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Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul clich6, il est filmd d partir de Tangle sup^rieur gauche, de gauche i droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) A APPLIED IN/HG E 1653 East Main SIrcsl Rochester. Ne« York 14609 USA (716) 482 - OJOO - Phone (716) 288- 5989 -Fox nuimmnnii 'I*""' '" ^'~~^ iiiiifirtill>*lllliiriir Ood II THEATRICAI THOUGHTS, I) i.n MX / // JOHN GAISFORD, // PROMPTER TO THE THEATRE ROTAL, MONTREAL: AlCD CONUNDRUMS, SENT TO J. GxilSFORD, ON THE OCCASION OF HIS BENEFIT AT THE TIIEATRE BOYAI* . 'iVA <<^i-^ ■^-\ 236^ IHontrral: PRINTED FOR THE ACTHOB, BY LOVELL AND GIBSON, 09 SOLD BT MESSRS. J. It'COT, B. «t C. CHALMERS, AND B. DAWSO». 1848. PROPERTY Of THE LIBRARY UNIVrRSITY OF WATERLOO /!Z<^ ttitmmimmmmm ■■l-^. -M\ 301 i \ li ii a;5 T - --" - "' •"■im'iMi ilii tiHmmatiitm DEDICATION. TO MAJOR GRANVILLE, 23«d (Roval Welch) Fusium*, AMP THE OFFICERS OF THE GARRISON OF MONTREAL. Gemtlemen, Many ,of you may perliai)s rciuember, that some twenty years ago, Ihcic existed an individual named King, who made a practice of introducing himself >vith an apology. So repeatedly had he performed the trick of treading upon the toes of his superiors, and then begfing their pardons, that he acquired the soubriquet of To-King. I am not envious of such a notoriety, but beg to apologise for the great liberty I am taking, whilst dedicating to you this pamphlet, upon a subject in which I believe you take some interest. Hoping that you will deal leniently with its many faulli, allow me to subscribe myself, Your much obliged, And most obedient Scnant,' JOHN GAISFORD. Theatre Rotal, Montreal^ \Oth Aprils 1848. i'lllllllll«»ll1lllf«l MaUkOiMhii mitititm n- i •n-i---'~-~-'"""' )! APOLOGY. " Anothek Work upon Tfimtrkals ! " will, I have no doubt, be the common expression of all who glance at the cover of this Pamphlet; and with good reason — so many different Trea- tises arc there, n6w extant, upon the same prolific subject. But, for my exculpation,! shall plead the novel fact of my own production being entirely free from anything approaching to personal abuse, or attacks upon individuals, with which other compilations in the most part abound. Tlie pen which transcribes these sheets, shall merely tickle, where others have thought proper to tcaze, the Dramatic Profes- sion. And my excuse for the general charge of writing a Book, shall be "Tis but ft very little one." t^ MfcMMII ■MM MMMHi r IHKATUICAL THOUGHTS. PART I. On the Expenses of a Theatre. I WILL leave the gentle reader to form liis or her own 0[)inion as to the exact value, in pounds, sliil- llngs and pence, or dollars and cents, (as they think proper,) of any temple tlwit may be dedicated to the service of the dramatic Muse, and confine my remarks to expenses of which they cannot have the remotest idea. Every body who has visited a theatre is aware that, when properly conducted, it must employ a number of artists ; but few, except the initiated, know how many derive their sup- l)ort, and that of their families, from the numerous dollars, lialf-dollars, and quarters, which arc nightly paid into the treasurer's hands. I Avill deliberately enumerate tlicui, expecting nothing less than tliat the fashionable young man and beautiful lady who occupy the dress circle, and look at Mr. or Mrs. , while they are i)Ci*forming, will ex- x,^ 8 < .aim to each otlior, "Is it posi^iblc?" Gentle reader ! it is true. First on the list of cxixinses, I will place the Proprietor. lie is of course a Cnpitalist, and if he did not actually build, at all events, has bought the edifice, and paid for it a handsome sum of money, on the rent of which he depends for the interest on his Capital. So long as that is paid, and everything goes on steadily, ho has nothing more to do, for his share of the plunder, than occasionally to disburse a good portion of it in repairs; and whenever he meets the Lessee, shake him cordially but patronizingly by the hand. These are all his positive duties ; but some Proprietors think proper to make themselves very agreeable to the Stage ^lanager and other OflTicialj, who always feel flattered by any notice from such a magnificent ixjrsonagc, ano perhaps take a good deal more care of the projxiity on that very account.* The second jxjrson to be consideixid, is the Lessee and Manager — the Magnus Apollo of the establish- ment — in whom, of course, is invested unlimited power. If he is a wise man, he never embroils him- self with any body — but, whilst he directs every- thing as he pleases, makes a cat's-paw of his Stage Manager, Prompter, or Treasurer, when there is any probability of disturbance. • " Kisi the nurse for Uic hake of the child," is an oW prorerb, tnd a Tery trite oiMk 1 'h ill! n 1,1 i'i 'If m MiMiH UOMa itttiim 1^ iiiij-nriftiii • I The Manager is the only party whom iha succe^i or failure of an undertaking of this kind can possi- bly affect to any extent. The failure of a season may entirely ruin liim— or a successful one may realize for him a moderate fortune; owing to cir- cumstances, this latter result is not of very frequent occurrence— (but of this anon. ) There is one thing which ought to be, though it is not often, strictly observed; the [Manager should never, on any pre- tence, perform upon the Stage ; if he discharge* his numerous and arduous duties correctly, he does enough for any onp system of humanity. With these upon his mind, it is impossible for him to devote much t*me to study— and the mere fact of his levelling himself with his hired performers, strips him of some part of the authority he ought to hold over them. On the Acting Manager devolves the duty of making all engagements on account of tJie Theatre. "Wlien a Star engagement is considered of advantage, the Manager arranges the terms; and when Stock Performers are necessary, he should invariably be guided by the opinion of his Stage Manager, in whom of course he places the greatest confidence. Should money be required beyond the actual receipts of the house, if it is not at his Ban- ker's, the Manager should be a man of such known IIM laUiii^ttaii irfUMM^ •IMU 10 probity and experience, that he meets with no diffi- culty in raising the needful in a legitimate and economical manner. Indeed, were it not absolutely necessary for the Manager to be intimately acquainted with the smallest minutia) of such a complicated machine, I believe that a man of commercial expe- rience, with his punctuality and regular habits, would form the best model for the Manager of a Theatre. In fact, there are many instances, at pre- sent, of mercantile speculators embarking in the undertaking with success. The Manager must be a gentleman— for he is constantly brought into contact with gentlemen of the very first class. One great secret for him to thoroughly understand, is, that he must never te under any obligation, ^ ,uniary or otherwise, to any person in his employ. In a word, the Manager must be a man of untiring perseverance, of good address and tact, possessed of means sufficient to carry him through his undertakings, without embarrassment; and must make up his mind to devote the whole of his attention to his business. So long as he acts up to these rules, and regularly meets every demand upon him, his position is an enviable one; but, if he be not able to contend manfully with all the difficul- ties which beset him, no hell can be described more [f f\ ■ill] ! '^'11 Id li ' ■'-^- -^-•'-iii.-iTitiiih"n»wiir'" '■ ■■-■--"■'*'^*>-*-M*" 11 terrific than the oneh e encounters upon earth, and the sooner he gives up the speculation, and directs his efforts to some other object, the better. I have not yet dona— Lady Lessees are now very common. In this case, my rule as regards acting must be reversed. The Lady must be an Actress of great popularity, and constantly keep herself in" a prominent manner before the public, trusting the actual management of her affairs to a gentleman fully qualified for the task. I will now draw some outline of that very impor- tant gentleman. The Stage Manager. Perhaps, upon this individual more depends than even upon the ^lanager himself— for all the tact of the latter would be of no avail, were he not properly supported by his Stage Manager. lie should be a gentleman of good education, acquainted not only with the Clas- sics, but able to read and converse freely in the French, German, and Italian languages. Either or any of these acquirements give him such an evident advantage over the matter-of-fact man, who is simply learned in his mother-tongue, that we are almost surprised Managers do not insist upon their func- tionaries, qualifying themselves for this office with superfluous college diplomas. With these accom- plishments, the Stage Manager is enabled to make selections from the literature of foreign countries, _„/>MIIIIIIIiMMHIIUb MtaiiMa >i j4 ■aaiiniiiM-iiif-ilii, MMtttiiauiMite 12 and present his , audiences with any of the choice morceaiix which are constantly produced in them —and V ". h, otherwise, bide their time for transla- tion, an ,. are not known till they become common. The Stage Manager must be intimately acquainted with every drama which regularly holds possession of the Stage— not only with the text, but be able, unhesitatingly, and beyond dispute, to arrange e trery situation called for in their representation. It is not so absolutely necessary that he be intimate %vith all the conventionalities; but his judgment must be such as to enable him to supersede them, if neces- sary. He has enough to do, and depends greatly upon the assistance of his Lieutenant, (the Promp- ter,) of whom he should make a careful selection. ' The Stage ^lauager's duties are, to advise wth the Manager, concerning all engagements for the Stage, making a very careful selection of the Ladies and Gentlemen he wishes to employ. Not encum- bering the salary list with any superfluous talent, but taking great care to secure a sufficiency of per* formers, that in case of any secession from the Com- pany, the loss of two or three individuals will not be felt seriously; this is his first duty, and much depends upon its execution. Of course, over every body behind the curtain he must hold supreme autljority, and he must take care that his deputies, H ■ K, m m il - '-- .-.^-. »■<«>■. ,^....rl».. >»-i.*.1 ItfkaU ■ijM^^ IS whilst they are efficient, and behave properly, are never obstructed or baffled in the performance of their respective functions. When they are not able to accomplish this, his easiest and best method of acting, will be to remove them, and place others in their situation, who are more competent. His Company engaged, the Stage Manager must then arrange his plan of operations for the season; and, having properly digested his Cast-book, so that in the event of his losing the services of any party, he can alter it without much inconvenience, he must, once a week at least, exhibit in the Green Room, the business cast for the week ensuing, and rigidly abide by his first determination, making it under- stood that the penalty for refusing a part, will be the instant dismissal of the refractor}' representative of Thcspis. This determination, or firmness, on the part of the Official, will save him a great deal of trouble when it is once understood. I do not men- tion the punishment for drunkenness, as it is pre- sumed the Manager has sense enough not to engage parties who are likely to be afflicted with that vice. It is one of the duties of the Stage Manager to enforce any By-law he may think proper to place in the Green Room, without any consideration as tx) whom the offender may be. Rank in the profei- ti«i?