of these unpleasant, but useful Mentors, who thus, with almost cheerful alacrity, at once pointed out "a Rock ahead:" - "Should you fail, and no doubt you will fail, you will be annoyed; should you succeed, you will only create enemies. And your subject! The Spanish Armada! Why, the very name suggests the Critic, and of course a Sneer." This was not exhilarating, but I knew that critics and sneers would be sure to come without any suggestion; and notwithstanding the awful shapes of Tilburina and Whiskerandos conjured up to fright me from my purpose, I refused to be alarmed. But my cheerful friend hadn't done with me. His rocks began to multiply, like Falstaff's men in buckram, with terrible rapidity.
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