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 M E M O I R S 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBEET WILLIAM ELLISTON 
 
 COMEDIAN. 
 
 " JOYOUSEST OF ONCE EMBODIED SPIRITS. 
 
 Charles Lamb—" Shade of Ellistim." 
 
 1774 TO 1810. 
 
 BY GEORGE RAYMOND, ESQ. 
 
 WITH 
 
 fUujJtiationsf Ijp George Cvuifesii^anfe. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JOHN MORTIMER, ADELAIDE STREET, 
 
 TRAFALGAR SQUARE. 
 
 1844.
 
 
 
 
 \3 
 
 •OVsj 
 
 \ 
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Introduction p. xi 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Preliminary notice and remarks — Elliston — His parentage and 
 family — Education — St. Paul's school — Early indications of 
 ability — Public schools — First attempt at acting — Tragedy 
 * at a pastry-cook's — Mathews — Further progress in acting — 
 Unfoi-tunate amateur — Letter from New South Wales — 
 EUiston's frailty and remorse — Youthful dilemmas — Flight 
 from home — Terrors of the runaway — Fellow-travellers — 
 Gout and ophthalmia 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A journey. " strange bedfellows" — Ugly knocks — A frozen foot- 
 boy — Comfortable quarters — A family group — A lovely girl 
 — A Scotch ballad — " Speechifying" — A sleepless night — 
 A parting — Elliston arrives at Bath — " His first appearance 
 upon any stage" — Dimond — Tate Wilkinson, anecdote of, 
 and characteristic letter — "Wrench — EUiston's remorse — 
 Letter to his uncle — Acts at Leeds — Increasing despondency 
 — Second letter to Dr. Elliston — A joyful surprise — Young 
 Elliston returns to London — Visits Cambridge — His recep- 
 tion by the Master of Sidney 27 
 
 ^
 
 IV CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 EUiston's introduction to John Kemble — His success in Romeo 
 — Old actors in young parts — Family feuds — A Thespian 
 wagon — An awkward meeting with an old acquaintance — 
 Elliston a hero in earnest — A conflagration — Don Juan in 
 his element — " A speech" — A capital writing-master — A 
 friendly go-between — Miss Flemming, an amorous spinster — 
 Tactics — A lovely woman — Miss Rundall — Machinations — 
 " A positive engagement" — George Colman — Elliston a mar- 
 ried man — Elliston at the Haymarket Theatre — Octavian — 
 Critiques — Sheva — Colman's letter — Mr. Gore — Jocular 
 epistle — George III 54 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The " Iron Chest" — Colman's " Preface" — Observations on his 
 dispute with Kemble — Elliston studies Sir Edward Mortimer 
 — Plays the part — His entire success — Reflections of the 
 " JNIirror" — The widow Collins — An original Conservative — 
 Her eccentric letter — Sheridan's application to our hero — 
 Another letter from the widow — Elliston plays Philaster at 
 Covent Garden — Colman's renewed applications — Mrs. 
 Elliston, a thriving wife — Elliston plays Walter with suc- 
 cess — " Seeing the world" — " The Court of Comus"— Club 
 anecdotes — Cussans, a great oddity — Various anecdotes re- 
 specting him 83 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 An unexpected meeting — Elliston a critic — Widow Collins again 
 — Elliston a public lecturer — "The Artichoke" — Earl of 
 Harcourt — His Lordship's letter to INIrs. Elliston — Observa-
 
 CONTENTS. V 
 
 tions on P^lliston's Charles Surface — Sheridiin's note — The 
 Duchess of Devonshire — Two letters of Lord Ilarcourt — 
 Elliston plays before the King — A royal fete at Frogmore — 
 A curious adventure with Davis, the pugilist — Remarkable 
 anecdote of George III 112 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Covent Garden Theatre — " The Glorious Eight" — Subscription 
 Room at "Windsor — A fracas — Damages — A conjuror — 
 Elliston eased of his money — A cock without a head — Ellis- 
 ton grows ambitious — Lord Harcourt's reproof — A royal fete 
 — Elliston in many parts — bon mot of the King — Mrs. Ellis- 
 ton writes to the Master of Sidney — Elliston a gamester — 
 Mr. RundaU's advice — A comic adventure with an old bachelor 
 of Bath — A dinner — Extraordinary hoax .... 138 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Humorous letter from Mr. Gore — Lord Nelson — Lady Hamilton 
 — Early career of that lady — Adventure at Cocksheath Camp 
 — A scene at Naples — Marinari, the painter — A scene of 
 Magic — A bewildered artist — Lady Hamilton and the Mus- 
 sulman — Strange shifts in country playhouses — Elliston at 
 Weymouth — A curious interview with his Majesty — Elliston 
 loses the Liverpool theatre — Elliston in snug quarters — His 
 landlord's wife — Love and Idleness 168 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 Haymarket Theatre — Foote's patent — Sharp Correspondence 
 between Colman and Elliston — Declaration, Pica, and Re- 
 ft
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 joinder, Sur-rejoinder — Issue — Dimond — Ilis history — Blis- 
 sett, humours of — Some account of him — His oavr history 
 of the Bath Theatre — EUiston baffled at Oxford — Corres- 
 pondence with the Vice-Chancellor — Mr. Gore — Escourt, 
 the player — A curious anecdote respecting him — An innocent 
 youth — A happy escape 193 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 EUiston 's tragedy, a critical notice on his quality — Hamlet — 
 The Stranger — Holla — Orestes — Edgar — Amititor — Romeo 
 — A benefit — Humorous letter of Colman — Journey to Lon- 
 don-;— A break down, &c. — EUiston meets with his first love 
 — Misfortunes and tears — The history of poor Alice — Strange 
 recognition — EUiston acts Richard III. at the Haymarket 
 — " Love laughs at Locksmiths"— r Rupture with Colman — 
 Domestic calamity — EUiston " at home" — The Three Graces 
 — EUiston a maitre de danse 215 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Mr. Young — EUiston's objection to that gentleman's engagement 
 — Correspondence — Colman and EUiston — Manoeuvre to 
 arrest Colman — A green parrot — Dramatist — Extraordinary 
 benefit at the Opera House — Fracas — Pewter pots — Bailiffs 
 outwitted — Aaron Graham, the magistrate — EUiston at Drury 
 Lane — RoUa — On board the Royal yacht — EUiston and Miss 
 De Camp act before their Majesties — EUiston acts the Duke 
 
 4 
 
 Aranza in the "Honeymoon" — Great success — Mr, Gtjre's 
 letter — The Young Roscius — A critical letter from Lord 
 Ilarcourt 245
 
 CONTENTS. Vli 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Colman disposes of half his interest in the Ilaymarket Theatre — 
 Winston — Failures at that establishment — EUiston's /raca* 
 with Mathews — Statement of the case by the actors — 
 " Three and the Deuce" — Outbreak at the Hayraarket — 
 Insurrection of the Tailors — Liston's first appearance — 
 Elliston plays Sir Harry Wildair — An awkward criticism — 
 Humorous outrage on Dowton — His revenge — Separation 
 of Colman and Elliston — Wai-ner Phipps — His admonitory 
 letter — Mr. Perry — London Clubs — "The Humbug" — 
 Forms of matriculation — Elliston at Dublin — Meets witli a 
 brother runaway 268 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Death of Dr. Elliston — EUiston's letter to his wife — Strange 
 reports — " The Curfew" — Margravine of Anspach — Private 
 theatricals — Critique on the genius of Mr. Young — Elliston 
 and his landlady at Liverpool — A cozy evening — Hob and 
 knob — "Star and star" — Country theatres — Wliimsical occur- 
 rences and expedients — " The Castle Spectre" — An aged 
 company — An actor mystified — Elliston in his element — 
 Humorous adventure with a French prisoner . . . 291 
 
 CHAPTER Xni. 
 
 EUiston's meditations in Dove Dale — Arrives at an inn — Hob 
 and knob with the landlord — a terrible adventure — Li- 
 creasing horror — Our hero in great disgrace — His neigh- 
 bour's wife — Mr. Thomas Hill — Miss Pope retires from the 
 stage — A letter of IMrs. Clive — A royal command — Miss 
 
 1)2
 
 Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 Pope's terror tit playing Mrs. Heidelberg before the king — 
 Her letter to Lord Harcourt — Mrs Jordan — Elliston's letter 
 to his wife — Glasgow — Elliston's adventure with a Scotch 
 gentleman — Stx'ollers, anecdote respecting them . . 318 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 EUiston climacteric — Bonne fortune — Hazard — A " City Ma- 
 dam" — Amatory retribution — A trip to Sevenoaks — Contre- 
 temps — Lucky escape — Anonymous correspondents — Obser- 
 vations thereon — " Invisiblina ! " — Poetry and marvels — 
 Prose and mystery — Bachannalian indiscretions — The Jubi- 
 lee — A fete in Stratford Place — "Romeo" — Coates — Anec- 
 dote of Pope — Elliston's " himself !" — Covent Garden Theatre 
 O. P. riots— Mr. Kemble 343 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Drury Lane Theatre destroyed — Miss Farren — Mrs. Jordan — 
 Letter to Sheridan — The Opera House — Lyceum — Natural 
 history, rats, bugs — Covent Garden Company — Lord Har- 
 court's death — Miss Mellon-— Ornithology — Miss Warren 
 Whimsical Hoax — A Custom House Clerk — A Parlour 
 scene — An uproar — " Invisiblina" lost .... 370 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 The Royal Circus — Rev. Rowland Hill — His addresses — The 
 Pic Nics — Their Diversions— Colonel Greville — Theatrical 
 furor — R. C. Sovvden — Infamous hand-bill — Captain Caul- 
 field — John Fuller— A/raca5—Elliston, Captain Macheath — 
 Dr. Busby — New Prologue to Macbeth — Speecli and benefit —
 
 CONTENTS. ix 
 
 Sheridan's appointment — Thomas Sheridan — His letter and 
 remonstrance — EUiston's reply — A Greek Poet — Another 
 theatre — Disaster 388 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Dr. Busby — "Whimsey of Bannister — An actor of one part — 
 Tom Cooke — Anecdotes respecting him — A high note — A 
 note higher — Irish theatricals — Mrs. Billington — A peep 
 tlxrough a key-hole — Elliston at Manchester — An Irish be- 
 nefit, in 1758 — An enraged patroness — Memorial to the 
 King — Colonel Taylor — Petition to the House of Com- 
 mons — Sir T. Turton — Perceval's letter to Elliston — " Third 
 Theatre" petition — A pawnbroker's wife — Tottenham Street 
 Theatre — Privy council — Sheridan — IVIrs. T. Sheridan — 
 Expenses of petition 416
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Portrait uf R. W. Elliston facing title-paye 
 
 The King and the Player 136 
 
 Elliston and the Flower of Knook-mele-down . . . 244 
 " Alas ! poor Ghost" 280 
 
 AUTOGRAPHS. 
 
 Tate Wilkinson 43 
 
 R. W. Elliston 46 
 
 George Colman 73 
 
 Ilarcourt (Eai-1 of) 121 
 
 Elizabeth Elliston 154 
 
 T. Blissett 206 
 
 W. Landon (Vice Chancellor of Oxford) 210 
 
 Warner Phipps 300 
 
 Catherine Clive 329 
 
 Jane Pope 332 
 
 Dorothea Jordan 374 
 
 Thomas Sheridan 409
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Had a mere statement of theatrical transactions 
 in England, from about the commencement of the 
 present century, with a biographical notice of some 
 leading comedian, been the entire object of this 
 publication, it could scarcely have expected any 
 notice totally unmixed with reproof. The historical 
 ground has been trodden by more than one diligent 
 inquirer, and its remains examined by those whose 
 taste and erudition have imparted fresh interest to 
 the subject. The record of one of the most charm- 
 ing actors and valuable companions, Mr. John 
 Bannister, has been handed from a source, which 
 at once secured to it universal attention ; while 
 they, whose fancy might induce them to travel 
 into the detail of theatrical matters, have had 
 ample opportunity for the excursion, in the four 
 agreeable volumes of Mathews' Memoirs. The 
 autobiographies, also, of Mr, Frederick Reynolds,
 
 XU INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and Mr. Thomas Dibdin, have contributed much to 
 information of this nature, relative to the same era ; 
 whilst innumerable minor publications, all illustra- 
 tive of similar facts, would indeed have withheld 
 the present history, as one older than a twice-told 
 tale, had not the author some unworked matter to 
 unfold, some unguessed-at secrets to unravel, and 
 some appropriate eccentricities to offer, which have 
 long been reserved the property of the Elliston do- 
 cuments. 
 
 As in the Drama, it is technically said, there are 
 some parts which positively " play themselves," 
 into whatever hands they may be cast, so does the 
 author of these Memoirs feel consolation that, the 
 anecdotes of one whose life was full of adventure, 
 demand but little more than simple narrative, and 
 are of themselves sufficiently self-recommendatory, 
 and require but slight additional aid. 
 
 Suited to the sparkling and adventurous days of 
 Killigrew and Sidney, the name of Elliston would have 
 glittered to no inconsiderable effect on the pages of 
 Grammont, or have occupied a liberal space in the 
 delightful records of Gibber. He, who would have 
 been a feature in those days, must be striking in 
 these ; and though certain errors, to which it will be 
 necessary occasionally to allude, were in the time 
 of the latter Stuarts the fashion of the day, and 
 less deserve forbearance in better times, yet it is 
 hoped, sufficient eccentricities will be here offered
 
 INTRODUCTION. Xlll 
 
 to amuse, without dwelling upon frailties which 
 might offend. 
 
 But it is not less true, Elliston was born a cen- 
 tury too late — his fancy and disposition belonged to 
 a period, which would have ripened them to their 
 fullest yielding. The same qualities, w^hich lost 
 him frequently the respect of the humble, would at 
 that time have won him the admiration of the great ; 
 with the advantage of being chronicled as a wit, 
 rather than remembered as a dupe. As a citizen of 
 life, so must his reputation be content to suffer ; 
 but as an actor on the mimic scene, there was per- 
 haps no period since the first dawn of comedy in 
 England, in which he would not have been accom- 
 plished and pre-eminent ; justifying all the attri- 
 butes of the Drama, " Imitatio vitse, speculum con- 
 suetudinis, imago veritatis." 
 