«il«i'->;j-; :Mfmf-'*m''W9^'^^^' s^«»-p*sii • Hki^ UMfe* ilUMillll HMMM^lMM M ! llii u sion, or personal friendship, should never be allowed to interfere with the interests of the Theatre. On the Stage Manager devolves the task of making out the daily bills, and during the rehearsals and performance, he should invariably be found upon the Stage, ready and able to detect and correct any error or misconception that may occur, and seeing that all parties attend to and do their respective business properly. To accomplish this, (although theij is no objection to his being an actor, except, perhaps, the ruling passion,) the Stage ^lanager should never appear upon the boards, except in a case of great emergency. His leisure hours, with which he will not be much encumbered, should be devoted to the perusal of new plays, aud select- ing from them such as are likely to suit the establishment, taking care that, whilst he treats the public with every novelty, the dish is properly dressed. He should have the faculty of dramatizing, or, at all events, be able to contract or correct the efforts of any aspirant to a seat on Shakspere's footstooL Accomplished in all these various acquirements, the Stage ^lanager should have a thorough know- ledge of all the expenses incident to the Stage, so that he may at once form a correct estimate of the n\ i I ^B MtAdMMiMiWHIiiMilfia hMm k-.wta iii ii iMiiiii nM liliiltt r-"* ■' *"•'—• 15 cost of any piece lie may be desirous of producing. If there is in tlie profession any one gentleman who comes up to the standard I have drawn, I am ijmorant of his name or Avhereabouts. But I think that, with the exception of being linguists, Messrs. Barry, of the Park, Mitchell of the Olympic Theatre, New York, and ray much respected friend, Burton, of the Arch Street Theatre, Philadelphia, arc duly entitled to the name of Stage Managers, who pro- perly understand their business. Of the immense number who start for, and claim the honor, these are the only thi^e whom I can place, and they run neck and neck towards the goal of superiority. Of course, it would be wrong to say that others of equal pace could not be picked from the crowd of distanced ones, if they only had a clear field. Having disposed of the Stage Manager, the next Official I shall notice is the Prompter. Concerning the onerous and responsible duties of this personage, plaj'-goers in general are very much mis-informed— the common opinion of him is, that he is a mere fixture at the first entrance, who has simply to keep himself awake whilst he follows the course of a play, with the book in his hand, throws the word to an actor when it is required — whistles when a scene has to be changed, and rings a bell to lift or let fall the Green Curtain or Drop. Such, ii Ik • 1 1 It: »! i i i\ •m •/IP. !■!':■ ■ii':f Si aMMIIBI— >l ^auMMMUMMW i.i I i i i 17 addition to all these, be must be blessed with a tem- per, which is proof against all excitement or irri- tation. In the course of his duties, he will be severely tried in this respect; Job was proverbially a patient man, but I doubt whether he ever acted as Prompter to a Theatre.* The labours of the Prompter commence before the dramatic season, and, continuing without any intermission throughout, do not cease till after it has expired. No matter what difficulty arises, or what mistake is committed on the Stage — no mat- ter who the guilty parties are — the Prompter is sure to be the first to be brought to task, and, if not directly at fault himself, he has frequently to stand patiently under the whipping which the real .offen- ders receive over his shoulders. I can speak from my o^vn experience that the easiest way is to submit to the imposition patiently, and not make the mat- ter worse by grumbling at it; I have frequently by silence pleaded guilty to errors which I never committed, rather than by contradiction force myself into a lengthened argument upon the subject at fault. It is not merely with the Stage Manager that the Prompter gets embroiled, but he is the butt for all the discontented grumblings of every mem- • The suge cotch ttory of " Three blind une and ft bolter," will occur to Butnj of nay resden. - ■ O Ha MOMtaaUMMi •MHMHMBMH^Nkl .Li. 18 ber of the Company, without reckoning the artists employed, or even the Carpenter, who sometimes fancies he has a right to find fault. With regard to his emoluments, the Prompter generally finds himself at the end of the season not much richer than he was at its commencement. The pittance allowed them, except in Theatres where liberal Stars are constantly appearing, is not any- thing like a compensation for the amount of labour they bestow in behalf of the welfare of the estab- lishment. The actual duties of the Prompter are so multi- farious, that I cannot trespass on the limits of this work in more minutely describing them, than by stating that, in addition to watching narrowly both rehearsals and performances, he has to make out all the plots for the Carpenter, Property Man, and Call Boy, keep a private account of everything that occurs, make a report to the Stage Manager of every- thing that is wrong, and be able at a glance to detect any error on the part of anybody, and also be able to rectify it; whilst, though he should never be sent upon the Stage, except in cases of emergency, he must be competent to perform little parts at very short notices, as it will sometimes happen that he must be introduced into the Casts. Under his immediate control is the Call Boy, if he has one; Ill iiiiiiiwfci 19 except in very large houses, I consider thie young gentleman a nuisance, and can always get along with a little management better without than withhiro; and the Prompter has either to do a great deal in the way of copying himself, or see that the copyist (if there is one) of the Theatre attends to his busi- ness. But not to enumerate, he has the direction of every auxiliary, artist, and mechanic required for the Stage; and, in well regulated Theatres, his juris- diction in this respect is never disturbed, or are his orders criticised. Before I forget the young urchiu, I will now describe the Call Boy, who, by-the-bye, like a post- boy, is sometimes a man. A model Call Boy should be a young lad, who can read and write pretty well, and being smart, active and intelligent, mth a taste that way inclined, promises .some day to make an actor, ffis duties are merely to keep at the Promp- ter's elbow wherever he may happen to be, do every- thing the Prompter orders him, and, minding on salary days that the Treasurer does not pay him twice over, to eschew the company of all his former dirty-faced companions, who pass their time in play- ing marbles, overing posts, &c. &c in the public streets. Some of these Call Boys are funny little rascals, whose frolics are oftentimes very amtising to the full grown children round the establishment. • .-..< •i/v ->i!l>>Ml tViui Villi I'n^i:' MMMMMMMtthMiteaflttM ^ 20 When I look at the Copyist of a Theatre, if he is not a very young man, with talent and energy suffi- cient to free him from his laborious duties, I sigh for him, and feel sorry at his hard fate. Most likely he is a gentleman, perhaps one who, whilst he enjoy- ed the sunshine of prosperity, befriended his present employer in some way or other, and is now receiving from his hands, the only return he is able to make him in the way of business ; these cases are not uncommon either in this or the legal profession. Sometimes the constant task of copying other author's works, begets a taste for the drama, which developes itself in a play written by himself; and I can mention many cases of successful dramatists, who are compelled by hunger to copy productions far inferior to any efforts of their o>vn--and, as a lasting blot of disgrace on the literary taste of America, make more money by copying, than com- piling a work. I grow unhappy whenever I reflect upon my own sufferings, whilst I existed for a long time in this, the grub state of the literary world, and thank heaven fervently, that I am no longer a drudge. A Theatrical Copyist sometimes has nothing -whatever to do, and at others, more than he can possibly accomplish-— in either case, his emoluments ^re not of such an extent a3 to warrant him in launching into needless expences. :•! f\\ ■ M ^m 91 ^inng treated on the foregoing usefiil member J » Corps Drsinatique, I am naturally inclined to fello«^ up ray remarks with an evasion from the direct .racic in favour of the Dramatist, who is not classed in the stock of any American Theatre at present, but . pon the efforts of whose genius, more consideration ought to he shewn than there is- -the piwr devil who, after days, nights, weeks, and some- times months of mental labour, produces a play, if doomed to more disappointment, vexation and insult, than the public at large are at all aware of. I will presume that he is poor, for were it otherwise, he would not have courage and philosophy enough to pass through the ordeal of torture, which he must suVmitto before his effort is placed upon the Stage. It is not eveiybody who commences a Play, has talent and perseverance enough to complete it. One author may have the faculty of >vritmg freely, but be perfectly unacquainted vrith Stage situations and eJOTect. Another would-be Dramatist has in hii brain a confused mass of striking situations, but is unable to carry out his ideas on account of his defi- ciency Tvith regard to language. Some who start with prospects of leisure time to complete the task, ' are often carried from it by unforeseen accidents. Some find that they cannot spare enough money from their little stock to purchase pens* *nk. and my..miy:^m .r»<¥iV'f*iiff«'"-'^ . s'^"irf7?y'*«i'#'9Bf<^*«"''s*s^- +*'';>'^'*»"*«»«' >i I •%* III ' ;li i I ii ' iii paper, (Why don't people say " pap< - pens, and ink,"?); and others fortune's frolics - oo whimsi- can, whose only stimulus was poverty, have ceased from their labours so soon as they have discovered the fact that ther-^ is no nLcessity for them. So that, at the first jump, the number of authors who accomplish the task, is only a small portion of the host of scribblers, who start with the idea that their nances will be handed down to posterity with Shakspeitj's or Kotzcbue's. I will pass over aU these, and treat only of authors who are actually Dramatists from the fact of having completed a Drama; that I may not give offence, I will call one simply Mr . Bearing in his hand a roll of paper, which has been previously perused by an indefinite number of cri lics, he waits upon the Lessee, who receives him poUu^ly, and introduces him to his Stage .Afanager. This g. n- tleman is veiy civil, and promises to read the manu- script without delay, appointing a future day and hour on which he will give him his opinion of it. That day arrives, is postponed, and postponed so often, that, if the author has perseverance enough to follow, he must at all events feel disheartened as to the fate of his play, and be fully prepared for the answer which nine times out of ten he is sure to receive. "Tliis is an excellent play, Mr , an ex- "cellent play, and does your genius great credit; but i^aftM>iJiMMi> II-—" -"'"■ ' liMilrfUliHMa^ 28 " really, my dear Sir, the business of the Theatre " is arranged for so far a-head, that it is impossible " for me to give you any further encouragement at " present." This small box of ointment rather ir- ritates than soothes the itching sore for dramatic honors with which the poor fellow is tormented, and, after a great deal of delay and trouble in recovering his manuscript, he repeats the application to another house, only to be tormented with the same result. Of the number of Mr. *s who start in the race but few come "within the distance post, or (dropping the language of the turO actually have their dramas placed upoii the stage, so many events occur to baffle their arrangements thit scarcely one in twenty of them ever have the pleasure of reading their names upon a playbill. Mr.