 It has been said of Mrs. Mattocks, that had she 
 been educated a nun, it would require no great 
 penetration to perceive she was born for an actress. 
 Had Elliston been cradled in Paraguay, it would 
 have been equally clear, he must have found his way 
 to Drury Lane. 
 
 For the fame of a bel esprit he was born too late — 
 for that of an actor, just in time — when licentious 
 manners began, indeed, to be met with the dignity of 
 reproof, but when to " see a good comedy was to 
 keep the best company ; where the most brilliant 
 things are said, and the most amusing happen."
 
 XIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 EUiston was not one without '* any relish of 
 salvation" — he was better than an agreeable vau- 
 rien, for he was generous by deliberation rather 
 than mere impulse ; and if not of the liveliest wit, 
 at least the most ready, and, like Wycherley, expired 
 with a bon mot upon his lips.* 
 
 The highest order of biography, is a record of the 
 man alone, whose virtues and sound acquirements 
 would render his memory valuable and even neces- 
 sary ; but there is an inferior standard of this na- 
 ture, which comes under the category of amusement, 
 in which it is not so much the man alone who is 
 recorded, as the great variety of passing events in- 
 cidental to his time, and characteristic of the sta- 
 tion in which he moved. On the permitted grounds 
 that such a class of biography may be offered, (the 
 end of which is only amusement,) the present attempt 
 is presented to those who may labour under the em- 
 barrassment of leisure. 
 
 Yet is it to be regretted that the memoranda out of 
 which the present Memoirs are erected, have missed 
 that justice which at one time they had the promise 
 
 * When EUiston was in a dying state, at his house in Black- 
 friar's-road, his friend, Mr. Durrant, was near him, and being 
 anxious his patient should take some medicine prescribed for 
 him, said, "Come, come, EUiston, you must indeed swallow 
 this. Take it, and you shall have a wine glass of weak brandy and 
 water !" EUiston raised his eyes, and, with still a comic smile, 
 replied, '-'Ah ! you rogue— bribery and — corruption."
 
 INTRODUCTION. XV 
 
 of receiving. A few years ago these notes passed 
 into the hands of the late Mr. Theodore Hook, who 
 was so much pleased with the material, that he wil- 
 lingly undertook to write the Life. His great talent 
 in narrative, and peculiar faculty in relating adven- 
 ture, could not have failed rendering the Memoirs 
 of so stirring a subject as Robert William Elliston, 
 highly delightful. But the lamented death of that 
 gentleman, who at the time had not taken up the 
 subject, occasioned a return of the papers to their 
 owners, and they ultimately fell into the custody 
 of the present author, who offers the attempt he has 
 made, with the greatest diffidence on his own part, 
 but not without trust in public liberality. 
 
 With one little anecdote Mr. Hook was especially 
 pleased. In 1 82 1 , when Elliston was lessee of Drury 
 Lane Theatre, the King wished to give some direc- 
 tions respecting his own box, and Elliston was de. 
 sired, in consequence, to be in attendance at Carl- 
 ton House. The manager was honoured by an in- 
 terview ; the King having expressed his desires on 
 the subject, and Elliston being about to retire, his 
 Majesty condescendingly expressed, in pointed terms, 
 his wishes for the lessee's success in his arduous 
 undertaking of management, when EUiston, by one 
 of those strange impulses so peculiar to him, re- 
 plied, " l( you, Sir, are loyal, I must obtain the vic- 
 tory." 
 
 As a theatrical manager, the chief point of in-
 
 XVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 terest in the career of EUiston, was his connexion 
 with Drury Lane Theatre, of which he was lessee 
 during seven years ; and as some historical notice 
 of that ground, on which the greatest actors we have 
 on record, had erected their renown, may perhaps 
 he interesting, the following account is offered, with 
 certain incidental references. 
 
 The enfranchisement of the Drama, and the rise 
 of true English comedy, were amongst the few 
 valuable acquisitions derived from the " Resto- 
 ration." By an ordinance of the Long Parlia- 
 ment, all stage plays* and interludes had been for- 
 bidden — the stages, seats, galleries, &c., pulled down, 
 and all players, though calling themselves King's 
 Servants, if convicted of acting, were punished as 
 rogues — the money received by them was handed 
 over to the poor, and every spectator was fined five 
 shillings. 
 
 The sudden freedom, therefore, which had now 
 been given to intellectual and social objects, had so 
 charmed and elevated the people of England, that 
 the graver question of political immunities, was for 
 a time altogether unexamined ; and in the exube- 
 
 * In the latter days of the reign of Elizabeth, there were 
 seven theatres in London. "The Globe," Bankside; "The 
 Curtain," Shoreditch ; "The Pied Bull," St. John's Street; 
 " The Fortune," White Cross Street ; — another in Whitefriars 
 — another iti Blackfriars ; — " The Cock Pit," Drury Lane.
 
 INTRODUCTION. XVII 
 
 ranee of joy, the multitude appeared to invest the 
 monarch with all those virtues, which could possibly 
 irradiate the immediate descendant of a martyr. 
 This melancholy delusion, however, is not the pre- 
 sent subject. The period only is selected, as the 
 commencement of a slight notice on the history 
 of dramatic matters, relating to certain privileges 
 granted, from time to time, for theatrical representa- 
 tions — more particularly the patents, &c. of Drury 
 Lane Theatre. 
 
 Gibber, in his interesting " Apology," says, 
 that Charles II. granted two patents — one to T. 
 Killigrew, and the other to Sir W. Davenant, for 
 forming two distinct companies of comedians. 
 The first were called " The King's Servants," and 
 acted at Drury Lane; the other, " The Duke's Com- 
 pany," in Dorset Garden. About ten of the King's 
 Company were on the royal establishment, having 
 each ten yards of scarlet cloth, with a proper quan- 
 tity of lace allowed them for liveries. 
 
 Nature herself seemed to have formed Gibber for 
 a coxcomb, and in such parts he was greatly dis- 
 tinguished on the stage. For though otherwise a 
 sensible man and most assuredly a distinguished 
 writer, yet his great ambition was to be looked on 
 as a leader of fashion and a successful adventurer 
 in the favours of the ladies. Gongreve himself 
 partook also of this frailty. 
 
 But to return to Drury Lane. The audiences
 
 XVlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 falling off in both companies, the two, by the 
 king's advice, were united. This coalition took 
 place in 1683, The profits were then divided into 
 twenty shares — ten of which went to the pro- 
 prietors and ten to the principal actors, in certain 
 subdivisions. The shares of the patentees were 
 promiscuously sold to money-making persons, 
 called adventurers. 
 
 1G94. — Christopher Rich, who had previously 
 possessed himself of the Killigrew patent, now 
 obtained an assignment of Davenant's, and con- 
 sequently held both. Such was the state of things 
 until his death. 
 
 1695. — Congreve, Betterton, Mrs. Barry, and 
 Mrs. Bracegirdle, obtained a licence from King 
 William, to open a theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields, 
 — a separate licence, and independent of the patents. 
 This was the parent of Covent Garden Theatre. 
 
 It was at this theatre (Lincoln's Inn Fields) that 
 the extraordinary phenomenon of " the devil him- 
 self" took place, by the attestation of many good 
 citizens and their wives. In the last scene of the 
 representation of " Harlequin and Dr. Faustus" a 
 violent storm arose, which carried away part of the 
 roof of the building. Twelve Lincoln's Inn devils 
 were at that moment having audience of Dr. Mira- 
 bilis, when a thirteenth! — no other than his real 
 Satanic Majesty — appeared in a clap of thunder, 
 and though he failed to carry away the doctor, yet
 
 INTRODUCTION. XIX 
 
 he appears to have heen more successful with the 
 money, for there was a sad deficiency in the accounts 
 on the following morning, which of course could 
 only be explained by the devil himself. 
 
 According to Gibber, Betterton must have been 
 an actor of the highest excellence, a fact which the 
 "Tatler" sufficiently corroborates. His hne was 
 first tragedy. 
 
 Mrs. Anne Barry was above the middle size, a 
 fair complexion and of beautiful form ; and she 
 possessed a gaiete de cceur which captivated admira- 
 tion, whilst it retained every claim to respect. Her 
 principal characters were Belvidera, Monimia, Des- 
 demona — and in comedy, Rosalind, Mrs. Sullen, 
 Mrs. Frail, the Widow Belmour, &c. Mrs. Barry 
 had been married three times. 
 
 Of that charming actress Mrs. Bracegirdle, 
 Gibber relates, "It was a fashion amongst the gay 
 and young to have a taste or tendre for Mrs. Brace - 
 girdle. She inspired the best authors to write for 
 her, and two of them, when they gave her a lover, 
 in a play, seemed but to plead their own passions." 
 She appears, however, to have had no great claim 
 to beauty, though a striking brunette. 
 
 Of Gongreve, it may be permitted, perhaps to 
 quote the lines of Dryden : — 
 
 '' In easy dialogue is Fletcher's praise ; 
 He moved the soul, but had not power to raise; 
 Great Jonson did by strength of judgment please, 
 Yet doubling Fletcher's force, he wants his ease :
 
 XX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 In ditf'ring talents, both adorned their age, 
 
 One for the study, t'other for the stage. 
 
 But both to Congrevejustly shall submit. 
 
 One match'd in judgment, both o'ermatched in wit. 
 In him, all beauties of this age we see, 
 Etherege's courtship. Southern's purity. 
 The satire, wit, and strength, of manly Wycherly." 
 
 1704. — Betterton conveyed his interest to Van- 
 brugh. 
 
 1705. — Queen Anne granted Congreve and Van- 
 brugh a licence for a theatre in the Haymarket. 
 
 1706. — Vanbrugh opened his magnificent theatre 
 in the Haymarket, in which, according to Gibber, 
 " almost every proper quality and convenience of a 
 good theatre had been sacrificed, to shew the spec- 
 tator a vast, triumphal piece of architecture.'* 
 
 This house was afterwards taken by Swiney at 51. 
 per day. The Dorset Garden company joined this 
 house in 1708, and in 1709 the Drury Lane com- 
 pany also made part with it. 
 
 1709. — Drury Lane Theatre was closed by the 
 queen's command, Rich having refused to obey the 
 Lord Ghamberlain's order, and the licence was given 
 to GolHer. Aaron Hill, who was Gollier's manager, 
 wrote to him at Windsor, saying that the actors 
 had rebelled — that a mob had broken into the 
 theatre and had taken possession in the name of 
 Rich, who had been displaced. 
 
 The queen now made void all former licences and 
 privileges, and granted a new licence to William
 
 INTRODUCTION. XX 
 
 Collier, Robert Wilks, T. Doggett, and C. Gibber, 
 which was placed under the control of the Lord 
 Chamberlain, and for the period of " our pleasure" 
 only. No acting was to take place on Saturdays, 
 these days being appointed to operas. 
 
 In April of this year " Love for Love" was acted 
 at Drury Lane for the benefit of Betterton, which 
 account, from the " Tatler," may be found in- 
 teresting. " Those excellent players, Mrs. Barry, 
 Mrs. Bracegirdle, and Mr. Doggett, though not con- 
 cerned in the house, acted on this occasion. There 
 had not been known so great a concourse of persons 
 of distinction as at that time. The stage itself was 
 covered with gentlemen and ladies, and when the 
 curtain was withdrawn, it discovered there a splen- 
 did audience. This unusual encouragement which 
 was given to a play for the advantage of so great an 
 actor, gave an undeniable proof that, the true relish 
 for manly entertainments and rational pleasures was 
 not wholly lost. All the parts were acted to per- 
 fection ; the actors were careful of their carriage, and 
 no one was guilty of the affectation to insert witti- 
 cisms of his own, but a due respect was had to the 
 audience for encouraging this accomplished player." 
 A prologue, written by Congreve, was spoken by 
 Mrs. Bracegirdle, and an epilogue by Rowe, de- 
 livered • by Mrs. Barry. The former was never 
 printed.
 
 XXll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 1712. — Booth applied to Lord Lansdowne to be 
 included in the patent, which was conceded. Dog- 
 gett took offence at this, and never after appeared 
 on the theatre. 
 
 Booth was an excellent tragedian ; was educated 
 at Westminster, and distinguished himself at the 
 University by his classical acquirements. He was 
 of a middle stature ; his form rather athletic, though 
 by no means heavy ; his deportment full of grace 
 and his countenance of manly beauty. In acting, 
 he was noble in design and happy in execution. 
 
 Though he had previously attained much pro- 
 fessional success, it was not until he performed the 
 part of Cato that he became so pre-eminently distin- 
 guished. 
 
 When Addison carried this celebrated tragedy to 
 the green-room, he was of course expected to read 
 it to the actors ; but being a man of great diffidence, 
 he requested Gibber to undertake the office, which 
 he did so much to the satisfaction of the poet, that 
 he begged the reader to perform the principal part, 
 on representation. Gibber, however, knew his own 
 forte too well to risk his reputation in a character 
 so out of his line ; he therefore preferred the part 
 of Syphax, whilst Wilks took that of Juba. Cato 
 still remaining undisposed of, it was considered that 
 Booth would be fittest for the undertaking, but 
 Wilks, fearing he would not accept a character of
 
 INTRODUCTION XXlll 
 
 SO venerable an aspect, waited personally on Booth 
 with the earnest entreaties of the whole company. 
 Booth performed the part ; and so great was his 
 success, that it raised him at once to the first dis- 
 tinction in the art of acting. It was this success 
 which induced the queen to grant him permission 
 to be included in the licence, which, (as observed) 
 so ruffled the temper of Doggett, that he retired 
 altogether from the stage. 
 
 171G. — Sir Richard Steele's name was inserted in 
 the licence in the place of Collier's, for life. 
 
 1719. — Steele's licence was revoked, in conse- 
 quence of his opposition to the peerage bill in par- 
 liament. He was, however, restored on the fol- 
 lowing year to his authority in the theatre, and 
 produced his comedy of " The Conscious Lovers," 
 which he dedicated to the king, who rewarded him 
 by a donation of £500. But his pecuniary diffi- 
 culties increasing, he soon after sold his theatrical 
 interest. 
 
 Wilks, Booth and Cibber were now^ managers of 
 Drury Lane Theatre. A new play, entitled " The 
 Spartan Dame," was produced, in which Cibber 
 was to have had a part, but he was peremptorily 
 silenced by the king, and the mutilated part was 
 read on the night of representation. 
 
 The actors at Drury Lane Theatre at this time 
 were — 
 
 c 2
 
 XXIV 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Men. 
 
 Women. 
 
 Wilks 
 
 Oldfield 
 
 Booth 
 
 Porter 
 
 Gibber 
 
 Glive 
 
 Mills 
 
 Booth 
 
 Johnson 
 
 Thurmond 
 
 Miller 
 
 Theo. Gibber 
 
 Roberts 
 
 Heron 
 
 Williams 
 
 Horton 
 
 Bridgewater 
 
 &c. &c. &c. 
 
 Harper 
 
 
 Theo. Gibber 
 
 
 &c. &c. &c. 
 
 
 Quin, Ryan, and Mrs. Younger were at this 
 period at the theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields, where, 
 in the spring of 1728, the celebrated '' Beggar's 
 Opera" was first produced. 
 
 1732. — Wilks died, and Highmore purchased 
 his third. Wilks was a first-rate comedian, and 
 born at Rathfarnham, near Dublin, in 1670. It 
 was a favourite expression with him, that " he had 
 ever dressed himself in the mirror of Monfort.*" 
 
 Chetwood, in his interesting theatrical history 
 of his time, says " he was joined in the patent 
 for Drury Lane, by Queen Anne, as a reward 
 for his great merit. For more than twenty years 
 the stage was in full perfection ; their ' green- 
 rooms' were free from improprieties of every kind, 
 
 * Monfort, a distinguished player, was basely murdered by 
 Captain Hill, in Norfolk Street, Strand, December 1692. See 
 trial of Lord Mohun. (State Trials, vol. 12.)
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXV 
 
 and might justlj'' be compared to the most ele- 
 gant drawing-rooms of the prime quality. No 
 fops or coxcombs ever shewed their monkey tricks 
 therein, but if they chanced to thrust among, 
 were awed into respect. Every person of the 
 first rank and taste of both sexes would often 
 mix with the performers, without any stain on 
 their honour or understanding ; and indeed Mr. 
 Wilks was so genteelly elegant in his fancy of 
 dress for the stage, that he was often followed 
 in his fashion, though his plainness of habit was 
 remarkable." 
 
 Highmore having now purchased the interest, 
 which Wilks had left in Drury Lane Theatre, a 
 licence for twenty-one years was obtained, the 
 first which had ever been granted for a stated 
 period. This gentleman's fancy for theatrical 
 speculations arose out of mere accident. Being 
 a frequenter of "White's," he made a bet with 
 Lord Limerick, that he would perform the part 
 of Lothario at Drury Lane Theatre, which, in 
 fact, took place in February, 1730; an experi- 
 ment, for which Highmore had requisites somewhat 
 similar to those of an " amateur of fashion," of 
 a later day. He afterwards exhibited himself 
 in other parts, and became so enamoured of dra- 
 matic affairs, that Booth, who was now desirous 
 of retiring, applied to him to become a purchaser 
 of his share also. Highmore bought half of this.
 
 XXVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and in less than a twelvemonth he purchased Gib- 
 ber's entire share, and thus became a holder of 
 one moiety of Drury Lane Theatre. 
 
 Previous to this bargain and sale, Gibber had ap- 
 pointed his son Theophilus his locum tenens, in the 
 management, and a more troublesome colleague poor 
 Highmore could not have had, for within a fortnight 
 from his investiture, Theophilus induced the prin- 
 cipal actors to revolt, and open the Little Theatre in 
 the Haymarket, which they did under his guid- 
 ance, and without a licence. Highmore caused 
 Harper, who was one of the revolters, to be taken 
 up under the Vagrant Act, and he was committed 
 by Sir T. Glarges, to Bridewell. Matters were 
 finally made up, and the rebels returned to their 
 allegiance. Harper was a good actor, and the 
 oriirinal Johson. 
 
 1737. — The Licensing Act was passed, on which 
 occasion Lord Ghesterfield made a celebrated speech 
 in opposition to the measure, recorded in his Lord- 
 ship's literary remains. 
 
 Sir Robert Walpole had been greatly irritated by 
 theatrical lampoons, and as expediency and con- 
 science were with him pretty much the same thing, 
 a MS. farce, called the " Golden Rump," fraught 
 with treason and sedition, was actually promoted 
 under the contrivance of the friends of the adminis- 
 tration, as a pretext for passing the above act. 
 
 The residences of the players, at about this period,
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXVU 
 
 were in the immediate vicinity of the theatres. 
 Quin, Booth, and Wilks, lived almost constantly in 
 or about Boiu Street ; Gibber, in Charles Street, 
 Covent Garden; Mrs. Pritchard, in Craven Build- 
 ings, Drury Lane ; Billy Havard, in Henrietta 
 Street. Mrs. Woffington was President of the 
 weekly Beef- Steak Club, held in the green-room of 
 Covent Garden Theatre ; Mossop occupied lodgings 
 at the end of Drury Lane, leading into the Strand, 
 where he was found dead in his bed, with only 
 fourpence-halfpenny in his pocket. Mossop had 
 powers of conversation and superiority of manners 
 which might have gained him honourable friend- 
 ships, but the vanity of being run after by the 
 profligate in high life, was his ruin — he was a 
 professed gambler, and came to a gambler's end. 
 The inferior players lodged in Little Russell Street, 
 Vinegar Yard, Martlett Court, &c. " My home," 
 says Macklin, "was generally James Street, whence 
 1 could be summoned by beat of drum, to attend 
 rehearsals, saving thereby coach-hire ; no inconsi- 
 derable part, let me tell you, of a player's annual 
 expenses." 
 
 1747. — Lacy having become patentee, the for- 
 tunes of Drury Lane were reduced to a low and 
 still- retiring ebb. His object was now to induce 
 Garrick, who had been acting at Covent Garden, 
 to join him, which was accordingly effected, and 
 that great actor became a partner in the property.
 
 XXVUl INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Garrick took the stage management, and on th 
 opening of his first season, in this capacity, Dr. 
 Johnson supplied him with a memorable prologue. 
 The plays of Shakspeare were now greatly re- 
 stored. 
 
 Lacy had obtained his patent through the interest 
 of the Duke of Grafton, whose notice he had 
 attracted, by attending his Grace's hunting parties, 
 riding with uncommon courage ; and always being 
 ready, just at the fit moment, with some little 
 savoury refreshment for the Duke's gratification. 
 
 1753. — Drury Lane licence renewed for twenty- 
 one years. 
 
 1761. — J. Rich, proprietor of Covent Garden 
 Theatre, died in November, in his 70th year. 
 Following up to the very last that peculiar de- 
 partment of dramatic art, namely, pantomime and 
 spectacle, he had just produced a splendid repre- 
 sentation of the coronation of George IIL, which 
 Garrick, at Drury Lane, threw into burlesque. 
 
 In his badinage on the above " splendid exhibi- 
 tion," Garrick opened the back part of his stage, ex- 
 posing the public street beyond the aperture, on the 
 pavement of which, a real bonfire had been prepared, 
 and around it half the ragamufiins of the parish 
 capering, dancing, and huzzaing with all the confi- 
 dence of well-trained actors. This was carried to 
 such excess, that constables were compelled to in- 
 terfcM-c — an extem])oie piece of dramatic effect which
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXIX 
 
 materially enriched the scene, and drew down thun- 
 ders of applause. 
 
 In a few seasons subsequent to this, the state of 
 Drury began to decline. Mrs. Gibber had just 
 closed a career of well-merited success. Powell 
 had revolted to Covent Garden Theatre, in which 
 he had become joint patentee, and soon after died 
 of malignant fever. Mrs. Pritchard was on the eve 
 of retirement — so likewise 'was Mrs. Glive, whilst 
 Havard was falling off into imbecility. The 
 weighty responsibility lay on Garrick, Holland, and 
 Mrs. Yates. 
 
 The rivalry of Garrick and Barry being brought 
 to a close, a union of these two great actors took 
 place, for the restoration of the drooping fortunes of 
 Drury Lane. Mrs. Abington brought into co- 
 operation her inimitable talents — by turns the 
 representative of Pritchard and Clive, she became 
 a powerful auxiliary. From this period to 1774, 
 Drury Lane was highly in public favour. The plays 
 of Shakspeare, Jonson, Otway, Rowe, Gibber, 
 Steele, Addison, and Gongreve, were in turn repre- 
 sented with flattering results, and the theatre exhi- 
 bited a school of instruction as well as a temple of 
 delight. 
 
 At the death of Lacy, 1773, the sole manage- 
 ment devolved on Garrick. 
 
 1774. — Patent for 21 years renewed to Garrick. 
 
 1776. — Sheridan, Ford, and Linlcy, purchased
 
 XXX INTRODUCTION, 
 
 Garrick's share for 37,000/., and commenced their 
 season in September, with " Twelfth Night," and 
 " Miss in her Teens," to a receipt of 269/. 
 
 When Garrick first became proprietor, the build- 
 ing w^as on a small scale, which, from time to time 
 he enlarged and improved, and just before he sold 
 his interest therein, he had built an entire new front 
 on the site of the celebrated Rose Tavern, which 
 stood under the very roof of the old edifice. 
 
 Of this Rose Tavern the very descriptive lan- 
 guage of Mr. Robert Bell, in his '' Town Life 
 at the Restoration,"* is off'ered. " This house 
 was nightly crowded by the play-going people, 
 and seems to have been indiscriminatelv attended 
 by both sexes. It was divided into chambers for 
 private parties, and that of No. 3, as Farquhar in- 
 timates, was the favourite room. It was here that a 
 promising young actor, Hildebrand Horden, was 
 killed in an aftray with Col. Burgess, and other 
 persons, who were tried for his murder and acquitted. 
 Gibber speaks highly of the talents of Horden, and 
 says, that whilst he was lying in his shroud, several 
 ladies in masks came to gaze upon his body." 
 
 This great improvement by Garrick was carried 
 into effect by means of debentures, the first which 
 had been created for such purposes, and with them 
 the new proprietors were consequently saddled. 
 
 Sheridan produced his " School for Scandal," in 
 
 ♦ Ainsworth's Magazine.
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXXI 
 
 May, 1777, and notwithstanding the season realized 
 35,924/. 145. 3d., the real profits amounted to only 
 80/. 125. 4cl The division as follows : — 
 
 Lacy 40 6 2 
 
 Ford 17 5 () 
 
 Linley .... 11 10 4 
 
 Sheridan .. 11 10 4 
 
 80 12 4 
 
 " Garrick's Theatre," as it was called, was pulled 
 down at the close of the season, 1791. From that 
 time until the opening of the new house, 1794, the 
 company acted at the Opera House, and on the 
 nights appointed for Italian Opera, they played at 
 the Little Theatre in the Haymarket. 
 
 The new building was opened, March, 1794, with 
 an oratorio. It was constructed by Holland, and 
 at Easter employed for regular dramatic representa- 
 tions. On the first night, '' Macbeth," with " The 
 Virgin Unmasked." 
 
 1795. — Sheridan renewed his licence for 21 
 years. 
 
 1806. — Sheridan assigned one-fourth of his share 
 to Thomas Sheridan. 
 
 1809.— Feb. 23. Drury Lane Theatre was burnt 
 down. 
 
 Sheridan immediately entered into an agreement 
 with Lingham, for the purchase of the Lyceum, to 
 carry on the performances, until the new Drury
 
 XXXll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Lane Theatre might be built ; but in the meantime, 
 by some misunderstanding, as Lingham stated, the 
 theatre had been disposed of to Arnold. The actors, 
 however, finished their season at the Lyceum. 
 
 " Their Majesties' servants" commenced the fol- 
 lowing season at the above theatre, the firm being 
 T. Sheridan, S. Arnold, and Col. Greville. Greville 
 remained a party for this year only. 
 
 After innumerable difficulties and vexations, ulti- 
 mately surmounted by the perseverance of Whit- 
 bread, Drury Lane Theatre was rebuilt, and opened 
 October, 1812, under the management of a com- 
 mittee of noblemen and gentlemen, wholly unac- 
 quainted with theatrical matters, and within seven 
 years the debt amounted to about 90,000/. 
 
 The theatre was constructed by B. Wyatt. The 
 entertainments of the first night were " Hamlet," 
 and "The Devil to Pay." An opening address, 
 written by Lord Byron, was spoken by Elliston. 
 The night's receipt was 842/. lis. 
 
 From this period, the history of Drury Lane 
 Theatre will be interwoven with a future publica- 
 tion of the continued Memoirs of R. W. Elliston. 
 
 The closing of Drury Lane theatre on the 14th of 
 June last may be considered an epoch in the era of 
 the British stage. 
 
 That sister temple of the dramatic Muse, which 
 scarcely thirty autumns since, was thrown open to
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXXUl 
 
 the glorious enchantment of Macbeth, under the pre- 
 siding intelUgence of Kemble, had been for some 
 weeks silent as the tomb ; and in June last, ever- 
 memorable Drury, within whose walls had congre- 
 gated the pride of England's genius — wits, poets 
 and statesmen — where the " picked and chosen of 
 the world" delighted to assemble, and whose idlest 
 fancies were sought like flowers in May, by the less 
 favoured classes, became a cenotaph of departed 
 art. 
 