^ whose indo- mitable perseverance has carried him through all opposing difficulties, just at the moment when he is about to give up the task in despair, is astonished by a friendly note, informing him that, with some curtailments and alterations which will unprove it amazingly, his play will be produced at the Theatre. His faint hopes are now revived stronger than ever — he goes to bed that evening dreaming all sorts of things, and wondering what kind* of appearance he shall make when, as a matter of course, he is called to the footlights,— and gets up in , I .1 mdMkkkM sss .'^ipm*<*l^!l!il!Wta .il_^ l,.W,Mt,.-,. U,,— ,-.,.^ .- ^^ ^ i^iWiiiii 'i III ^1 I 24 the morning to read in the newspapers that the Thea- tre was burnt down during the night.* Mr is now more convinced than ever that he is a shining light and is destined to illuminate the dramatic world ; his previously mentioned perseverance prompts him to make another effort, the result of which is, that, after the curtailments and alterations, and amidst sneers and remarks of a host of envi- ous spirits, something, which he is hardly able to swear to as his production, is placed upon the stage; and if there is any applause, either the Manager remarks that he has made some interpolations, or the actor claims the round as one intended for the superior manner in which he delivered the success- ful passage. Mr. not being hitherto known, his drama does not meet with unprecedented success. Perhaps he gets som e small (very small )t remune- •Something similar to this was my own fate when, in 1845. the Bow.rr TTieatre was rcdaccd to ashe^ and my own attic, next door to it, formed part of the conflagration. The whole uf my effects, including book, and MSS.. made fad for ihe flames. No, I am exaggerating. I did not lot* tvery thing, for two shirts and one pocket handkerchief happened to be at the washerwoman's, or rather at an cstoblishment which then existed in the Boweiy, where gentlemen's clothes were washed and torn to pieces by steam Iknew the proprietor well; he was a 'cute Yankee, but had some good points. One was, that he always considered one of my jokes an equivalent for lU- pence; which waa rery convenient to me. He gave active employment to about fifty strapping ffibemian women, and, for the accommodation of the owners of soliury garments, beds were laid upon the prerai«js.in which the happy man might repose for half an hour, whibt hU shirt was in the miU. No smoking was aDowed thoagh. t Two dollars was the amount I received for the first farce of mine wh!(A ercr was played, Thiij included piece and parU; and an opposition copyist who bad reduced his charge for labour, might have demanded fire dollan. n' i w "l V r; ' i l^AiSitfMMiM^BUwfM r I ■■— .■..-u.»i-y»~»d»*^M*Mit*i 25 ration from the Manager, and, if he is not so dis- trusted with the manner in which he has been treated, o as to vow never to T.Tite any more, he still goes on, persevering and plodding, till some lucky chance ajiain brings hira into notice. He finds, as he as- rends the ladder of fame, that the steps get gradu^ ally shorter and less difficult, as, one by one, he mounts them ; till, after years of toil, the society of the dramatist is sought instead of avoided, and he is solicited, nay entreated, to place his efforts on the stage of the very Theatre in which he had been previously considered as a maniac adventurer. In the midst of his misery, there is one bright prospect for the poor dramatist, based upon the fact, that, in the most palmy days of the Drama, he was not only deservedly considered as an essential part of the machinery of a Theatre, but, viewed by society in his proper character, an ornament to the literature of the country which gave him birth. He lives in the hope that the prosperity of times bygone, may, before long, be rcA^ived ; when men will regain pos- session of that stage which has been -wrested from them by monkeys; when audiences will be attracted by the play and its merits, instead of the players and their peculiarities. Tliis effected, as it only can be, by a liberal inducement being held out to authors for the production of new pieces, will be lUMf ■.■,i....1i^.ilHl<^.IMM.ill.llin|.. ,-.^^.^.^. .:JL ""■"^— ■" ■'-''-'*■ - - lllf i I 26 the only step which can ever save the British stage from inevitable destruction. Returning to the description of the parties more immediately connected with the stage, I will men- tion the Scenic Artist as an important personage. This branch of the business must be entrusted to the management of an artist whose proficiency is peculiar. His knowledge and faculties cannot be acquired by intuition, like other branches of his art; the knack of making unseemly daubs appear at a distance like beautifully delineated pictures, is only possessed by prcdeliction. Put the scene painter to any other branch of his profession, and the product of liis labours would liave a very unseemly a])pcarance, but, viewed as they are in a distant perspective, the eye is at once struck with delight at the scenes which are pourtrayed upon the canvass. View him at his work, you Mould hardly believe that it lay in the power of soap and water, and a few clothes, to transmogrify him into a gentleman, from the dirty looking ruffian he appears in the paint gallery. Only imagine an athletic looking man, with a nautical shirt and duck pantaloons, which have never been washed since the day they were made, his feet encased in woni-out boots or slippers; thatch this individual with a straw hat, and daub him all over with streaks of different colored ochres, and f/'A- . I t •'■ II ■ ..-«■-. • . 27 you have a correct idea of the Artist of The- atre. Yet these are, all of them, well educated, well behaved men, and are liberally paid for their labours. Next in the ranks stands the Carpenter and Machinist, who, in addition to being an able workman at his craft, must be able to invent or contrive all the numerous machinery connected with the sta«Te. In mclo-dramatic establishments, much dependence is placed upon this individual; not only must his work be so substantial, as not to jeopard the lives and limbs of the actors, but oftentimes the success of a piece depends entirely upon the manner in which the necessary' machineiy works when brought into play. At night the carpenter has numerous auxiliaries for shifting the scenes, &c., and in the day time he has quite enough to do to keep the whole in repair. Another very useful member of the Company, who is never seen by the audience, is the Property Man, to Avhom is entrusted the duty of providing all the necessary furniture and properties for the use of the sta^e; he must be a genius of a peculiar nature, a sort of Jack-of-all-trades, and master of them all; no mutter what is required, he is expected either to beg, buy, borrow or steal it, and oftentimes, has to display his taste in the manufacture of inan- imate animal objects, from a mouse to an elephant. mtmiiima^mttmtmm !:'. I II I r i II II 1 liiii ': ; 28 I can assure you be haa a busy time of it^ and good ones are scarce. In addition to all tbe foregoing, tbere are numerous auxiliaries, wbose services are absolutely necessary, and whose respective appellations at once describe their duties. The Ward.obe J\fan, the Gas lifan, the Dressers (male and female), the Watchman and the Stage door Keepers, have each their departments to attend to, and frequently the additional labour of others not enumerated is necessary. I must not forget to class amongst the Officers of a Theatre that very important gentleman the Treasurer—he is the man with whom the public at large are most intimately acquainted. He docs not properly belong to the profession, although from his intimate association with the actors, he is some- times considered as one of them— indeed it costs you just as much to see this £. s. d. man, ai you pay for the whole exhibition mentioned in the bills. Go to the Box Office in the morning if you would see the cool indifference with which he invariably treats you and your money— there is the Box sheet; if you want any seats that are disengaged, you can secure them by paying the money; or take a small coin between your fingers at night, and watch through the little circular hole how he examines it before he gives you the equivalent. He has no k ill ill ..,tM*itiaiftii»i**>-. iiiM>.niManii mi'iriMiliiiifiiiiiti 29 time for compliments, so never thinks of paying them to you. Eveiy body knows wliat a Treasurer is, so I ^vill pass him over and conclude the list of employees by mentioning the Door-keepers, Box- keepers and Policemen, all of whom may be seen at their various vocations, by any body who is inclined to patronize THE ACTORS. " Oh ! there be players, and I have seen them play." Very true, friend AVilliam, and there are many I never want to sec play again. I will not dwell upon their faults. Books enough have been already written upon the subject of the Drama, which, in my opinion, indulge too freely in personal censure. The careful reader will at once peixjeive that in no one instance arc individuals even hinted at throughout these pages ; neither are the virtues of the influential Star painted in glowing colors, nor '{ his private character probed, for the discovery of blemishes — names are not mentioned. The pen, taken up in a spirit of good nature, shall inflict no wouud upon any one, my object being to amuso all . and distress none. A Company of Actors requires a great deal of care in the selection — the v.ants of the Manager should be satisfied in such a manner, that, whilst he I JI-rfL mmm «Mi> tiajhlmilj^^^y ■1,1 I * ll. 30 is enlisting into his ranks a variety of talent of diffe- rent degrees and denominations, the parties should, each of them, possess sufficient intrinsic merit to qua- lify them for a higher rank in the profession than they at the time occupy — as no season ever passes over without some accident occurring, which enables the industrious and well conducted young man to prove to himself that he has not reached the highest rank he is qualified for. Those who have only seen them upon the Stage, I can have but a very remote idea of what an Actor really is. A^'iewcd from the benches, with a row of strong foot-lights reflecting upon him, the Actor appears to the very best advantage. See him emerge from the Stage-door and quietly walk to his lodgings, you do not thank any body who informs you that the care-worn, shabby-genteel young man, he points out to you, is the same, who, on the previous evening, made you hold your sides with a veiy agony of laughter, at his merry looks, and still more meriy doings — the paint is Avashed off, and you are disappointed in the reality; there is no poetry in his appearance. Struck with amazement, you follow him with your eye, and watch his entrance into some second or third rate tavern--he boards there, and if he is a prudent man, setting some value on his professional reputation, is not to be found tarrying n 3' n il: ikJ a if, ; M ■■ ' '— -* . — ' .