 Yet spite the general apathy in the public mind 
 for many a past day, in respect of the Drama, the 
 recent efforts of Mr. Macready to uphold the reel- 
 ing column, had produced in some a responsive 
 anxiety for his success. There were some few, who 
 yet with earnest hopes followed the exertions of the 
 only one apparently left, in whom to hope at all 
 was reasonable. But to the suppliant *' cause" it- 
 self, its antique glories and its imperishable essence, 
 the generation at large was no longer to be steadily 
 excited. Single handed its avenger had contended, 
 if not successfully, at least, brilliantly ; and this 
 last struggle he had made, was graced in its failure 
 by those honours and distinctions, which had hither- 
 to been the portion only of a triumph. 
 
 Thus, by the above and other conspiring circum- 
 stances, the Drama may almost be said to be erased 
 from the list of our intellectual stock — an altar on 
 which the faith of all people, ancient or modern,
 
 XXXIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 had been accustomed to make libation — a house- 
 hold divinity from the opening dawn of civilization, 
 and occupying in maturer days, the proudest niche 
 in the temples of polished nations. The Drama, 
 through which veneration to the gods had been 
 instructed — in whose garb the majesty of poetry 
 had appeared most kingly — through which, the les- 
 son of virtue had gone forth, as from an oracle — 
 the love of soil and the gentler claims of home and 
 kindred, had found the way to deepest sympa- 
 thies — the Drama, which had ever taught all that 
 was best and noblest to be learnt, was neglected as 
 an obsolete and worthless appendage on the times, 
 and a hindrance in the path of worldly traffic. 
 
 Even when cast under that memorable ban 
 in the days of the Puritans, the Drama yet 
 found refuge amongst many who fondly accounted 
 its value, looking forward beyond that bleak and 
 rugged season, fitted only to those stern qualities 
 which the fortune of the times had called into ac- 
 tion, and contemplating a day of intellectual sun- 
 shine into which it might again be elevated. At 
 that period, though deprived of their theatre by a 
 very interdiction of law, the taste and affection for 
 the Drama was strikingly proved in many ; for 
 besides performances, sometimes accomplished by 
 stealth, and sometimes acquired by bribery, under 
 the very brow of Oliver, they tasted of the festive 
 cup, and drank in the inspirations of the proscribed
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXXV 
 
 spirit, within the walls of many nobles, and parti- 
 cularly the sheltering roof of Holland House. 
 
 English literature, in truth, was cradled in the 
 Drama, and under it ripened into vigour and man- 
 hood. Had the temper of those times resembled 
 the present, these young creations had never per- 
 haps been brought to maturity. The now imperish- 
 able mind of Shakespeare, had in all probability 
 never have come down to us, had Heming and Con- 
 dell felt no sympathy for the worth of their illus- 
 trious brother. To contemplate the possibility of 
 what might have been lost, by what has been pre- 
 served and perpetuated, is a reflection not unmingled 
 with a sense of awe. 
 
 " Fastidiousness and hypocrisy," said the Edin- 
 burgh Review, many a day past, " have been grow- 
 ing for years, slowly but surely ; and we have at 
 last arrived at such a pitch, that there is hardly a 
 line in the works of our old writers that is esteemed. 
 We are more completely than any other nation, 
 the victims of fashion. The despotism of dress or 
 in furniture, is not in itself very important, but it 
 is a cruel grievance that it should interfere with and 
 annihilate an entire department of our literature." 
 These sentiments were expressed at a time when 
 the grievance was considered at its height. But 
 " slowly and surely" has it indeed since proceeded. 
 Patronage and support to this intellectual com- 
 merce, might have been at that time no better than
 
 XXXVl INTRODUCTION. 
 
 • 
 
 empty names, but empty now are the warehouses 
 themselves ; the very doors of the chamber are 
 closed, and the only sterile spot in the heart of 
 London, is the site of the Temple of all the Muses. 
 
 Copy of the first Play Bill issued from Drury 
 Lane Theatre : — 
 
 HIS MAJESTY'S COMPANY OF COMEDIANS, 
 
 AT THE 
 
 NEW THEATRE IN DRURY LANE. 
 
 This Day, being Thursday, April 8th, 1663, 
 Will be acted, a Comedy called 
 
 THE HVMOVROVS LIEVTENANT. 
 
 The King Mr. Wintersell 
 
 Demetrivs Mr. Hart 
 
 Selevivs Mr, Bvrt 
 
 Leontivs Major Mahon 
 
 LiEVTENANT Mr. Clvn 
 
 Celia Mrs. Marshall. 
 
 The Play will begin at Three o'clock exactly.
 
 MEMOIRS 
 
 ETC. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Preliminary notice and remarks — Elliston — His parentage and 
 family — Education — St. Paul's school — Early indications 
 of ability — Public schools — First attempt at acting — Tra- 
 gedy at a pastry-cook's — Mathews — Further progress in 
 acting — Unfortunate amateur — Letter from New South 
 Wales — EUiston's frailty and remorse — Youthful dilemmas 
 — Flight from home — Terrors of the runaway — Fellow- 
 travellers — Gout and ophthalmia. 
 
 It is well to be armed with three reasons for an 
 undertaking. A kind of prescriptive claim attaches 
 to the number ; and three reasons are here princi- 
 pally suggested in defence of the following pages : — 
 
 1. The versatile and desultory pursuits, apart 
 from an active professional career, followed from 
 time to time, by the subject of the present 
 Memoirs. 
 
 2. The quality and extent of documents we have 
 to deal with, in the composition of this history. 
 
 3. The constitution and natural temperament of 
 the man himself. 
 
 B
 
 2 PRELIMINARY NOTICE 
 
 In respect of the first — like a dealer in a country 
 town, who is a cheesemonger on one side of his 
 glazed door, and a haberdasher on the other, having 
 a back parlour, in which he carries on the more 
 solemn mystery of a bank, so verily, at more than 
 one period of his life, have been the complications 
 of the omnivalent Robert William Elliston ; with 
 this difference only, that in the place of the bank 
 was the playhouse treasury, a place, unprofitably 
 for him, too frequently so represented. 
 
 The Memoirs of actors are generally but the 
 history of the theatre, and of the drama only 
 so far as they themselves might have had busi- 
 ness with any particular play ; but the range of 
 Robert William was of afar wdder extent. Diver- 
 sified in his employments, sudden in his operations, 
 we find hini flying off indeed at a " Tangent," to 
 become the centre of some circulating library, or 
 the vertex of some " Imperial Hotel." By the 
 turn of his magic ring he will transport himself 
 from place to place at the suggestion of a moment, 
 and with the w^and of harlequin erect ball-rooms, 
 fill shops with merchandise, and string playhouses 
 together like beads upon a thread. 
 
 But in all this whirl of matter, Elliston still fol- 
 lowed his profession with ardour, and courted it with 
 the sincerest attachment. His spiritual barometer 
 rose with the pressure of his atmosphere, and what 
 was " set fair" only with him, would have parched 
 up the green fields of ordinary fortitude. Such
 
 AND REMARKS. 6 
 
 was the hey-day of his life — a season which might 
 still have been protracted, would men but cultivate 
 wisdom as they force wit, or take half the pains to 
 retain they have exerted to acquire. 
 
 2. Respecting the quality and extent of the 
 documents, &c., we feel with some confidence we 
 can approach our readers. These consist, for the 
 most part, of memoranda and original letters ad- 
 dressed to Mr. EUiston, extending over nearly the 
 whole course of his life. The letters are numerous; 
 several of them curious ; and proceeding, as many 
 of them do, from characters greatly eminent in their 
 day, will so far constitute a feature in this work of 
 unusual interest, and recommend the subject con- 
 siderably beyond any labour of our own on its 
 inquiry. No letter will find publication, of which 
 we have not the original in our possession. They 
 have been collected from time to time, by a gen- 
 tleman connected, during many years, with Mr. 
 Elliston himself, which, with many additional docu- 
 ments that passed into the hands of his executors, 
 form an unbroken chain of biographic material. A 
 few light incidental anecdotes, however, we have 
 ventured to insert, on the sole authority of hearsay, 
 but only where the question of their genuineness 
 has appeared to be but of little moment. 
 
 Still will it be necessary to take a review of much 
 theatrical matter with which the world has been 
 made already acquainted ; for the biography of our 
 
 B 2
 
 4 PRELIMINARY NOTICE 
 
 present subject is essentially interwoven with it ; 
 and to recapitulate many events, the common pro- 
 perty of cotemporary actors. Like Mr. Hardcastle, 
 v.e must have affection with old houses, old furni- 
 ture, old books, and not unfrequently, we can assure 
 our readers, with old wine ; but it will be with the 
 view of broaching new fancies, and catching at 
 some of those laughing spirits of recorded time, 
 which till now may have eluded our vigilance. 
 3. The temperament of the man — 
 
 " That heart of pleasure and that soul of whim," 
 
 Research has certainly not yet disclosed to us that 
 corner of the earth, nor have those simple elements 
 of society been yet discovered, which could have 
 contained Robert William Elliston in a state of 
 obscurity ! Wherever his presiding star might have 
 thrown him, there most assuredly a " star" himself, 
 would he have been. A wild, charming, restless 
 eccentric, whose elastic nature touched bound- 
 ingly on the ground of order, and who from the 
 data of rule took the project of his erratic course ; 
 a material well fitted to the loom of dramatic machi- 
 nery, but for the sake of substantial respectability, a 
 quality i ather to be locked up with the embroidered 
 suit, till the setting sun announced the hour of the 
 rising for the mimic scene. 
 
 Elliston was never in repose — his lamp perpetually 
 exhausting, though no illumination was necessary 
 — the fire of his imagination constantly under the
 
 AND REMARKS. 5 
 
 blow-pipe, though no immediate work was passing 
 through the furnace." 
 
 The manners of an actor can as little endure the 
 hght of day as the canvass of the playhouse itself, 
 but EUiston ever mingled the conventions of the 
 stage with the sober humanities of real life. This 
 second nature, which he had so fondlv contracted, 
 was a sublime abstract of the mock heroic ! His 
 features dressed in a humorous solemnitv, and a 
 measured comicality pervading all his movements. 
 To a natural love of eccentricity, the trick of his 
 trade was ever clinging, so that in a great measure 
 we might apply to him Goldsmith's sketch of 
 Garrick himself — 
 
 " On the stage he was natural, simple, aftecting 
 'Twas only that when he was off he was acting; 
 With no reason on earth to go out of his way, 
 He turn'd and he varied i'uU ten times a day." 
 
 " He carried with him," says the delightful 
 Charles Lamb, " pit, boxes, and gallery, and set up 
 his portable playhouse at the corner of streets." 
 EUiston's theatrical life was displayed as vividly 
 in the high roads, shops, and drawing-rooms, as 
 on the scene itself; he had learnt, indeed, all 
 the world was a stage, and he seemed resolved 
 that no less should be his. He was, in fact, 
 a perpetual showman of artificial manners, which 
 with his perception of the humorous, and love of 
 adventure, constituted him a Feature in the giddy 
 round of life, whilst others were moving with
 
 6 PRELIMINARY NOTICE 
 
 less splendour, but more steadily, in the orbit 
 decorum. 
 
 Strange as it may appear, with all this mas- 
 querading, Elliston was still of a frank and open 
 spirit. True, he delighted as much in carrying the 
 actor, and even plots of plays, into the privacy 
 of life, as in portraying the simplicity of nature 
 on the stage, but he still desired it should be 
 known and received as disguise. The quaint 
 external he wished to be looked on as it really 
 was — not as himself. His study was to draw 
 attention by a perpetual impersonation of the 
 grotesque, without sacrificing any claim he might 
 have on the score of a generous and kind dis- 
 position. 
 
 Having had occasion, in these preliminary re- 
 marks, to say thus much respecting the constitu- 
 tion of Elliston's temperament, we are unavoidably 
 led to some notice of him, which otherwise would 
 have been premature, in the capacity of an actor. 
 To the mere mention of general results we shall 
 confine such observation, as the special notice of 
 his public appearances will belong to the instances 
 as they may arise in the course of these Memoirs. 
 
 It has sometimes been objected, says Mr. Ser- 
 jeant Talfourd, in his review of Gibber's Apology, 
 that the actor merely repeats the language and 
 embodies the conceptions of the poet ; but the 
 allegation, though specious, is unfounded. The 
 poet has, in fact, but little share in the highest
 
 AND REMARKS. / 
 
 triumphs of the performer, for these arise from 
 his own genius. They are accomplished by the 
 magic of the eye, of the tone, of the action, and 
 by those means which belong exclusively to the 
 actor ; and in corroboration of the learned critic, 
 as cited, Gibber himself mentions an instance in 
 respect of Dryden. " I have heard him," observes 
 he, " give his first reading to the actors of his own 
 play, in which, though it is true he delivered the 
 plain sense, yet the whole was in so cold, so flat, 
 and unaftecting a manner, that I am afraid of not 
 being believed when I affirm it." 
 
 And unfortunately all this essence must vanish, 
 as the actor himself passes to the grave, and because 
 it is essential. It is the spirit of the moment, which 
 with the moment expires. Still less can it exist in 
 form or substance, on canvass or in marble, that 
 posterity may prove by their own senses the truth of 
 what they have been taught respecting the actor, by 
 having the identical evidence before them. If this 
 essential quality cannot be so condensed, as little 
 can it be represented by words. It cannot be 
 told to-morrow, like deeds of valour or of arms, 
 by him who has witnessed it to-day. It exists but 
 at the moment, and /or the individual attester. 
 
 He who writes, therefore, concerning any actor, 
 should have encountered the man and his art, face 
 to face. The triumphs he achieves can pass through 
 no medium ; they must be made over the very 
 feelings which record them. The means, therefore,
 
 8 
 
 ELLISTON. 
 
 are comparatively limited, and those imperfect, for 
 acquiring a jnst conception of the fine and delicate 
 executions of a first-rate actor. The painter — the 
 sculptor — have their great advantages, whose efforts 
 triumph after them, in their first imperishable force. 
 But to the poet is the greatest boon. All the avenues 
 to fame are at once open to his art. His works are 
 multiplied into ten thousand copies, and all are 
 originals, but the painter and the sculptor give but 
 one, which can only be witnessed by a few. 
 
 " Authors after their deaths," says Mr. Hazlitt, 
 " live in their works, players only in the breath of 
 common tradition. They die and leave the world 
 no copy," and in a few years nothing is known j^X- 
 them, but that they were. 
 
 "The actor only, shrinks fromi time's award ; 
 Feeble tradition is his mem'rj'^'s guard ; 
 By whose faint meed his merit must abide, 
 Un vouched by proof , to substance unallied ; 
 All perishable — like th' electric fire, 
 But strike the frame, and, as they strike, expire I" 
 
 In person, Mr. Elliston was of the middle size, 
 and elegantly proportioned ; and whatever success 
 he may have acquired as a tragedian, we may at 
 once declare was in defiance of his face, which was 
 the very Mirror of Comedy. His countenance was 
 round and open, his features small, yet highly ex- 
 pressive ; laughter lay cradled in his eye, and there 
 was a muscular play of lip, so pregnant of mean- 
 ing, as frequently to leave the words that followed 
 but little to explain. His tones were strong, har-
 
 ELLISTON. 
 
 monious, and varied ; and a tremulous earnestness, 
 on occasions which did not quite call for the impas- 
 sioned, irresistibly impressive. He displayed the art 
 of tenderness and soft persuasion more strikingly 
 than any actor of his time, and of appropriating 
 another's woe in accents of sympathy, that left the 
 feelings of his auditors no choice but bondage. 
 
 The actor on record to whom in style and quality 
 of art he appears more nearly to have approached 
 than any other, was Monfort, a cotemporary of 
 Gibber. The vigour and spirit which Elliston threw 
 into the dialogue of comedy, his rich, oily empresse- 
 ment of manner, the pith with which he impreg- 
 nated the business of the scene, and the earnestness 
 he imparted to each syllable of point, correspond 
 nearly with the description given by Gibber of 
 him just mentioned ; of whose accents, also, he 
 declares, 
 
 " Like flakes of feather'd snow, 
 
 They melted as they fell." 
 
 In his very successful efforts, (and many they were,) 
 Elliston attained that rare elevation of captivating 
 equally, and at the identical moment, the ear, the 
 eye, and the understanding. 
 
 Elliston was a distinguished performer of Tra- 
 gedy, Gomedy, Farce, Operetta, Pantomime, and 
 Burlesque ; and though not equal to himself in all, 
 and inferior to the topping great, who in their own 
 particular vein were transcendent, yet few ever 
 accomplished with unequivocal applause, efforts so
 
 10 HIS PARENTAGE 
 
 variously combined.* "I can conceive nothing 
 better," says Lord Byron, " than Elliston in gen- 
 tleman's comedy, and in some parts of tragedy." 
 We find about him the mantle of Hamlet, Mac- 
 beth, and Othello, for repeated years. Of Octavian 
 and Sir Edward Mortimer, we shall have to make 
 special notice hereafter. In Sheva and the Three 
 Singles, we shall see him in successful compe- 
 tition with the favoured and original John Ban- 
 nister. In Vapid and Rover, contending with 
 Lewis ; in Wilding, surpassing Palmer ; and with 
 the wide boundary of leading Comedy his undis- 
 puted estate. 
 
 Robert William Elliston was born on the 
 7th of April, 1774, in Orange Street, Bloomsbury, 
 where his father, Robert Elliston, resided and 
 carried on the mystery of a watchmaker. 
 
 Robert (the father) was the youngest son of a 
 respectable farmer of Gedgrave, near Orford, on 
 the Suffolk coast. 
 
 His eldest brother, William, was a member of 
 St. John's College, Cambridge ; he received his 
 degree in 1754, with the distinction of fourth 
 Wrangler, and was elected master of Sidney College 
 in 17G0. 
 
 * Foremost of the few, we must except him who could play 
 Abel Driujger as well as Lear, Hays as Macbeth, Hamlet as the 
 Schoolboy, and Lord Chulhstone as Lusignan.
 
 AND FAMILY. 11 
 
 His elder brother was in the navy, and had at- 
 tained the rank of commander when he died. He 
 shared, we are informed, in the glory of the action of 
 August, 1 759, at that time a lieutenant, when Admiral 
 Boscawen defeated the French fleet off Gibraltar. 
 
 His sister (aunt to the subject of these Memoirs) 
 was married to the Rev. Thomas Martyn, also of 
 Sidney College, who succeeded the Rev. John 
 Martyn in the professor's chair of botany, in 1701. 
 
 Professor Martyn was a man of great literary 
 acquirements, whose labours and researches in the 
 particular science he professed, justly won for him 
 a high reputation. 
 
 Both these individuals, the Master and Professor, 
 eminent by academic rewards, were men of kind, 
 unaffected manners, and attached with parental 
 regard to their nephew, whose honour and welfare 
 was a subject in which they equally participated. 
 
 It may not be uninteresting to notice another 
 very venerable member of the family stock — Robert 
 Elliston, of Monk lUeigh, or Ely, in the county of 
 Suffolk, and great-uncle to our subject. He had 
 resided his whole life, like Edward Ballard, the last 
 of the booksellers of Little Britain, in the same 
 house in which he was born — 'namely, eighty-six 
 years ; a fine, hale, hearty old gentleman, whose 
 death was at last the result of melancholy accident, 
 — a severe fall. This event was rendered the more 
 remarkable, as the old gentleman had been in the 
 habit of saying, that accidental death alone would
 
 12 EDUCATION — ST. PAUl's SCHOOL. 
 
 balk him of a century. He left a widow, to whom 
 he had been united for sixty years. 
 
 Robert, the watchmaker, appears to have been 
 the least interesting personage in the whole group 
 of which W'C have any knowledge, (except, indeed, 
 in being the sire of our future hero.) But he was, 
 moreover, a man of indolent habits and low pur- 
 suits, so that whatever skill he might at any time 
 have acquired in the management of clocks, he 
 sadly wanted a regulator to his own conduct. From 
 extravagance he passed to niggardness, that sera in 
 fundo parsimonia, displacing one vice by another. 
 An early propensity to sottishness had rendered 
 him morose and intractable ; the fruits of which fell 
 principally to the portion of his wife, as his son 
 Robert was soon transferred under far better 
 guardianship. 
 
 Dr. EUiston having for some time noticed with 
 much anxiety the state of affairs in Orange Street, 
 and remarked on various occasions early indications 
 of quickness and intelligence in the youth, his 
 nephew, whose manners and address were likewise 
 greatly prepossessing, determined to take his educa- 
 tion altogether into his own hands, an offer which 
 it is not to be supposed met with any opposition 
 on the part of the father, and certainly acknow- 
 ledged with much gratitude by the boy himself. 
 
 In pursuance of this arrangement, young Elliston 
 was in a short time entered at St. Paul's School, 
 and his father removing about the same period to
 
 EARLY INDICATIONS OF ABILITY. 13 
 
 Charles Street, Covent Garden, where he had taken 
 a house on a handsomer scale than that in Orange 
 Street, afforded his son more suitable means of 
 domestic comfort ; for during the school months 
 ne still lodged with his parents, his good uncle 
 being on no account desirous of alienating any 
 portion of filial respect from the breast of his pupil, 
 and more particularly as his mother was an amiable 
 md well-conditioned woman. 
 
 The holidays, however, our young gentleman 
 passed with either his uncle EUiston or Martyn — 
 generally the former ; in winter at Cambridge, and 
 during the summer, in his company on any excur- 
 sion the Doctor might be making in the long vaca- 
 tion. The youth thus became so great a favourite 
 at Sidney Lodge, that the master never parted with 
 him on his return to St. Paul's w^ithout a secret 
 W'ish he might be too late for the coach. 
 
 It w^as the intention of the Doctor to enter his 
 nephew^ a member of his own college, with a view 
 that he might take ultimately to the church He 
 perceived him daily to give further demonstrations 
 of ability and intelligence, and amongst his humbler 
 accomplishments, that of reading impressively and 
 with discrimination, especially charmed his relative. 
 On many occasions, but invariably on the Sunday 
 evening, the Doctor would assemble his household 
 to hear his nephew read some moral discourse of 
 his selection, — Barro\v, was the great book, — and 
 the consciousness of excelling in this particular.
 
 14 PUBLIC SCHOOLS. 
 
 was perhaps not the least delight the young man 
 experienced in these spiritual exercises. 
 
 It is a custom at our public schools, sanctioned, 
 at best, perhaps, by time, to observe certain anni- 
 versaries by speeches delivered by the upper boys 
 before their assembled friends. 
 
 At Westminster the plays of Terence are acted, 
 and though objections have been raised on the moral 
 question of unveiling to youth the deformities of the 
 social body, (which, however late discovered, are yet 
 too early,) the young men at Westminster do cer- 
 tainly enter into the spirit of their undertaking; but 
 in most other public schools, this ** speech day" is 
 but a dull, monotonous, antiquated piece of busi- 
 ness. Some classic oration, committed laboriously 
 to memory, mistily understood, and mechanically 
 recited, is the coup d'essai of the eventful year, and 
 the intellectual treat to some three or four hundred 
 well-dressed persons after a long and dusty journey. 
 
 Should a youth of better courage than his fellows 
 attempt to violate the old convention of action or 
 delivery on these occasions, or give any evidence 
 of being really touched with the fancy of the poet, 
 or the fire of the orator, the dangerous innovator is 
 visited with ready correction ; or, like poor Roderick 
 Random, his fingers are tied up with a pulley, lest 
 he should learn to write too good a hand. This 
 rigid precaution we have heard defended on the 
 plea of guarding against theatrical habits, but it 
 is scarcely a question whether a total abolition of
 
 FIRST ATTEMPT AT ACTING. 15 
 
 SO imperfect an affair would not be the better 
 expedient. 
 
 It is, however, beyond all doubt, that the first 
 time our young friend became animated with a 
 sense of his own powers, on oratorical grounds, 
 was on one of these anniversaries, when, to the 
 confusion of the presiding master. Dr. Roberts, but 
 the involuntary assent of the surrounding company, 
 he dared to win some genuine tokens of applause, 
 by mixing a little of the theatrical ingredient. 
 
 In 1 790, being then the fourth boy in the school, 
 young Elliston delivered an original oration — thesis, 
 " Nemo confidat nimium secundis" — with so much 
 energy and novelty of style, that his good uncle, 
 completely losing sight of the venerable claims of 
 dust and antiquity, and shaking the boy cordially by 
 the hand, declared his nephew had not given him so 
 much pleasure since he had first placed him at school. 
 
 It would be scarcely fair to visit upon this little 
 incident the sin of that great change which soon 
 passed over the spirit of the schoolboy's dream, but 
 it was not long from this event that our young de- 
 claimer was first seized wit ha thirst for theatrical 
 pursuits — a disease which is seldom taken mildly, 
 but when once contracted, has no remedy but to 
 run its course. 
 
 In the upper part of a pastry-cook's house, in 
 the Strand, near Bedford Street, resided a Madame 
 Cotterille, who conducted an ** Evening Academy" 
 on the first floor — a lady standing still higher in
 
 16 TRAGEDY AT A . PASTRY-COOK*S. 
 
 the respect of numerous mothers of St. Martin's 
 and St. Anne's. 
 
 It was here young Elliston passed many of 
 his half-holidays, receiving Madame's instruction 
 in the French language, an accomplishment which 
 in those days was deemed below the dignity of 
 public schools, which appeared to consider all 
 knowledge under the sun centred in the rules 
 of prosody. It was here, also, he first met the 
 inimitable Charles Mathews, son of a bookseller 
 of that neighbourhood, who had doubtless disco- 
 vered equal satisfaction in attending the instruction 
 of Madame Cotterille; a coincidence which eventu- 
 ally turned out greatly to their mutual congratula- 
 tion, for, independently of their emulation in the 
 tongue of Wanostrocht's grammar, far more exten- 
 sive parts of speech were now opened to their 
 ambition, under the same patronage. 
 
 Madame Cotterille, by way of improving her 
 scholars in the French language, allowed them, 
 once or twice in the year, to enact English plays, — 
 a philological compromise very quietly assented to 
 by her auditors, who were composed of the aunts, 
 guardians, and sundry family obsoletes of her pupils. 
 Young Elliston was now invaluable. Generously 
 did he liquidate his debt to Wanostrocht by the 
 funds of Otway ; nor did he hesitate paying a still 
 severer penalty, by undergoing a frequent flogging at 
 St. Paul's, for a protracted rehearsal in the Strand. 
 
 In December of the same vear, he and his co-
 
 MATHEWS. 17 
 
 disciple Mathews made their first appearance before 
 a delighted audience over the pastrycook's shop. 
 
 The play was the " Distressed Mother" — Elliston 
 sustaining the part o{ Pyrrlms — Mathews, Phoenix; 
 and we are bound to confess, " by the kind per- 
 mission of Mr. Mathews" himself, that the hero of 
 our Memoir was the undeniable hero of that night — 
 a report which might otherwise have been deemed 
 a puff, recollecting the place whence it proceeded. 
 But such, indeed, was the result ; the evening pass- 
 ing off with satisfaction unbounded as the applause, 
 in which ices, jellies, queen-cakes, and raspberry 
 tarts, by no means played an inconsiderable part. 
 
 Notwithstanding the delight wdiich Dr. Elliston 
 had expressed at his nephew's display on the 
 " speech day" at St. Paul's, Robert was too con- 
 scious how deeply displeased he would have been, 
 had he been aware of the proceedings near the 
 corner of Bedford Street. He warily, therefore, 
 kept him in total ignorance even of his admiration 
 of the drama, makimr his mother his onlv confi- 
 dante, whose affection was like that of most parents, 
 seeing nothing in the whole world half so much 
 entitled to admiration as her own child's frailties. 
 
 After some months, another jam took place at 
 the pastrycook's, when the tragedy of the " Orphan" 
 was represented to fresh raptures of the old party. 
 Elliston on this occasion played Chamont, and his 
 friend Mathews the part of the CJiaphiin. The 
 
 c
 
 18 PROGRESS IN ACTING. 
 
 house was verilv an oven. Robert William was 
 now twice a hero, reaping in the contest " whole 
 fields of laurel." Caressed by the elderly, and in 
 special favour with the young, particularly of the 
 other sex, this enfant gate abandoned himself en- 
 tirely to the flattering bondage he had so closely 
 courted. All other pursuits were neglected, and 
 nearly all other ties forgotten, in the vortex of this 
 omnivorous passion. AYith the enraptured Nell he 
 exclaimed, " I dreamt last night I went to heaven, 
 and this is it !" 
 