■^.. . ...... ,.^«^ mmm I! 1 •J 1 i Is II i!f 111 y in the bar-room, but secretes himself in his own chamber. This is my candid advice to all Actors, — do not mix too much with the Citizens! Your society may be courted by some of them, but, depend ] upon it, 'tis to your prejudice, and not your benefit, you cultivate their acquaintance ! An Actor should only be seen upon the Stage — when he is familiarly recognised off it, the chann is siK)ilt. A very talented individual, -who has %VTittcn many critiques, under the signature D. G., ■wates, in his digest of " AVallace," that " Actors are iiade by accident." It is a true remark, as far as entering upon their profession is concerned, and bears somewhat upon the chances which occur to cause their promotion. Some of the best Acto. . in existence, are those whom the misfortunes of life have driven to the lowest depths of poverty, and who, by some accidental occurrence, have adopted the Stage as a means of existence. Actors of this class are generally well educated, and if their talents are dramatically inclined, at least speak grammar at their first outset, and, by perseverance and hard study, soon acquire the rudiments of Stage business. Some little probation in one Theatre will give them the great desideratum, confidence, and enable them to assume a respectable position in the next one they enter, and it lies with themselves to secure 1' 1 1 llnilTllTli I'l,. ,1 ■ ,,- ^ 1 a l^ l II I lllllilMllll»-_- i,,\ '1' 32 . their own advancomcnt. The most approved method of making a good Actor is to jilace the aspirant in the lowest ranks, eveii amongst the supcrntmierarica, and, as his talent developcs itself, raise hira to parts of more importance; there is no disgrace attached to any man Mho, by his oavti exertions, haa established hi:> own position, and it must be a much more pleasant reflection to himself, than the idea that, as time rolls onwards, he has been dropping astern in the ocean of life. Another class of Perfonncrs consists of young men, who, in the heyday of life, are struck with the Quixotic idea of at once ranking as first rate Perfor- mers. It is to this very common monomania, in the mind of youth, that we are indebted for Amateur Theatrical Societies, (of wliich anon), at Avhich the young gentlemen hold forth very nuich to their own satisfaction, and having fonned an intimacy with some Manager or Actor, tease them until they succeed in obtaining permission to make a failure upon the more public boards. The manner in which the tyro sets to work, to accomplish his wishes, is not at all uninteresting. Go ujwn the Stage he is determined to, at all hazards, and recognizing some member of the corps dramatiqiie in his street costume, plots how he can scrape acquaintance with him. This accompliihetl, the aspirant (whom w* will 1 f ! il li if wji0^mti^ I "Ml r in- 88 designate Smallfish) takes a lively interest in the welfare of the Actor, (suppose we call him Bunce), who is not a very rich man, and does not reject the civilities offered, thinking that he has more money than brains, and that the connection of a reputable member of society will be of great advantage to liimsclf So soon as Smallfish can muster courage sufficient, he tells Bunce, conf-dentially, that he is conscious of having some histrionic talent himself, and that, if properly encouraged, he might be induced to go upon the Stage. Bunce, well knowing the wonderful effect of flatter)^ at once discovers, in his young friend's physiognomy, a strong resem- blance to some Performer, who has been dead and buried long enough to defy an}thing like a personal comparison ever occurring. Jenkins, of the Theatre Royal, always ate his oysters from the shell, exactly in the same manner that Smallfish does at present. Smallfish's stride across the bar-room, when he has ' finished his repast, is precisely the sariie as that of the late Mr. Tomkins, when he exclaimed " Bring me no more reports.*' A greedy enjoy er of all these little remarks, Smallfish believes them to be true — he is Bunce' s best of friends — the contents of liis purse are at Bunce's disposal — all that he asks in return, is, that he may be allowed to show how strong his affection for Bunce is, by playing for his ly.fiftSKftf -. .,-. r-fgiin-^s:ms?'^^>r:!-^>!»V^«m>lf*^r^^ ■ i4i < li tl i aiMrfriii J..^ 84 Benefit. With a good d.^al of apparent rduc acc, Bun'^e consents, well knowing that the verdant one's friends will flock to witness his performance. The i>oint is settled — Smallfish has gained his object — he is to act — and Bunce, who was not thought much of before, immediately rises in the opinion of the public — so vigorously does Smallfish labor in his behalf, asserting and proving that his friend Bunce is, at once, the best Performer at present in existence, and equally to be respected for his private virtues and jovial companionable qualities. " Bunco says this," and '* Bunce did that," is the constant expression of Mr. Smallfish — no Actor ever existed like Mr. Bunce. The next important matter to be settled is, " Wliat character would ^Ir. Smallfish like to appear in?" He has seen in his time at least a dozen Hamlets, but he does think that either of them embody his concep* lion of the part In fact, he is determined to treat the public to Shakspere's Hamlet. Bunce, who considers that his friend is not qualified for any- thing beyond Marcellus or Bernardo, tries to dis- suade him from the attempt, but being overruled by some pecuniary advantage, which is offered to him, at length looks at the matter in a diflbrent light, and does his best to perfect Smallfish in a rdle he is not too intimate with himself. The I Ki r; '■■{ S5 rehearsals are strictly private &nd very todioiUf but highly amusing from the absurdities the novice introduces. Time wears on, and the important night, after the longest week the aspirant ever passed, at length arrives, and the mere announce- ment that "the part of Hamlet -will be sustained by a Young Gentleman^ (his first appearance upon any Stage") has drawn into the Theatre a number from the curious public, in addition to the friends and supporters of " the young gentleman." The au- dience arc on the tip-toe of expectation, and in the regular course of time up goes the curtain — very little attention is paid to the first scene, and the public are glad to see it brought to a conclusion, that it may draw and discover the Court of Den- mark, Avith Hamlet in the midst of it. Now, Mr. Smallfish's trouble begins. Dazzled by the sight in front of him, which he is foolish enough to meet full face, he has lose the nerve of which he thought he was possessed, and cannot open his mouth when his cue is spoken ; seeing his difficulty and feeling for him, the good naturcd people who are upon the Stage, continue their parts, and the audience fancy that Mr. Smallfish's voice is not quite sufficient tor the size of the house — then comes, " Seems, madam! Nay, it is," &c. ; this cannot be shirked, and with the last effort of desperation, the poor devil speak* ■2^!m^j&Am&mmm^.^'mmi^mami.inf'. '?#^»its*«.«»fe; **i^;4ASJ*«vith the part, his fidgetty movements id once betraying his entirely novel situation, and, after the usual three hours and a quarter, the curtain descends amidst the lou i applause of Mr. Sraallfish's friends, who al- most wish to call him before them as a successful champion in the cause of the drama. Smallfish is a dangerously rich man, — that is, if we make the same proverb for a little property as a little know- ledge; having a small independence of his o\vn he has at present no occasion to resort to the Sta^e, but the habits he has acquired whilst courting the society of his friend Mr. Buncc, soon make his money disappear, and by a curious coincidence his credit has kept company with his cash. He is now thro-wn upon his exertions for a livelihood, and at once determining to turn actor, is engaged by a Manager, who values him for his wardrobe, and casts him for easy walking gentkmen^s parts. He has gained his object at last— he is an Actor, and likely to be one for the remainder of his existence. So long as his clothes are in repair he is able to main- tain his position as " Walking Gendeman*' but, when they decay he falls back into the ranks, and is merely an " Utility Man'' engaged to do anything or everything. Poor Smallfish! \ '1 M I* .dmrn MMiiilWllHUMMha. \m J 37 I cannot refrain from here making an extract from Wemyss' " Twenty-six years of the life of a Manager and Actor." At page 22 of the first vo- lume of that v;ork will be found a letter from an affectionate uncle who has been unable to divert his nephew from a detennination to be an Actor, but gives him the folloAving advice : ♦ " Now that you are embarked in your profession, and feel so "certain of doing well, I trust you will spare no pains to " make yourself as respectable as you can, and of all things, m " a player, avoid ever looking at your audience, but always at " the person who addresses you on the stage, and whom you " liave in your turn to address. I consider this fault the great- " est a man can be guilty of, and we find it only practised by •* vain, weak-minded men, who, fancy that their persons and " their attitudes are alone the source from which they are to *• derive applause, instead of learning tliatitis the style of dclive- " ry, added to the feeling that the player portrays in his wish to *' impress his audience wit lie meaning of his author, that alone " gives delight. You wiii be sure to discover this if you pay " strict attention to good performers, such as John Kemble, *' Charles Young, &c. &c., and as you have had an excellent *' education, and arc supposed not to want ability, I hope we " shall find that you excel in whatever you undertake; for a " man must never think of half measures, — his very soul must " be full of whatever he engages himself in, whether it be in " acting, or whether it be in amusement; whether in the couat- " ing-room, or behind the counter; whether as a sportsman in " the field, or as a private gentleman enjoying the social con- " versation of his friends, it is alike in all; and the man who " succeeds best, is he who is never absent, and only taken up " with what he has immediately before him. I hope you will " also sec it is impossible