 Elliston was now in the nightly habit of attending 
 theatres, witnessing the best efforts of acting, and 
 seldom missed an opportunity for making an ap- 
 pearance himself. His ambition by this time had 
 grown too bulky for the first floor of the pastry- 
 cook's; and though he ever recollected with grati- 
 tude the scenic glories he had there participated, 
 and the softer dalliance he had perhaps wholly en- 
 grossed, yet w^as he naturally desirous of shewing 
 his quality before a more enlightened auditory 
 than the rusty relatives of Madame Cotterille's 
 scholars. 
 
 He consequently took part in sundry private re- 
 presentations at the Lyceum Theatre, where he at 
 once became the leading tragedian — the selections, 
 the management, the first parts being conceded his 
 equitable claim. Young Norval and Pierre, cha- 
 racters which he frequently repeated before some of
 
 AN UNFORTUNATE AMATEUR. 19 
 
 the leading wits of the town, placed him at the head 
 of all unprofessional aspirants. 
 
 Our youthful adventurer now began to stand in 
 awe of the very fame he had been so sedulously 
 acquiring. These proceedings could neither be 
 concealed from the Master of St. Paul's, nor the 
 Master of Sidney, who fondly persuaded themselves 
 a far different part had been the object of his con- 
 stant study, and academic applause the only appro- 
 bation he had coveted. 
 
 We will here beg indulgence for anticipating a 
 trifling anecdote, which, in its chronologic order, 
 might not carry with it the same interest. Up- 
 wards of forty years from the above events, (in 1830,) 
 William, eldest son of our present inquiry, in writing 
 from Hobart Town, whither he had proceeded some 
 time before, with a view of settling as an agricul- 
 turist, observed, he had fallen in with an old ac- 
 quaintance of his father, a Captain M , cele- 
 brated in his day as a member of the Four-in-hand 
 Club, and as one of the choice spirits of London's 
 
 gay metropolis. Captain M 's visit to this 
 
 hemisphere had not been quite so voluntary as that 
 of our correspondent, having originally been trans- 
 ported thither for the offence of bigamy ; but four- 
 teen years and change of diet having purged away 
 all corruption, and both his wives being dead, he 
 might really be said to have began the world anew 
 in New South Wales ; and this he did by what he 
 
 c 2
 
 20 LETTER FROM NEW SOUTH WALES. 
 
 called " single blessedness" — namely, marrying a 
 third wife, but one only at a time. He was, in fact, 
 at this period filling a highly responsible office, and 
 on far better terms with his own conscience than 
 when he boasted the fellowship of the notorious Sir 
 John Lade. 
 
 " Well I recollect," said he to William Elliston, 
 " the many happy days your father and myself 
 passed together when boys. He was at St. Paul's — 
 I, at Westminster. How fond we were of acting, 
 and what hair-breadth 'scapes we had in the project 
 of our private theatricals ! We used to quarrel tre- 
 mendously about the ' leading business' until we 
 settled it this way — I was to have the handsomest 
 dress, whatever the character might be, and your 
 father the choice of parts. We were in the habit, 
 too, of reciting graver matter at Professor Martyn's, 
 in Park Terrace. I remember distinctly your 
 father — ' Summum, Brute, nefas,' &c.," continued 
 he, attempting an imitation of his old friend ; " but 
 my speech was from Milton — 
 
 * Must 1 then leave thoe. Paradise — thus leave 
 Thee, native soil — where I had hoped to spend 
 Quiet?'—" 
 
 a quotation which doubtless did not strike him 
 at the time, so ludicrously apt to his own fortunes 
 — and deserts. 
 
 But to return. The resolution which young
 
 ELLISTON's FilAlLTY. 21 
 
 EUiston had now positively taken of adopting the 
 stage as a profession was not unattended by mental 
 distress. He thought on the cruel disappointment 
 he was laying up for his two best friends, his rela- 
 tives at Cambridge ; and the sense of ingratitude 
 stung him to the quick. In his uncle, the Master 
 of Sidney, he had enjoyed both the love and pro- 
 tection of a parent, without the natural claim. His 
 debt was heavier than even a long course of dili- 
 gence could expect wholly to satisfy, and yet he 
 was about to repay him with the base coin of in- 
 gratitude. 
 
 At other moments, somewhat after the style of 
 Harry Dornton, would he reason. " Is not classic 
 lore my very object ? ^Eschylus, Sophocles, Shak- 
 speare, Jonson — they are a noble study — none but 
 a scholar can have intercourse with these mighty 
 spirits ; none but a scholar and a gentleman can 
 hope to embody their creations. The stage — 'tis a 
 niche for literature's stateliest form ; the drama — 
 'tis a mighty branch of knowledge- — of ethics too. 
 Now, would my uncle indeed think so sternly of 
 my motive ?" 
 
 In fond, fleeting sophistry, half sad, half joyous, 
 thus would he cheer on his purpose, and feel some- 
 thing like reconciliation ; but sober judgment never 
 failing to resume its place, brought him invariably 
 to his senses with shame, and all the first bitterness 
 of self-reproach.
 
 22 YOUTHFUL DILEMMAS. 
 
 The vouth's conduct now became like that of 
 most persons under similar impressions. The holi- 
 days were anticipated with less anxiety and delight ; 
 his letters to Cambridge were brief and vague, and 
 might have become equally rare, but his constant 
 demands for money altogether prevented their fall- 
 ing under that imputation. 
 
 Circumstances now arrived at that dizzy pitch 
 which demanded him to act in right earnest. As 
 in certain " misfortunes" we have heard of, at- 
 tendant on another sex, concealment was no longer 
 possible, and the first bold step of our hero was 
 finally resolved on. 
 
 As it is pretty generally admitted that dramatic 
 interest is best secured by basing it in some 
 charming act of indiscretion, and guarding the 
 early steps of its scenic children from falling into 
 tame respectability, lest, for instance, like Miss 
 Languish, there might be danger of marriage with 
 the dull consent of guardians at last ; and as it is 
 necessary that all your heroes who would recom- 
 mend themselves hereafter, should run away in the 
 first instance, and commence vagabond, that they 
 may finish better with the gentleman, we are so far 
 happy that truth warrants us in confessing, that no 
 sooner had Master Robert determined one point 
 than he resolved on the other, which was to quit 
 his home clandestinely, and throw himself on a far 
 wider theatre than had hitherto been his fortune to 
 encounter.
 
 FLIGHT FROM HOME. 23 
 
 He was not long in planning the direction of his 
 flight. A boon acquaintance, who had boasted the 
 distinction of frequently acting under the manage- 
 ment of our adventurer at the Lyceum, and in 
 whom Elliston had before found it convenient to 
 repose some little matters of confidence, was at 
 this time living at Bath, and was a friend, more- 
 over, of Mr. Dimond, the theatrical manager in 
 that city. Bath being also at a respectable dis- 
 tance from our hero's two objects of terror, London 
 and Cambridge — or, in other words, Dr. Roberts 
 and Dr. Elliston — he thought he could not do 
 better than fix on it, both as his place of present 
 refuge and future expectation. 
 
 It was in pursuance of this, that on a black, 
 chilly morning, in the very early part of spring, 
 1791, light in baggage as the Hon. Mr. Doivlas 
 himself, with but little in his pocket and still less 
 in his stomach, Robert William slipped from the 
 street-door of his father's house, punctually at 
 half-past four by the paternal chronometer, and 
 made the best of his way to the coach-office in 
 Piccadilly. 
 
 In the year 1791, the English stage-coach wore 
 as different an aspect to the vehicle of 1841, as 
 the gold-laced hat and silver shoe-buckles differ 
 from the costume on the identical pavement at the 
 present hour. There was " the heavy Falmouth," 
 the weighty York '' Highflier," and the lengthy
 
 24 TERRORS OF THE RUNAWAY. 
 
 " Bristol ;" and a journey of a hundred miles was 
 an undertaking of time, privation, and endurance. 
 
 We trust our hero will not forfeit any claim to 
 such distinction while we confess that a review of 
 his resources, or perhaps the weather, not a little 
 damped his spirit ; and fain would he have retraced 
 his steps, on finding at reaching the coach-office, 
 the long body completely full, and every person so 
 occupied on their own affairs as to afford him no in- 
 formation under his dilemma. But the alarum was 
 by this time sounded in the watchmaker's ware- 
 house, and the youth's absence discovered, so that 
 he had no alternative but to proceed at all hazard. 
 In the course of his further inquiry, he learnt that 
 the two-horse " Bath Invalid Coach" would start 
 from a neighbouring office within an hour, but that 
 no other conveyance for that city would leave Lon- 
 don before the mail, in which every place had been 
 secured. 
 
 Perplexed, and by this time somewhat alarmed, 
 EUiston readily seized the only chance left for him, 
 and paying part of his fare, was booked forthwith 
 in a feigned name. Being now more at ease, he 
 had opportunity for contemplating the probabilities 
 of his incarceration in this rotary lazaretto. The 
 " Invalid " professedly travelled slowly for the 
 benefit of its ailing inmates, taking them only part 
 of the journey on the first day, and concluding it 
 late enough on the second, so that it was a coach
 
 FELLOW TRAVELLERS. 25 
 
 which really performed what it professed to do — 
 namely, ''slept on the road." 
 
 Evidently waiting the arrival of the said " Bath 
 Invalid," a hackney vehicle was drawn up to the 
 office, containing an elderly gentleman, who, as it 
 transpired, had taken one place for his body and 
 another for his legs, which were swaddled in flannel, 
 as he sat at that moment writhing under a severe 
 paroxysm of gout. With a sigh did our young 
 friend gaze upon a face in which were the mingled 
 expression of pain arising from disease, and fury the 
 result of pain. " My penance is likely to go hand 
 in hand with my offence," mentally ejaculated he, 
 as he contemplated two long days in all the horrors 
 of this " middle passage!" 
 
 The " Bath pair-horse Invalid" now drew up as 
 solemnly for the elderly gentleman as that still 
 gloomier vehicle which, in all probability, would be 
 the next and last in his mortal service. The opera- 
 tion of transferring him from one body to the other 
 was in progress, which, to the adagio of a volley of 
 curses, was at length accomplished. Rewarding 
 his attendants with a look of renewed fury, he 
 pulled up the glasses with all the violence he could 
 master, and was heard no more — for the present. 
 
 It was now within ten minutes of the professed 
 time of starting, and as poor Elliston was spe- 
 culating on the next character he might be intro- 
 duced to in this drama of " The Bath Road,'' the
 
 26 GOUT AND OPTHALMIA. 
 
 coach-door was again opened to the approach, 
 " with lingering steps and slow," of a tall female, 
 labouring under a sharp attack of inflamed eyes, 
 and conducted by a footboy, who was beguiling his 
 tortoise pace by licking what still adhered to the 
 paper wrapper of some baked treacle. 
 
 The ceremony of conveying this sufferer to the 
 interior of the coach was nearly as tedious, but a far 
 more grateful task, than the former ; and though our 
 young runaway had still less and less reason to 
 congratulate himself on his fortune of the morning, 
 he could not help feeling some sympathy with the 
 unsightly lady, as she timidly took her place to the 
 serenade of the only language the rabid gentleman 
 seemed to have retained the slightest recollection of. 
 
 Fixed on the pavement to the very last, though 
 he had heard twenty times the coach was then 
 starting, Elliston, the third patient, entered the 
 narrow ward of this migrating hospital. Placing 
 himself next to the swaddled feet of the raving 
 martyr, and opposite to two faces, one the largest 
 he had ever gazed on out of a masquerade shop, 
 and the other the longest he had ever seen from 
 the convex of a silver spoon, he was conveyed by 
 degrees from the rugged pavement of Piccadilly to 
 travel one hundred and ten miles at the same rate 
 of enjoyment.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A journey, "strange bedfellows'' — Ugly knocks — A frozen foot- 
 boy — Comfortable quarters — A family group — A lovely girl 
 — A Scotch ballad — " Speechifying" — A sleepless night — 
 A parting — EUiston arrives at Bath — " His first appearance 
 upon any stage" — Dimond — Tate Wilkinson, anecdote of, 
 and characteristic letter — Wrench — Elliston's remorse — 
 Letter to his uncle — Acts at Leeds — Increasing despond- 
 ency — Second letter to Dr. Elliston — A joyful surprise — 
 Young Elliston returns to London — Visits Cambridge — His 
 reception by the Master of Sidney. 
 
 The gouty passenger, as we shall be better informed 
 hereafter, was a certain contractor, who, not very- 
 long before, had been indicted for fraud, and sen- 
 tenced in severe penalties. Having secured, as 
 already mentioned, a double place for his single 
 convenience, he seemed to question the right of any 
 other person to interfere with what remained. As 
 to the '* dark" lady on his own side, he took no 
 more notice of her than though she had never been 
 in existence ; nor is it surprising, for she was, in 
 fact, by this time, pretty nearly out of it — the con- 
 tractor's body occupying two-thirds of the seat,
 
 28 " STRANGE BEDFELLOWS." 
 
 while the redundant folds of his Bath wrapper 
 totally obscured what might still have remained dis- 
 coverable of his thin neighbour. His look of de- 
 fiance, therefore, was wholly fixed on the youth in 
 the diagonal direction, whose hale and good-natured 
 countenance certainly refuted any pretensions to a 
 place in the " Invalid," being in a state somewhat 
 similar to the poor, honest, houseless girl, who, on 
 applying for shelter at the " Refuge" for unhappy 
 females, was told she must first go and qualify. 
 
 After some miles, the rain began to fall violently. 
 Under a closed window the factor was safely nestled ; 
 but the aperture on the other side admitting the 
 weather directly on the tender optic membrane of 
 his despised companion, she ventured to raise the 
 glass a few inches before her face, on which the 
 man of fraud, abruptly extending his arm, thrust it 
 again into its first position. EUiston, who really, 
 on his own account, would have desired as much 
 air as possible, felt so thoroughly indignant at this 
 piece of brutality, that, seizing the tassel, and at the 
 same time pulling up the frame, he observed — 
 
 " Pray, madam, consult your own convenience, 
 and sufi'er me, for the rest of the journey, to under- 
 take that it be respected ;" on which the contractor 
 spirted some half-articulate language of abuse, 
 which the other had too much discretion to regard. 
 
 It was towards the evening when the company had 
 resumed their seats in the coach, after a dinner at
 
 UGLY KNOCKS. 29 
 
 the usual house for stopping, where the false factor 
 liad secured to hunself nearly the whole of the fire, 
 and demolished quite the whole of a bottle of Ma- 
 deira, that, to the notes of ventricle growling, which, 
 with him, were both matins and vespers, he fell into 
 a roaring sleep. The cartilaginous bassoon which 
 nature had fixed in the centre of his face seemed to 
 emit indications of rest, while accompanying groans 
 gave equal evidence of endurance. The one-third 
 of the seat which he had at first conceded to the 
 " dark" female was now taxed down to the poor 
 modicum of a fifth. Too nearly suffocated to utter 
 complaint, she might, in fact, have been altogether 
 annihilated, but tliat her extreme thinness yet pre- 
 served vitality in the cleft it occupied. 
 
 The trick of nodding appeared (like everything 
 else upon the road) to be overtaking the whole 
 coach, and our young traveller began presently to 
 doze, like a judge upon his seat. How long he slept 
 he could as little ascertain as Gulliver himself when 
 he took his first nap, on being thrown on the shores 
 o( Lilliput ; but his recall to reason was one of the 
 most unequivocal facts, perhaps, ever recorded. 
 
 A jolt of the vehicle, in passing over the rotten 
 highway of a certain borough, threw him, bodily, 
 with so much force athwart the horizontal limbs of 
 the snoring factor, that, " ululante dolore," snatch- 
 ing his short crutch at his side, the man of fraud 
 let fall so absolute a crack on the sconce of his un-
 
 30 A FROZEN FOOTBOY. 
 
 conscious offender, that in reverberate accents, 
 shrill as the seabird, and with talons almost as 
 fatal, EUiston seized his assailant by the folds of 
 his fleecy " comforter," and would certainly have 
 strangled him outright, had he not been awakened 
 to fresh terrors by the shriek of the poor obum- 
 brated lady, who, by this time, having been entirely 
 forgotten, appeared to exclaim from the very tomb 
 itself. 
 
 This triple indication of distress brought the horses 
 abruptly to a stand, and the coachman ahghting to 
 learn the nature of the m^lee, both combatants 
 united in abusing him for his interference, on which 
 he deliberately resumed his reins, leaving the two 
 gentlemen, as he expressed it, " to fight it out for 
 the young 'oman as they pleased." 
 
 In due time they arrived at Newbury, their resting 
 place for the night. EUiston would now willingly 
 have offered his assistance to his fellow sufferer, the 
 lady, but to his relief, he heard that " Henriquez" 
 was in attendance. Hereupon, the identical foot- 
 boy whom we first noticed on the flags of Piccadilly, 
 descended, or, rather, was handed down from the 
 vehicle — for, in point of fact, he was so nearly 
 frozen as to resemble a stuffed figure over the shop- 
 window of a juvenile outfitter. During the last ten 
 miles, the coachman had suffered him to creep into 
 the boot for the little warmth it might afford, and 
 he was now lifted out quite as hardened, and nearly
 
 A COMFORTABLE LANDLADY. 31 
 
 as black as his companions, the portmanteaus. 
 Instead of being in attendance, therefore, on his 
 mistress, the poor urchin was taken into the stable, 
 where, undergoing the operation of friction between 
 some wisps of hay, by the hands of the ostler, he 
 was restored, by degrees, to whatever conscious- 
 ness he once possessed. 
 
 Too full of the past for hunger, and too anxious 
 about the future to be sensible of cold, EUiston, our 
 dispirited adventurer, stood leaning against the 
 doorway of the inn, scarcely aware of the repeated 
 supplications of waiters that he would occupy the 
 parlour. 
 
 He had been already some time in this state of 
 abstraction, when the hostess herself, impressed, no 
 doubt, by his travelling in the " Invalid," and having 
 no evident infirmity upon him, that his case was 
 one of morbid affection, now advanced towards him. 
 The sorrows of a handsome youth are petitioners 
 rarely dismissed abruptly from the avenues to female 
 sympathy ; and as the landlady was really a kind 
 woman, she was w^illing to extend her good offices 
 on this occasion bevond the mere civilities of her 
 calling. Dropping him a curtsey, she said, — 
 
 '* I fear, young gentleman, this is but a cliilly 
 spot. Pardon me, but you appear to have no 
 friends with you ; we have a brisk fire within the 
 bar — my little family are just going to sit down to 
 supper, and we would contrive to make you com-
 
 32 A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 fortable, if you would step in and partake of what 
 we have." 
 
 Never did our friend feel more truly grateful than 
 at this moment. His eye glistened with gratitude ; 
 his heart positively leapt with delight. 
 
 " My dear madam, I thank you with real sin- 
 cerity," replied he ; "it would indeed be an act of 
 charity." 
 
 Following his conductress, Elliston instanta- 
 neously found himself in the midst of the domestic 
 circle. A table was most invitingly spread, and 
 there Avas an air of comfort around, which finds a 
 way into the closet of the heart, w'hile the power of 
 splendour passes not the antechamber of the senses. 
 
 " I believe I must tell you, sir," continued his 
 hostess, looking round with evident pride, " this is 
 the birthday of my eldest girl, so we have a little 
 more going on, this evening, than usual ; and the 
 younger ones sit up to supper." 
 
 Elliston had now an opportunity of observing the 
 party, which consisted of the landlord's father, a 
 small, good humoured old man, who chuckled at 
 everything he saw and every syllable he heard. 
 Two plain, or rather heavy-looking young men, sat 
 at a distance, evidently guests ; their apparel was, 
 however, remarkably neat, and their deportment 
 equally precise ; for at every word addressed to 
 them, they rose from their chairs, acknowledging 
 the favour by a kind of half- bow.
 
 A LOVELY GIRL. 33 
 
 The family of the house constituted the remainder 
 of the company — namely, two or three nicely-dressed 
 children, who were collected around their grown- 
 up sister, a fine girl, who had that day attained her 
 sixteenth year. The landlord who, in the interim, 
 had heen informed of the presence of his new guest, 
 now made his appearance, and the whole party sat 
 down to supper. 
 
 Elliston, warmed by the good cheer, but still 
 more charmed by this spirit of hospitality, rendered 
 himself, as will readily be believed, highly agreeable. 
 He talked much of London — its incidents — its 
 places of amusement — the French Revolution — the 
 taking of the Bastile, at all of which the little old 
 gentleman laughed, as the landlady expressed it, 
 "fit to kill himself." But they all laughed, with 
 the exception of the two plain young men, who still 
 persisted in rising from their chairs, on receiving 
 any portion, which in the course of the repast, fell 
 to their share. 
 
 Elliston, who by accident — or it might have been 
 otherwise — was seated next to the fair object of the 
 evening, took occasion to allude to the circumstances 
 of it, in so well-timed and happy a manner that the 
 blushes mounted in the cheeks of the daughter and 
 the tears in the eyes of the mother, at both of which 
 the old gentleman laughed and laughed again. 
 
 Still more animated by the passing scene, Elliston 
 now began to repeat bits of poetry and recite scraps 
 
 D
 
 34 A SCOTCH BALLAD. 
 
 of plays ; so that by nine o'clock he had levied 
 qontributions on almost the whole acting drama; 
 which though not always apposite to the moment, 
 never failed to make the old gentleman laugh, and 
 we are justified in adding, were equally successful 
 in pleasing his sweet neighbour. 
 
 The revel was now at the best, and we might 
 have searched in vain the whole of his Majesty's 
 dominions, to have found a similar number of per- 
 sons assembled, at this precise moment, more com- 
 pletely happy than the innkeeper's party. 
 
 The landlady now turning to her daughter, "Alice, 
 child," said she, "do sing to us your favourite. The 
 sentiment is not quite suited to a birthday merry- 
 making, sir," continued she, addressing herself more 
 particularly to Elliston — "but she does sing it so 
 sweetly, that I much question whether any of your 
 town ladies could excel her." Our enraptured 
 visitor was by no means slow in backing the suit. 
 Not to have surrendered would have been the part 
 of sterner stuff than the temper of poor Alice ; 
 with little hesitation, therefore, she began the 
 beautiful ballad of Burns, " Ye banks and braes," 
 &c., which she sang in a style so inartificial, but at 
 the same with taste so evidently cultivated, that the 
 old gentleman, for the first time, did not laugh, but 
 participated in the milder sensations of delight 
 which occupied the whole circle. 
 
 It was now nearly eleven o'clock — for time had
 
 " SPEECHIFYING." 35 
 
 played its usual trick with joyous occasions — and 
 the party being about to separate, the little old gen- 
 tleman, as though to recover what he had missed in 
 the muscular indulgence of his merry spirit, burst 
 into a laugh still more hearty than he had yet dis- 
 played. Amongst other things, in the course of 
 Elliston's " speechifying," in the earlier part of the 
 evening, he had invested the two plain young men 
 as " Good Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern," 
 and had placed them against the wall, during some 
 recitation from " Hamlet;" but having neglected to 
 give them their freedom in due form, they had not 
 taken the freedom themselves of breaking their 
 bondage, but had maintained their mural position 
 throughout the ballad. But on the challenge of the 
 good grandfather to finish the punch, they now 
 stepped forward, and bowing at the same time, took 
 their departure together. 
 
 Elliston now retired to bed, but not to repose. 
 So little inclination had he to sleep during the night, 
 that already had it been announced to him the 
 " Invalid" was again starting, before he had closed 
 his eyes. A sudden resolution seized him not to 
 resume his journey — the anticipation of another day 
 with his companions of the preceding, filled him 
 with disgust. He pleaded headache, and in due 
 time the moving " oubliette" was on its toilsome 
 way without him. 
 
 He soon, however, rose, and after a hasty break- 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THE FOLLOWING MORNING. 
 
 fast, turned his steps in the direction of the bar — to 
 thank his hostess for her hospitality — to gain in- 
 formation respecting other conveyances, — with 
 sundry further inquiries, scarcely suspecting, what 
 no one else in the world could have doubted, that 
 the lovely ballad-singer was the sole object of his 
 thoughts. 
 
 He had certainly reason to be grateful, for on 
 encountering the waiter, he found that the only 
 demand made upon his purse, w^as a charge for his 
 bed and breakfast, which though highly favourable 
 to the state of his resources, he would have resisted, 
 had he not been persuaded he should be giving pain. 
 
 In that same apartment, which a few hours before 
 rang with the light tones of merriment, but now 
 restored to the trim precision of a well-regulated 
 bar, EUiston made his acknowledgments to his 
 hostess, somewhat less than one hundred times, for 
 her benevolence of the day previous. Alice abruptly 
 entered, but not suspecting a visitor, would have 
 withdrawn. " No, young lady," said he, taking 
 her hand and gently detaining her ; '' I am come to 
 thank you, too — and how sincerely, I cannot explain. 
 Believe me," continued he, dejectedly, " I may 
 have to look back on the dawn of yesterday with 
 sorrow — with contrition — but let this, at least, be 
 void of mystery, my heart's gratitude for the joy it 
 participated at the close, will never — never be 
 obliterated."
 
 A PARTING. 37 
 
 But his hour was come. Mounting the roof of 
 the four-horse coach, with a spirit far weightier 
 than all his worldly effects, once more was he on 
 the king's high road. His gaze, more cleaving than 
 his steps, was still fixed beneath the portal of the 
 inn ; and with the hope — with the belief — that he 
 was followed by two sparkling messengers, bright as 
 the herald of day, he gave the signal of a last fare- 
 well ; when turning sternly round upon his onward 
 course, he looked again his fortune in the face. 
 
 "Alas! alas! omnia idem pulvis," cried he, as 
 at that moment, the road itself afforded a ready 
 illustration of human things. And in this wise, 
 dead to all around him, and buried in his own 
 thoughts, he passed speedily into a new existence, 
 as he opened his eyes in the bright city of Bath. 
 
 We have been more circumstantial in the account 
 of this escape from London — for we can hardly call 
 it flight, — than the event absolutely demanded ; but 
 the incident was one to which, in after life, ElUston 
 himself so frequently alluded, that we have ventured 
 to be so far particular. 
 
 Arrived at Bath, Elliston soon discovered the 
 friend already in his confidence, who willingly 
 renewed his promise of giving him an introduction 
 to Mr. Dimond. But the opportunity not appear- 
 ing at that moment the most favourable, something 
 was to be done in the interim ; for the state of his 
 " viaticum" bv no means flattered him with anv 
 
 y--! -f, f-v <r\ c\ 
 
 i 1 i 2
 
 38 ARRIVES AT BATH. 
 
 hope of playing the " walking gentleman" on the 
 pav^ of this elegant place of resort. 
 
 After sundry failures in applications for employ- 
 ment, he obtained the situation of clerk to a lottery- 
 office keeper, at a salary of one guinea per week. 
 Here, ensconced behind a wooden desk, sat the 
 future "hero of a hundred" playhouses; and the 
 infant Majesty of Elliston cribbed in the mahogany 
 fixture of '* Hazard's" agent. Often with a sigh 
 did his thoughts revert to the " confitures" and first- 
 floor scenes of Madame Cotterille ; as often, with 
 still deeper sensations of sadness, to the place he 
 once held in his uncle's esteem. What rendered 
 his time still more burdensome was the want of 
 occupation, for he had little more to do than to sit 
 on a tall stool, and hand over the candidates for the 
 favours of Fortune to her ministers in an inner 
 apartment. In a very few weeks, however, the 
 introduction to Mr. Dimond was accomplished — 
 lottery tickets gave place to box tickets, and the 
 "Wheel of Fortune" was studied under another roof. 
 