to please without first studying and well " understanding your outhor; therefore, before you play anj I iM'ateSlifcfcjWv:- ■■u^aMUIiMMMi '" — "• "iHir iii 'r ii i i iii> fiiaiiiiii«iMiiiiMi^ii ^i :ji ^S ! .I'll M m r l^lii 88 " new part, you ought to make & point of reading over the " whole play with studious attention, at least three times before "you attempt to commit to memory your own part, for you will " often find points that ought to fix your attention, in a second " or third reading, which would have been overlooked in a first " perusal, which should be considered only as a cursory review. " Think particularly of this, and always bear in mind that you " are playing for reputation, which will prompt you to act as " well before half a dozen people; as before a crowded audience, " The actors with whom you are playing, are sure to give « " right estimation to the line of conduci which is pursued in " this way, and must acknowledge it to proceed from a superior " mind. Try also to improve yourself in your temper, for it •' often occurs on the stage, in cases of unruly displeasure on " the part of an audience, without the cause being in the Actor, '* that a man who wants moderation and sense, is apt to show " spleen towards the company present, which must tpoil his " style, be he ever so good a player." Aspirants! consider this letter as addressed to each of you individually. Ponder over it, and pro- fit by its advice ; and if you wish to read some ac- count of the checquercd life which is in store for you, buy my friend Wemyss' book — not that this puff will benefit him, he having sold the copyright for a mess of porridge. Another class of actors are to the manner born. It is needless for m« to particularize them in any other ways than by remarking, that nature acts upon them in the same way as on the rest of the human family; firmly imprinting upon the mind of youth a determination to copy and emulate their parents, in whatever walk of life they may be ^^ ' i 1 1 1 II lin itm-itiii -r— ■'-—-" — — ..^— ,..^.,-^^-^, i«WlkMM*IMUi \l. 39 placed. Everybody must have noticed thia pen- chant in children; and, in the dramatic world, it has the effect of securing for posterity a succession of talent of the very first class. Accustomed from their infancy to the ways of the Drama, in whatever branch of it we find these gentlemen, they are easily detected as more efTicient than their com- peers. . With regard to the Actresses, much the same remarks will apply to those who are bom in the profession, who have a decided advantage over others, who adopt it from choice or accident. They all have to struggle through a course of life which the fastidious and saint-like have been pleased to term immoral. Faugh!!! All allowances being made, I do really believe that the charges laid at the doors of ladies of the profession are made with- out any i-easonable foundation. My own expe- rience has brought me in contact with many who, whilst their talents have secured for them the highest rank in their profession, conduct them- selves in such a manner as to dumbfounder the most sarcastic, and whose private virtues might well be upheld as patterns for the imitation of the sex of which they fonn bright ornaments. I will mention no names ; but I am personally acquainted >vith the circumstances of many families indebted i [--T-THT"rfiiiiiiii iiiiiii •iilMitilfc^ |:i^ — 40 for their entire sup|>ort to the unceasing exertions of some juvenile female, who keeps on the even tenor of her virtuous way, without regarding the sneers and insinuations of the babes of grace, Avho are pleased to term the stage immoral and all its acces- sories lewd. In a respectable dramatic corps, qualified to re- present the usual run of acting plays, there is, of course, a great diversity of talent. In many in- stances, a ^lanager does not consider his numerical force sufficiently strong ^ntli less than twenty male and female artistes, without reckoning novices and small-utility people. But full pieces are often pro- duced, and very well peifoi-raed, by a much smaller number; and the Stage Manager is often put to his wits' end how to double one part with another so as best to display the extent of his company, which he keeps limited, Avith a view to economy some- times, and from necessity at others. Among the adjuncts to a Theati'e, the Leader of the Band and the Musicians in the Orchestra must be included as expensive itemsr~ The reader may now amuse hunself or herself by reckoning the expenses of a Theatre for one night, forming for its base the rent, lighting, firing, in- surance against fire, salaries of manager, officials, actors, actresses, musicians, artists, and supemu- liJii: 'i,r tmiamHiti 41 meraries, — license, prmting, advertising, wardrobe, wear and tear, lumber, paint, canvass, and other materials. When he or she has calculated this, ' and made some allowance for incidental expenses, they will be astonished at the amount, and agree ' with me that nothing but clever management and the strictest economy, combined with good luck, can make a profitable season for the Manager. The regular Drama, as it is called, is just now in a rather unhealthy state. The aim of lessees is to fill their cofibrs, and they can only do so by pleasing the eye and the ear; the mind of the public can- not be attracted, till some verj' bold man risks his ' fortune in an attempt to foster a new school of dramatic literature; something in the piquant style of Sheridan, adapted to circumstances of actual ex- istence at the present day; not that I wish to see the old authors entirely shelved, but the best of their productions will not bear repeating too often. Another thing which is essential to the welfare of Manager and Actors, is the total expulsion of Stan* of every description, and this can only be accom- plished by the production of a scries of new plays. I will now leave this subject, and enter upon one of more importance* •;^sr^»*" ■iM«u«Miy**ii mmmmmmmmm fc »M i i i ff iiih -d m mmm '»m i fW iiiJ U ii ■■< kmi ttn tn *? l*M!*H' ( . TIIEMOUAL EFFECT OF A TPIEATRE. ,A;8tefidy reflection has convinced me, that, in spite of all arguments to the contrary, a well con- ducted Theatre has a good moral tendency in any community amongst whom it may be located. It not only affords an agreeable and instructive aniub - ment, within the reach of almost every body but, by the mere fact of its existence, distracts the public mind from baser pursuits. Who can have lived any time in a manufacturing town, .in wliicli no rational amusement is to be found, without having noticed .scenes of vlebauchery which disgrace huma- nity, drunken men squandering thcjir health luul money, and (the natural consequence) their iiuuilics starving; in places like this, the giii-sjjop, llic; pawnbroker's, and the jail, are amongst the most thriving public buildings. Let but some specula- ti>.ig Manager erect a Theatre there, and before long, the gin-shop will , be, turned, into a library, the pawnbroker's into a Savings Bank, and the jailor's situation become a sinecure, together with that to the lawyer and the doctor. It is notorious that young men who are thrown upon their own resour- ces, actually save money by passing their evenings in the pit of a Theatre, instead of a public bar- room—the price of admission is nothing in compa- 4. l^' il ^l SSB i I m V 43 rison ;vrith the sums of money tliey would otherwise squander. So much are they approved of by the Legislature of some countries, that Theatres are actually fos- tered and supported, in some measure, by the Gov- ernment itself, it being no mean stroke of political economy to tickle the people, who, for want of some such method of employing their time, would per- haps discover their bo»dage and attempt to break its chains.* A Theatre not only does good indirectly, by keep- ing its visitants out of harm's way, but its advan- tages to society are mbre manifest. Can anybody read the works of Shaksperc, Kotzebuc or Sheridan Kiiowlcs, and say they have reaped no advantage Iroin their sublime sentiments ? Often have I heard li-om the pulpit, long extracts from the works of t/iese authors, avowed as written by Dramatists, and commended tosthe Congregation by their spiri- tual Pastors. In fact, many gentlemen of the cler- ical profession, have actually written plays— aye, more than that, have had them acted. Need I say much more in favor of the Stage, to prove that I am right, in asserting that a Theatre has a good lU ♦ The Freuch Government actually provide pensions for thoao, who .„ wmo old English Act of Parlittmont, ore oallod, unceremoniously, " lio'guts and Vagabonds." ' if: ■rimi UMB tmimtimiiimmm^^MU^ tiakam •*^..^tj>i- I moral tendency. To back my assertion, I will quote from the Montreal Pilot of 31 st August, 1847 : " Theatre Royal— T\iq task of noticing the traniactions of " thii establislunent has become to us a pleasant duty, from tbe " conscious knowledge of the fact that by so doing we are call- " ing the attention jf our readers to that which whilst properly " conducted, as it certainly is, becomes at once the source of ".refined amoscment, and moral instruction. Innumerable '« volumes have been written upon the subject of Theatres and " their tendenc es, both pro and con. We take that ride whiA "maintains tliat their influence upon society at laige, tends " much towards improving its tone. " Ingcnuas didicipe fidelitcr art«« " EmoIIit more% nee siuit esse feme. " Ovid was right— we have noticed the fact in many com- " munities like our own, that whilst some rational amusement " has been spread for the entertainment of the public, the gro® « c es of debauchery which would otherwise exist are entirely "lost sight of." Errors, it is true, may from time to time creep into the system, but their correction lies in the hands of the public themselves. Let them do their duty, and expel from the stage anything which has an immoral tendency, the moment it appears. Xo, better than that, let them desert the building whilst such exhibitions are going on, and the error will very soon correct itself. r:: r m 44- yk«MHfe«MlfeilMMMMMU4iM«W^I.Ml^ m i l ir I II II. .I ll I III, (I ,^,,,.,,,^^^,^^ iMUMhMMMMMMM PART II. THE DRAMA IN MONTREAL. TiiE history of the Drama in Canada, previous to 1847, 1 am totally ignorant of, and will confine mj remarks to a subject which I am well acquainted ^vitll,_the Iiistory and progress of the present Tlicatre Royal, Montreal. ^Hiilst in Savannah, Georgia, in the month of February, 1847, I Avas engaged by Mr. Skcrrett, as Prompter for his Tlieatres in Canada, and was to join him so as to commence operations at Hamilton ou the 3rd of May. A defic;.ency m the circulating medium prevented me from fulfilling this engage" ment; and, in consequence of a subsequent one, I arrived in Montreal about the middle of June, to make myself useful, whilst Mr. Jones, of the Park Theatre, was here, and then to assume his situation. I fomid the Theatre in a state of forwardness ra- pidly approaching to completion; and, on the 10th July, Mr. Skerrett opened to the public this magni- ficent Temple of the Muses, which, in my opinion, although it has some faults in its construction, stands unrivaUed on this side of the Atlantic as a '■ '"'5?5SRSS^p^gS*gjtess*R« « :'i hMMMWm 48 ProviuW Theatre, and .ertceta a gront ,loaI o.' iredU upon Mr. M. J. IJay,, the proprietor, for his ,,, , jntt Trise, and the vurious artists tor their several ■ exertions. For a lull description of this build- mg, I reeonunond my readers to pay a dollar eaeh for a view of its interior, which is calculated to ac commodato comfortably about five hund.-ed persons .? the Bp^es eight hundred in -the Pit, and eight 'mndreA,n the Gallery, sthegreato part of ,vh„,n can have a good view of the stage, which, is fur- ■nshed with a moderate stock of very good scenery pamt^d partly by Mr. HiHya.d, of the Park Theatre, but principally by my ^pected friend the practical joker. Lamb. A Montreal gentleman (whose name 1 an. not acquainted with), who travelled J.ake Chnmnhm, in company with me, will recollect telling me that bkprrett, had refused one thousand dollars for the rece.pts.of.,the> first night. ,An.bitious, but mis- guided Skerrettl.on no occasion, , excepting dur- ing the engagement of the Viennoise Children, did the receipts of your Box-office amount to half that sum. The opening was postponed from the 3rd to the lOth July, when the public were feasted with !^.^P!:;i:;g^^^dre^^ ' llio UeUujwJU. ;;' . wnaopstood to alJudo to cities remote from fell I m i -i'l 47 Anthcn,,-.'' Mucli aJo about Notlung,"--a dance by Miss St. Chui',^und tl.c furcc of <' Tom Noddy's Secret," J. WuUack (the veteran), by fur the best • actor I have seen for many years, wa^ the ^enedicL and Mrs. Skerrett, the Beatrice, of the evening. The performances went off wifh so much Mat, that, on the following Saturday, His Excellency the Go- vernor General was pleased to countenance the establishment by a visit, to witness a repetition of the Comedy. These two houses, and Mr. Wallack's second benefit, [were the only ones worth recording- during his engagement. Many of the other nights, the doors were opened at a loss; and it was only by the production of ''Don Cesar de Bazan," that l^kerrett was able to say that he made anything, by introducing to the Montreal public the best Sta" he could command, properly supported by a talented company, many of whom were "members of the leading Theatre in the United States. Wallack V played for three weeks, and J. R. Anderson mgncd in his stead. This gentleman, though born upon tlie sta.ve is not so well known as his predecessor; but llilve no doubt that time, and perseverance upon his part wdl in due course place him, where he ought to be' at the head of a host of performers. I consider his Othello one of the most perfect pieces of actin^v I MwiMMtoMMMifltel 111 ft' pi' 48 ever witnessed (excepting the costume, which I do not admire,, spite of aU said to the contraiy) ; and when the reader hai^ an opportunity of criticising his namkt, he wUl bo equally pleased with myself, —none the less for knomng, that it is not a made- up moss of old age, and cork, and cotton paddings, which personates the character. Anderson's suc- cess was not very great, certainly not equal to his deserts; and, at the end of a fortnight, he, with the Park Theatre Company, vacated their dressing- rooms for the accommodation of ^fadame W.-iss's large family of Viennoise Children, who certainly did the Theatre good, and redeemed the fortunes of the Manager. They played for ten nights, when Skerrett took them to Quebec. \one of them went to the bottom of the St. Lawrence, on either voyage dou.i or up the river; and, whUst they were away, the Theatre was occupied by the Seguins (the only English operatic troupe who have ever been suc- ctisful in America) ; they did not get many dol- lars in exchange for their notes, and, at the end of a fortnight, de^^arted. The Viennoise ChUdren again danced for a week, but not to such crowded houses as during their first engagement. A few struggles were then made by the skeleton of a company which still remained; and, after a losing business of about two weeks, during which some names were I * •HMMMhMUUh Mrtt^riaHna^irfM 49 announced for benefits, the season closed; and I resolved to ascertain whether there was any truth in the assertion, that Montreal was a cool placo in the winter season. It is a well-knoAvii fact, that the number of pleasure travellers who visited Ca- nada last summer was very limited; and this, with some ugly commercial difficulties which caused the citizens to keep their purse-strings closed, may ac- count in some measure for the badness of Skerrett's business in his new Theatre. Let me hope that a better season awaits him for 1848. The building did not remain closed long, before it was occupied by Alexander the Necromancer, who was able to do almost anything by slight of hand, but did not draw much silver from the pockets of the citizens. His tricks were really wonderful. One little circumstance connected with Alexander may be properly termed funny. He upbraided me for deceiving him into the belief that it V )uld not be necessary for him to pay any kmd of tax to the City of 3Iontreal. Captain Wiley of the City Police, however, made him understand that unless he paid the sum of five pounds to begin with, and five dollars every night, his performances would not be allowed by the authorities. I have before me the schedule of taxes which can be legally levied by the Corporation, and the only ones which i ;■!■ 1' f, Mk^ 1 1 ^1 I 1 J I li 1 1- 1 i 1 f ■ : I l[ !/i: 50 I cao at all apply, as concerning public amusements, are: — Theatrea.—An annual duty of £15 (above the as- S€33inent) on the Proprietors— Proprietors of Caravans of Wild Beasts.— To oh- tain permission of his Worsliip the Mayor, and pay £10 therefor, and five doUars for each subsequent day that the same is open." The sum of fifteen pounds was paid by Mr. Skerrett in my presence, and what pretence they had for taxing the Herr I cannot conceive. He certainly was not a Wild Beast, much more a Cara- van, unless indeed civic wit could construe the word in its literal sense " Caravan or Vehicle," and con- sider Alexander a vehicle of amusement. Spite of remonstrance the City funds were enriched by ^CO; whilst Alexander was out of pocket consider- ably more by his visit to Montreal. Since then the Theatre has been opened by various partiesof Amateurson fourteen different occasions,six times by the OfF rs oi the Garrison-four times by the Garrison Amateurs— twice by the Canadian, and twice by two different parties of Gentlemen Ama- teurs. With the exception of a few benefits to indi- viduals, these parties avowed as playing with the intention of placing their surplus funds at the dis- posal of the different charitable institute )U8 of the I I IM f 1 li 1 [ I: i m^^^^^^^ >i...-.^-U.^-^..-^-, ^^ ^ .—■-■:•.'.■, mmlulanutaaJmm^im^am 51 City. Their intention i were good. But the public of Montreal did not think proper to support them in their laudable enterprise, I am willing, from my own limited means, to provide bottles for every drop of medicine or cordial which is purchased with the nett proceeds, and I do not think that my exchec- quer wUl be much embarrassed; it however leads me to treat upon AMATEUR THEATRICALS. Upon Amateur Theatricals and Private Theatri- cals, I have two or three very different ideas ; some of my opinions are favorable, and others averse to these exhibitions. I will get rid of my gall at once, by declaring that, as a professional man, I object to them,, whenever they have the least tendency to- wards reducing the incomes of my brethren, which, in some communities, might be the result of a too frequent repetition of them. Audiences are too apt to make comparisons, with- out considering that the same part, upon which4he--- Arnateur has spent three or four weeks' study, ii often undertaken by the professed Actor at a very short notice, even whUst his attention is distracted by other study-this does harm-it lessens the, attraction; the talents of the Actor are not thought " "rtliWfir rt-:itaiaitmmt \ . ^^fdl^i^illj^ljglllgjl "C r.i Iri. 52 so much of as they ought to be— moreover, the Ama- teur himself, who, until he is initiated in the trick- cry of Stage effect, is a constant visitor to the The- atre, loses his sense oi enjoyment, and can no longer be deixjnded upon as a firm supjjorter of the esta- blishraent. Of course, I object to Amateurs playing with the idea of profit, and whilst I commiserate with them upon the losses which they incur, I laugh in my sleeve at the same time, thinking it quite right that they should be obliged to pay for their amusement, the same as if they rode any other hobby than the public Stage— 'tis after all a vanity ! To speak more favorably of Amateur acting, I have, this winter, had a good opportunity of consi- dering the subject, and I firmly believe that its ten- dency is good. The Theatre-goere, resident in Montreal, are not very numerous, and these amuse- ments may be considered as setous, judiciously pushed in under the ribs of society, by Dr. Skerrett, to keep alive whatever little itching there is for dramatic entertainments, till he returns to feel the patients' pulses in the summer. Most of the per- formances, during this winter, have been conducted by Mr. De Walden; the use of his experience has been of great benefit to them, and any jxirsons who visited the Theatre with an idea that they would be amused by some monstrous absurdities on the I imt m \ BHtalktMtliHiitMUtMCH I M ll>i idmmitmtmiMA tmrnmu Will 5S part of the performers, were agreeably disappointed -none such occurred-in fact, there are few Dra- matic Corps at present in existence which are able to compete with the Gentlemen who i>erformed in the IfeiratLaw, London Assurance, and The Rivals, that is to say, take thein as a bodj-in the two lat- tev Comedies, particularly, the characters are mostly so essentially those of gentlemen, that the polished drawing-room manners, and easy unassumed beha- viour of the Performers told to great advantage- thoy wisely eschewed anything of a heavy tragic <^liaracter, confining their labors to these comedi^ and farces within scope of tlieir abilities. I can' ^t<^count in no other way, for the success of these gentlemen, than that their profession of arms is Hhuost dramatic-in fact, it is impossible to hear the officer of tlie night cJ^allenged at the guard- house, Officer (immcdir:c1j, Aalti»ffJ .^Uounisl ' *fn/ry.— What Rounds! without reflecting that much such a scene oc- curs on J,e ramparts of Elsinore, every time Hamiet is performed at tl.e Theatre Royal. These U) I: ! < ■*%»■--. :,'*«;ir5. "'tfliiifllifiln iiiftiilirtlMiliiiilii m n 2iBteS^ ""' 11 ' i il i ' ■ rnkmimmMHilti^ssai^i^i, 54 constant exhibitions, in the course of their duty, must have the effect of entirely freeing the Military' Officer from anything like stage fright, which jerks the heart of the Amateur into his throat the moment the novice meets the public gaze, unless he be case hardened in this manner, or is othenvise accustomed to being exposed to the observation of strangers as a Lawyer or Divine-either of the three professions furnish good materials of which to make Actors. The Officers of the Garrison were under the special patronage of His Excellency the Governor General and his Countess, who (wth one exception) wit- nessed all their performances, and by the expression of their countenances, as they left the Theatre, were very well pleased with them, if I am anything of a physiognomist—the increased amount of the receipts on thf !ater evenings, is reference enough to satisfy any t' miries as to how the public in general relished these amusements, and must always be gratefully remembered by Mrs. and Miss Hill, and Mr. De Walden, who took benefits under these auspices. \ The corps of Garrison Amateurs consisted of stage struck Sergeants, Corporals and Privates, whose performances had this peculiarity that, with aU their unavoidable effects, the funds of this party were a little more than sufficient to meet their "T' I i tifiif--*'^'-^n-imnirrTiiii[r-' '*--'"" '"-^••"'-••-'-"V-- ■! 5« expences, whilst their superior Officers had to sub- scribe a respectable sum to liquidate their liabili-^ ties. The two -:VM.^«i-..^ ,^— ^......M^. ^ ..^.,..^ ^,.^ ■ --*«^ '1 ^-■"^r— ^'^ !.N M* w. S8 three meals a day or one in three days ; oflentimes he thinks himself fortunate enough in realizing the latter luxury. , . , Necessity teaches the Dramatist a number of useful avocations ; he is in general able to mend his own clothes, some are even so accomplished as to be able to wash their own shirts, (that is if they are pluralists in that respect which is not always the case;) Mr. Peter Snout may be quoted as an instance of happiness derived from the possession of a soli- tary shirt. This is the best picture I can draw of a Dra- matist struggling through life, but the pet Poet whose sublime works find their way to the bou- doirs of the fasliionable world is as difFcrent an animal as a lap dog is to a turnspit. (What has become of the breed of turnspits, and where have all the pug dogs of our infancy gone to?) He lives in clover, his siting room, not connected in any way with ms sleeping apartment, is well furnished, and at a magnificent table, groaning under the weight of literary matter, and articles of bijouterie, the Dramatic lion, robed in a many colored dressing gown, with glove cased hands, grasping the stem of an enormous Turkish hookah, sits enthroned in an easy chair which rather induces laziness than activity. He does not remain long in need of com- »4 II! 1:1 .1 « t» ,M j Mf ii ■ m -mm nm t ni -« - ,mjiia«lfc«B**i>t 59 pany, his levee commences with the fashionable moniing, and ends with the fashionable promenade hour; his first visitors are those upon business, that is to say, his humble brethren (whom he employs to copy his MSS., or with whom he is in treaty for new ideas) ; his publisher, and, I was going to add, his various tradesmen, but that would be erro- neous, the great creature can never spare time to treat with them, and the intercourse is carried on through the medium of a diplomatic footman. The first aristocratic knock at the door is the signal for dismissing the men of business till the next day; and then come the real pleasures of the rich Poet's life; I have never enjoyed these myself, so can only imagine that the bewhiskered Sir Swellington Pump, who does not see the poor Poet whom he meets upon the stairs, visits the rich one with an invitation to dinner for that day three weeks, all the intervening time of the author being pre- engaged in a similar manner. I never heard of an author keeping a cook, or of his house being burnt down by a fire which originated in the kitchen chimney. No doubt Sir SwelUngton proposes a lounge, but most probably the Poet objects to this upon principle: it would never do to let the world know that such a genius as himself could afford to walk.^ He has a prior engagement,-~a carriage ii . i.ii i i i mm 1 1 ■ II I ! ii t imtiamm^tmitilit^itmmM taso^ttH^tmim muMiauttitmiitmtmtmaiama il; ! > 60 ride with a party of ladies; blue-stocking8, who are afraid that the dear creature will either suffer from want of fresh air, or be a victim to damp feet, and so take him a ten-mile ride in a close carriage, with a warm brick wrapped up in flannel for each of his understandings. His toilet for this journey is a serious affair, everything depending upon the fall of a collar or the position of a curl, and, before it is completed, the carriage containing the happy fe- males drives up to the door, and is criticized by the servant maids, who admire the calves of the foot- men from their attics, — the young ladies who flatten their noses against the drawing-room en- dows of the neighbouring houses, — and the damn-all dandy young gentlemen, who pass their remarks upon the horses and the three different descriptions of fe- males. After a proper pause, out steps the lion. He quite overlooks his tailor, who happens to be passing at the time, and enters a machine, which, although used by men of delicate constitutions, was cerUunly only invented for the accommodation of the softer sex. A man in a close carriage, faugh ! I would rather ride in the wooden luggage-trough which used to swmg below the slow-and-sure family coaches which formerly travelled the Brighton road, at the safe rate of nine miles an hour, not in- cluding stoppages. In this respect perhaps I am "wf !, ■' i< I tjiti 61 singular, considering as I do that the essence of enjoyment of photonic pursuits is the danger which ought to accompany them. Many of my readers may perhaps ask, What has all this to do with the subject of the Drama? and beg of me to confine my remarks to the Swans of Avon, &.C, without any deviation in favour of the Bird with Two Necks which is recorded as having been situated at the dangerous confluence of Lad Lane and Aldermanbury, London. Thb weU- known hostelry no longer exists, having been pulled down by the Civic Vandals, who seem determined to destroy all traces of the former glory of the house of Chaplin. The Swan with Two Necks may be treated as classic ground, and a proper subject for the pages of this work. No drawing could convey a better idea of an ancient Theatre. Eveiy writer upon the subject confirms me in my asser- tion, that, previous to the reign of Elizabeth (of ruff recollection), the players who stroUed through the country invariably selected such a spot as this mn yard to perform in. And as Shakspere's house 18 so interwoven with the best feeUngs of our lia- ture that it is religiously preserved, I think that the Swan and some other inns have identified themselves so much with the early Drama, the stage, and mail-coaches, and their influence upon lit ■ < I 1i m 'i i ! I ■ iv '!!" 61 society, that some steps ought to be taken to keep them from laUing into oblivion. The good old days of coiching are gone by, never to return; although, wonderful to relate, the breed of horses is not yet extinct in Great Britain,— nor is it likely to become so, for facts have proved that horses are now of more value than before the railroads were commenced. This, combined with the advanced price of fodder, argues that the demand for them must have increased. I beUeve this to be the case ; and that for one who accomplished a journey twenty years ago, at least ten travel upon the raU- roads, calling for the assistance of branch con- veyances which did not predously exist. The pro- prietors of public conveyances have also learnt another secret, which has multiplied their business amazingly: I mean to say. experience has taught them that twen- ty men will pay six-pence for a ride, when, formerly, they conld only persuade one or two to give a shilling forthesame distance; they have not been slow in taking advantage of this development, and the only thing now necessary to promote the comfort and increase still further the demand for horses, is an amendment of Mr. Martin's Act properly enforced. I have no fear that a horse will ever be exhibited as an animal of curiosity, but must once more debcend from the sublime to the literary butterfly, who bides his 'I ■IMi ■Ma irite 68 time and Is in due course buried in Westminster Abbey, when his works, bound in red morocco, are placed upon the upper shelves of fashionable libra- ries, and only referred to as specimens of the bin- der's skill, whilst stray leaves of his writings get into more general circulation through the m^Jium of the butterraan and trunk-maker. He has lived his day, whilst his less fortunate brother has also existed. Poor devil! he has suffered much^his whole life has been a struggle- sickness perhaps overtakes him, and he becomes the inmate of an hospital— there he lingers till death drops the cur- tain upon his mortal melodrama—there is no fune- ral pomp connected with his remains— if not enqui- red for by his friends, within a fcvf hours after his decease, the body becomes a subject for dissection- and peradventure the Manager of a neighbouring Theatre claims his head, for which he has previously paid a consideration,* speculating that a future Hamlet will be able to ejaculate. « Alas, poor Yorick!" with much more effect if the skull, in his hands, is recognised by the audience as formerly belonging to the feUow of infinite jest, who so often amused them. My advice to parents and guardians, is never'ti) commend the pursuit of literature to th eir children ii i*—iit MikMta 1, ' If \ !?'■ '.i ' 64 or wards, or, at all events, should thej show any •ymptoms of the furor scribendi, try and disperse it by painting the dark side of the picture darker if possible than I have shaded it. ^VTiilst chewing (he cud of this subject, I noticed in the papers, that one of its members intended deli- vering a lecture upon an interesting subject— and first ascertaining its whereabouts, I paid a visit to THE SHAKSPERE CLUB. Striking the average of aU the clocks, whose hands I had an opportunity of inspecting, I entered the lecture room about f'.roe .ulnutcs before the adver- tised time of comarncing xnd, finding it nearly empty, amused m>.<', * by uaking some quizzical remarks (to myself ot ,oui-se) upon the establish- ment, wondering, amongst other things, to what purpose the number of little desk-tables could be devoted, unless indeed, on the off-nights of the Shakspere, the room was occupied by a Beef-steak Qub, which boasted of six lecturers, each.of whom discussed their subject, and a bottle of stout, upon these same tables; I was soon undeceived in this respect, for, one after the other, these tables were occupied by the President, Secretary and Treasurer - of the Club; not that I mean to insinuate that these gentlemen actually sat upon the tables, but upon - 'Tiailii MaiMiMliMMMIUM tOttut "•^^^jB I: 'i ' 65 comfortable chairs in their vicinity. About a quar- ter of an hour too late to be called punctual, the lecturer of the evening arrived, and after skinning (or rather unskinning) himself from his fur habili- ments, and making a few recognitions among the audience, produced from his pockets an edition of Shakspere, a gold watch and a pearl-handled pen- knife, together with a very limited piece of writing paper— all of which assured me that I should not be entertained as I expected; for I went there prepared to hear read from a paper a well digested lecture upon the subject advertised (the vtrious insane characters in Shakspcre's Plays) instead of which it was quite evident that we were to be treated to some extemporary remarks merely. The lecturer was a very juvenile man, in appear- ance, with evident marks of intelligence and educa- tion. It really was delightful to find " so wise a head upon such young shoulders." His method of delivering his sentiments was elegant in the extreme, and well calculated to rivet the attention of an au- dience—in fact, he was eloquent. But his style of reading quotations did not please me so well— to those accustomed to a proper delivery of dramatic litera- ture his efforts were insipid, and did not give half the force and meaning of which the text was capa- ble. He commenced with an apology for being iiiiiimn 'I M I, li II i ( H ■'i S . M.j.-A.« ,-.»j^, I, .jBh^. 66 late, and another one for not having previously studied the subject as carefully as he should have done, and, after running the gamut of Shakspcre's virtues in the usual manner, at once jumped into the details, by mentioning a great number of cha- racters througliout the poet's ^vritings, each of whom he asserted was insane— the small fry were soon disposed of, but he dwelt much longer upon the sayings and doings of Lear, Lady Constance and Ophelia— in all of his remarks upon these, I coinci- ded with him perfectly, but it was as much as I could do to control my amazement when he stated that Macbeth, Lady ^lac and Hamlet were all par- tially insane— on these points, I most respectfully beg to differ with h'.m. Macbeth, I consider, was an aggrandizing villain, and I will not allow the plea of lunacy to acquit him of the crimes he committed, even though the invisible dagger and raw head and bloody bones of Banquo are enlisted in his defence. With regard to Lady lilacbeth, the lecturer must have remembered the defence of som- nambulism, lately made by the Boston murderer, when he proclaimed her mad— and as for Hamlet, the whole tenor of the play will convince the care- ful reader he was perfectly sane, although to gain a purpose, he feigned insanity— after dilating upon the Prince of Denmark's character, and erroneously •'.iMMMiMiaaiMMMatateMMi "• ■°- ■• -I'll MXlim'i iigiri'ii 67 • charging liini with ^^^lful rudeness, towards Ophelia, whilst under the influence of real insanity*— the lecturer glanced at his gold repeater and rapidly brought his labours to a termination. I must here apologize to my readers for introducing this and some other extraneous matter. Yet, I stiU cannot close the subject without commending the Shakspere Club, for their laudable design, and I have no doubt that a repeated visit to their soiree, will prove very- much to MY OWN BENEFIT. Will my readers here consult their dictionaries, and, after duly defining that trisyllabic, imagine its meaning quite the reverse. They wi'l then know what a iiicus a non lucendo a Theatrical Benefit often proves. It is within the memory of the oldest inha- bitant of Montreal thai I did, last Christmas, take a Benefit at the Theatre Royal. The facts of the case are these: I was compeUed by cir- cumstances to winter in Montreal, and, scarcely knowing which way to turn to raise the Avind, • A little attention to the sceno in which Hamlet upbraids OpheK., wiQ couvmce the reader th.t he doc. «, merely with . .ienot l^.inS^^^ Kins aad I oloiuus, whom he has detcctod watching their interriew I do not wish to run a muck with more learneJ comment«tow, bat thia'i. mw opinion. ' M»Mi*iiMMaaMiM N 1 ' N i ^ 'J^ ^■^^'^^^^^*-'''- f-iii-HliiiliM iMhi T«-|'H|i» Ifllil -■' litii -•|ii 68 that element giving rae no very gentle hint that it was absolutely necessary I should either change the climate, or— my coat, as neither of them was in accordance with the other; some evil demon persuaded me to take a Benefit, and I j)ut my wits to work in devising the most probable method of making ic a good one. In addition to the only theatrical exhibitions of which I could avail myself, I saw that it was absolutely necessary to offer the public some novel attraction, in order to secure their patronage. I did not owe enough in the city to warrant me in the idea that I could fiU the boxes with grateful creditors, taking tickets as a sort of discount on the perspective payment of their respective accounts; and, after duly consi- dering th§ propriety of a variety of schemes, such as, 1st A Committee of Gentlemen detecting my merit, and presenting rae with a Silver Snuff-box, inscribed, " Virtue its own reward"; 2nd. A Raffle, in which every eligible maid or widow who purchased a Pit ticket should be en- titled to an interest, myself the prize as a husband, provided the party winning could produce a pecu- niary qualification ; 3rd. A Ten-dollar Bill to the purchaser of the 500th Box ticket sold at the doom; Ill itMfmaukttum^,^ ■nwi riitM aAMMMMMMMa •^•^^"-""'^-'^^ "— "iliHilllliiil immmmmi^ I resolved upon issuing the follo\ving Poster: THEATRE ROYAL. JOHN GAISFOED, Prompfer to Mr. Skerrett's Company, and Box Book-keeper for the Amnteur Societies, most respcctfuUy informs the Nobility, Gentry, and Public of Montreal, that bis FIRST ANNUAL BENEFIT WILL TAKE PLACS ON THURSDAY, DECEMBER 23kis Under distinguished Patronage; On whieli occasion he will present, for the amusement of bis Patrons, a Bill which, he flatters himself, xcill meet with their approbation. . » » Amongst other Attractions, he will present a SILVER GOBLET TO THE PERPETBATOB OF THS rrST ORIGINAL CONUNDRUM, Which must be sent in to him, iu writing, before 12 o'clock on the day of Performance. The various Enigmas ^/ill be rea^ upon the Stage, and the applause of the Audience wiU annonnoe the successful Competitor. ri-LL PABTICDLAaa IN rUTDBE BUXS. This was the subject of general conversation for some time; and, at twelve o'clock on the eventful day, I had received about a hatful of Conundrums, ' I 1*1 •» ) i ! ) hi 70 which, ,rith their answers, are published at the end of th,s work; and, during the day, I employed my self m thinkmg how I could advantageously invest the balance of the proceeds, after satisfying the clauns of my creditors here and elsewhere. 4 va- riety of channels suggested themselves for t) dis- bursement of the anticipated plunder. Cottages had been looked at by a critical eye,-the rest^c- t.vc value of various horses and dogs had been ^^eertained to a nicety; and great was my disap. pomtment at finding that all my castles were ,vith- out foundation; and, with the printer of the small bills looking do™ upon me from the Boxes in an onimous manner, it was as much as I could do to accomplish the task of .wading the Ccnundrums. The cup was offeixd to the successful competi-'.r who did not make his appearance, and. at the sng. gestion of the audience, I appropriated it to my m™ purposes, and disposed of it by raffle on the toJiowing evening. I must now draw this pamphlet to a conclusion, thanking sincerely the genllemen who played for my benefit, the public who supported it, the read- ersand purchasers of this, and the public in ge- neral,for the many kindnesses I have i^ceived at ' their hands, and for any which they may after- wards be inclined to bestow upon me *mMmmmtm»Maltm hU^mtu ■!■ I n f .^^ .^^-^^^■^^ .^.^ - r^^a r-H ii^ rr II I ' CONUNDRUMS. I'i! dear, W\\j is a pretty girl like venison ?— Because is a bug like a bosoia friend ?— Because she' a a Why often a back-bitcr. it's verj? Why is an inn sofa like a Bible ?— Because rogacs lie and swear upon iL ^Vlien is a flirt most at homo ?— When she's gad,.iincr about ' W hy arc riches and beauty equally dangerous ?~Because Hiey are both man-traps. Why is a quccn-bce IH- a barber ?— Because she can- not do without a c^^vsib. Why is a m. -j's heat? like an incurable disease ?— Because he has it for life. Why is the Um-,- o( AmcuMj like the lips of a pretty woman ?—Becat!£,0 if ttton eudoses an uuruly member. Why aro ail th-atrical professionals like drunken men. f —Because they consider their best benefit a bumper. Why is Charles Kean like one of the martyrs of old ?— Because I, & is attached to a Tree. Why is a shallonr part in a river, with a party returning from a wedding, like a Prompter ?— Because it is eav'i ford (Gaisford). 6 J' • Why is Her Sfost Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria like a fruitful olive tree ?-Becau3e she has a number of young olive branches around her. Why is the beautiful and accomplished Afiss RosaUe HiU like an eagle ?~Bccause she mounts into the regions of ^.;a. I .1 , I '^j '-'^ llllll 1 1 II ■■—■-- I ! J ii 72 poesj with the same ardour that an eagle mounts into the air. ^yhy is John Gaisford like the proprietor of DoUt»s chop-house ?-Because he prondes a splendid entertain- ment for his friends, and occasionallj gives them a cup Whj are politicians like swine ?— T^ecause they must take up with the refuse. Why are the present .Alinistry like the worldlings de- scribed in Young's Niglit Thoughts ?— Because " Partj-colored shreds of happiness Make up for them a madman's robe ; Each puff of fortune blows the tatters by, And shows their nakedness." What is the best illustration of infra dig. ?— Two Doc- tors of Divinity digging at each other under the short ribs Tnth their shore! hats. ^Vhen is a man's weiglit not equal to an ounce ?— When he is not able to keep his balance after his sixteenth dram. When may a maid be said to be under the influence of a curb and rein ?— On her bridal day. Why may every man in Scotland stand a chance of next year bebg :^Iayor of a city, or at least of being certain of being next in rank to that officer ?— Because he is sure of being an aulder man (Alderman). ^Vhy is a dog getting its taU cut off like the feathers of a goose's wing ?— Because it squeals (it's quills). Why is Mr. Gainsford Uke a scarifier ?— Because he's going to cup some one. Why is Lord Elgin like an English banker?— Because, for the accommodation of his friends, he spares no expense! he takes notes on the sterling value of the Crown, and never permits an EngUsh Sovereign to be depreciated in either worth or cnrrencT. l-<' rr ilt n 1 i ii iii. I I hr ii. . M«ii « MtMiMMI*«IMMiMIH I I I I I iiii t i m'M il Ik iii > I 76 Why is a soldier throwing awaj his weapons in the fact of an enemy, like a waltz ?— Because 'tis a waiating (nuiinz) of arms. •' \\1iy is a dried-up miU stream like a crownless hatf— Because it is not worth a dam. Why should a fat lady avoid falling in lore ae she would the devil?— Because, should she get inflamed, she may go to hlazcs. Why istlx individu ^., ^,e cup liko the fbture Mrs. Gaisford?— r .auso hb vnil be presented with your ugly mug. What Tory is tharo would bo acceptable to either of the political parties in the coming election of Montreal ?— A • victory. Why is the last conundrum lik« '..uben'd suck? -Be- cause, when they opened it, they found it luid'nt got the cup. . ** Whj is Europe like a farm-yard ?— Because it has a Turkey J/i it. Why h Iho goddess of tho morning like a lion ?--Becau8e she it .iurora. APOLOGY. In Addition to tiie foregoing, 1 i-eceived several other Conundrums, some of ^vhich, being decidedlj immoral, Averc immediately destroyedj ;but to the friends who favoured me with several of a party ix)litical, temporarj' local, and decidedly per-nal nature, I must apologize for not printing them as it is not convenient for me 'to wall the streets in armour, beneath m^ lothl.^g, and have l great antipathy to legal proceedings.