 Bath at that period was a nursery for the London 
 stage, and though the theatre (since converted into 
 a religious meeting-house) was small, yet under 
 Mr. Dimond's able management and judicious 
 engagement of performers, plays were represented 
 in a very finished manner, and theatrical entertain- 
 ments ranked amongst the leading objects of this 
 polite portion of the world.
 
 HIS FIRST APPEARANCE ON ANY STAGE. 39 
 
 Oil the 21st of April, 1791, Robert William 
 Elliston made his " first appearance upon any 
 stage," at this city, in the character of Treasell in 
 Richard III. The result was all he could have 
 wished. He was received with favour, and went 
 through this well-judged and unambitious part with 
 entire success. The Bath critics had never been 
 found too indulgent, nor a Bath audience to be 
 satisfied with an indifferent material. The follow- 
 ing notice, however, appeared in one of their 
 leading journals : — 
 
 " A young gentleman, whose name we are 
 
 not yet in possession of, but whose connexions, we 
 understand, are of the highest respectability in the 
 University of Cambridge, sustained the character of 
 Tressell. He displayed considerable ability — far 
 greater, indeed, than could have been anticipated 
 from his age, which cannot be more than sixteen or 
 seventeen years." 
 
 The Bath theatrical season being near its close, 
 and most of the ensuing acting nights appropriated 
 to benefits, no immediate engagement could be ob- 
 tained in that place. But fortunately for our young 
 debutant, Wallis (the father of Miss Wallis, then 
 the reigning favourite at Bath, who subsequently 
 became Mrs. Campbell, and a popular actress at 
 Covent Garden Theatre) had witnessed this success- 
 ful exhibition in Tressell, with which he was so 
 much pleased, that, unsolicited, and on what could
 
 40 TATE WlLKINyON. 
 
 scarcel3^ be called a personal acquaintance with our 
 hero, wrote to his old friend Tate Wilkinson in his 
 favour, earnestly recommending him to his notice. 
 As Wallis was a man on whose judgment Wilkinson 
 could safely rely, Elliston received at once an invi- 
 tation to visit Leeds, which, without hesitation, he 
 joyfully accepted. Not very long afterwards, 
 Wallis had the following reply from the managerial 
 autocrat of the north : — 
 
 " On hearing the young man read and rehearse, 
 wdiom, on a late occasion, you recommended to me, 
 I forthwith engaged him, and he appeared, on the 
 30th of May, at Leeds, when he acted Dorilas much 
 to my satisfaction. He is already very generally 
 liked, and, being a sensible youth, gives the best 
 evidence of becoming an improving actor. His 
 features and voice are very pleasing, and his legs 
 and arms good, but his powers are not extensive. 
 He is of service to me ; and if he always behaves as 
 well as he has conducted himself with me, he will 
 be an acquisition wherever he goes. He has not 
 the common fault of young people — rant, rant. A 
 little more energy and variety would do him no 
 harm." 
 
 Tate Wilkinson, known so long as the " ec- 
 centric," might, with equal justice, have won the 
 appellation of the " honest," for to either his title 
 was good. He was born in the year 1740. Foote 
 introduced him first to a London audience, in
 
 TATE WILKINSON. 41 
 
 his " Tea" parties at the Haymarket Theatre. At 
 these entertainments, he occupied the time between 
 the acts of his master, by giving imitations of certain 
 actors, which, perhaps, might have been con- 
 sidered by some the plums of the pudding. On one 
 particular evening, however, he seized an oppor- 
 tunity for throwing in so humorous a mimicry of 
 " Aristophanes'' himself, that the whole audience 
 were convulsed with laughter. Foote was not a 
 little angry ; indeed, he shewed so much ill-temper 
 in the affair, as perfectly to convince the offender 
 that he was — not a man to be imitated. 
 
 Wilkinson, by his own perseverance, acquired 
 means, and became ultimately the much-respected 
 manager of the York company. He had, however, 
 sundry peculiar habits. During his career as 
 manager, if any member of his company had obsti- 
 nately neglected to listen to his advice on any 
 particular point of acting, or the like, he would 
 mount, on some future night, into the gallery, and 
 hiss most strenuously — an expedient which pre- 
 sently brought the trifier to his senses. On one 
 occasion, being more than usually indignant at 
 some very slovenly exhibition on the stage, his hiss 
 was remarkably atidible. The dehnquent actor, 
 however, seemed to have friends around him, for 
 on a cry of " Turn him out !" poor Wilkinson 
 was unceremoniously handed down from his own 
 gallery and ejected into the street. Notwithstand-
 
 42 MISS CAMPION. 
 
 ing, he still maintained this useful and very disin- 
 terested experiment. 
 
 To personages more worthy his regard, and of 
 higher consideration in their art, he would prefer 
 addressing himself by writing, when he believed that 
 any advice of his might be of service. We have an 
 original letter of Wilkinson to this effect, addressed 
 to Miss Campion, who was afterwards Mrs. Spencer, 
 and ultimately Mrs. Pope, on her first appearance 
 at York in the part of Juliet. The letter is singular 
 enough — written in characters half an inch high, 
 on the largest and coarsest folio, exhibiting much 
 such a billet as would raise a laugh in a harlequin 
 farce. The matter, however, is of better proportion, 
 which we here beg leave to transcribe, particularly 
 as the lady in question became subsequently so 
 celebrated in this character of Juliet at Covent 
 
 Garden Theatre : — 
 
 " Oct. 5, —95. 
 
 " Dear Madam, — Without comp*, I think that 
 your Balcony Scene, in many Passages, has more 
 simplicity than that of any Actress of y*^ many I 
 have seen from y"" year 1752. But here and there 
 you want Quickness and Variety ; as, for instance, 
 ' Romeo, Juliet, all slain,' &c., which sh'' run into a 
 sudden climax ; and you sh'' say Pha e ton, not 
 Phceton. You sh'' also be discovered on y"^ Bed, ex- 
 actly y^ same as when left after y^ Draught. In 
 y*" Solilo([uy, you sh'' plead to Tibalt, in your
 
 WRENCH. 
 
 43 
 
 Frensy, on one side, & on y'' other, as to Romeo. 
 I can give you a better mode of waking in y*^ Tomb ; 
 and where you stab y'^self, I will shew you Mrs. 
 Gibber's method. When you have to say ' There 
 rest and let me die,' y^ dagger sh'' remain, and not be 
 thrown away, as that is a contradiction to y" Words. 
 Favor me with a call by half pM2 on Thursday, 
 after I have seen y' Monimia, and every Hint in my 
 Power you may command for y^ mutual Interest of. 
 
 ^^.. 
 
 When Wrench made his debut in the York com- 
 pany, Tate took his usual station in the front of 
 the house, (for he went there to admire as well as to 
 censure ;) and at the end of the play, which was 
 " Speed the Plough," wherein Wrench had acted 
 the part of Henry, he hobbled into the green-room, 
 exclaiming — ** Where's Mr. Drench?" (for he
 
 44 elliston's remorse. 
 
 seldom called anybody by his right name.) " Here, 
 sir," replied the young actor. " Sir, you're a clever 
 Wench," continued Wilkinson, tapping him on the 
 shoulder. " There's some roast beef in you, Mr. 
 Fj'ench." 
 
 But to return to our own hero. Elliston having 
 immediately acquired notice, became soon the fa- 
 vourite " leader" on the York " circuit." Never 
 had a " junior" risen so rapidly into business, or 
 gained so many verdicts by virtue of a speech. A 
 constant succession of new and unstudied charac- 
 ters being put into his hands, his time was fully 
 occupied for several months. 
 
 Nothing could be more encouraging than this early 
 period of his career. In equal favour with his manager 
 and the public, and receiving nightly the " spirit- 
 stirring" reward of his labours, we might have been 
 induced to believe that smiles alone were the wages 
 of indiscretion, and a light heart the consequence 
 of folly. But the unfailing lesson was at hand — 
 hitherto had he had no time for thought, or thought 
 only on one subject. His mind now underwent a 
 painful reaction. He became reserved, gloomy, 
 depressed. A recollection of his uncle's repeated 
 expressions of hope and confidence in his advance- 
 ment to academic honours, pierced him like so 
 many daggers. Months had passed away, and no 
 indication had he given of contrition ; no intelli- 
 gence, which would at least have removed suspense.
 
 LETTER TO HIS UNCLE. 45 
 
 had he communicated or attempted. Late, but 
 more bitter, was his remorse ; and he now became 
 so totally changed in manner, and unfit for his 
 professional duties, as to excite the anxiety of those 
 around him. " Stung with the thoughts of home," 
 he withdrew for some days from the theatre, and 
 resolved at length to address Dr. Elliston by letter. 
 After many unsuccessful attempts, he composed 
 the following : — 
 
 ** Sir, — However dismayed I find myself in this 
 undertaking, and however ashamed I feel at my 
 conduct towards you, yet I know the attempt to 
 gain your forgiveness is my duty. I have taken 
 courage, therefore, to proceed. Fearful as I have 
 reason to be of your anger, — how shall I address 
 you — or what can I allege ? — I can see no middle 
 state between that of the beloved nephew (as T have 
 a thousand proofs to know I once was) and the 
 discarded Robert Elliston. If but a faint ray of 
 hope would break in to lead me to suppose I should 
 ever regain your confidence and esteem, I should 
 then indeed be happy. Of my transgressions, let 
 me confess, I am truly, deeply sensible. 
 
 " Unfortunately for me, the profession I have 
 chosen by no means meets with the concurrence of 
 even my general friends, — and the world at large has 
 hitherto held it in the light of contempt. What was 
 the infatuation which first prompted me to swerve
 
 46 LETTER, ETC. 
 
 from the path of wisdom and rectitude which you 
 had pointed out, I know not : had I followed that, 
 I might have made a reputable stand in life — at any 
 rate, moving in a circle more honoured than that 
 into which I have thrown myself. But it is not 
 for me to aggravate my misfortunes ; my task 
 should rather be to reconcile them. If I succeed 
 in removing any portion of your anger, I more than 
 repay myself — if not, it is at least a trifling evidence 
 of my affection, though repaying not a thousandth 
 part of what I am indebted to you. Mitigate, I 
 pray you, your resentment. My most sanguine 
 hopes do not hint at sudden, or perhaps at any 
 period, entire forgiveness. Suffer me to write to 
 you now and then — to feel that I am addressing 
 you — to relieve my aching heart, by assuring you 
 how I love and honour you. May I entreat, too, 
 you will not let my mother participate with me 
 your anger. I declare to you she is blameless in 
 respect of this step I have taken. 
 
 " Imperfectly as I may have written, I still venture 
 to send you this sincere confession ; but no attempt 
 at extenuation of my conduct. Your justice I must 
 ever fear — in your mercy I may have hope. 
 
 " Your affectionate 
 
 and contrite nephew, 
 
 " York, April r tli, 1792. '
 
 INCREASING DESPONDENCY, 47 
 
 The very despatch of this letter hrought relief to 
 his heart, which he fain would have mistaken for 
 pardon already received- — a delusion not very dis- 
 similar to that in after life, when, on giving a bill 
 at six months to his timber merchant, he exclaimed, 
 " Thank God, that fellow's paid?" The sincerity, 
 however, which dictated the above epistle we do 
 not for a moment question ; and his very sanguine 
 temper came not inopportunely to his aid. Elliston 
 returned to his duties, a new man. What the Bath 
 waters could never have effected, his own prescrip- 
 tion had readily accomplished. His health was 
 restored — and thus his first engagement at York 
 was brought to the pleasing termination of pecu- 
 niary profit and editorial approbation. 
 
 But alas ! nothing was responded from Cambridge 
 — no reply reached him from his uncle. This 
 continued silence reduced him again to a state of 
 great mental suffering. Till now he had not felt 
 himself disowned : — any reproaches had relieved 
 him — any sentence had been milder. This was the 
 more distressing as it was about the period of his 
 making a first appearance on the Hull Theatre. 
 His fame had long preceded him in that quarter ; 
 and on the following week he was to justify his 
 credit. He felt he should fail, and became indeed 
 almost indifferent to the result. The night arrived ; 
 and in the most flattering manner he was received 
 in the part of Young Maiioiv. But his forebodings
 
 48 ■ A SECOND LETTER. 
 
 were no less true. He did fail — his acting was 
 languid or unnaturally forced ; and although the 
 press appeared to acknowledge all that had been 
 hitherto reported of his quality, yet he well knew 
 his effort on that night dropped short of the goal. 
 A second hollow triumph like the first he was per- 
 suaded would undo him. Determined to recover 
 all, he repeated the character in such good heart, 
 that his spirit was rekindled, and the flame he 
 watchfully fed with unabating industry. 
 
 After eight months, however, from the date of 
 his first epistle, he contemplated a second. But as 
 most penitential compositions, like love-letters and 
 sea-fights, are pretty much alike, we shall forbear 
 serving up any further entertainment of the sort, 
 and merely offer our guests a broken corner — this 
 is given from 
 
 « Hull, Dec. 25tli, —92, 
 " At Mr. Thompson's, Black Fryar's Gate. 
 
 **.... Do not mistake me, sir ; my supplica- 
 tion is not prompted by any hardships which I 
 have suffered, for I am receiving a competency — 
 am respected as an actor, and welcomed as a friend. 
 These sighs arise from the degrading position in 
 which I stand before you. With respect to the 
 profession I have chosen, 1 know public impression 
 is unfriendly to it. Some of its members may be 
 profligate and immoral ; but the state of an actor 
 is that of being almost as much before the public
 
 GOOD RESOLUTIONS OF A TRUANT. 49 
 
 when off the stage, as on it. His errors and indis- 
 cretions are presently abroad, and the world there- 
 fore may too hastily be led to imagine that the life 
 of an actor is inseparable from shame. But, sir, 
 this is not true ; or if it be true, I have indeed been 
 singularly fortunate in being placed amongst so 
 many worthy exceptions. Believe me, sir, it shall 
 at least be my endeavour to carry into this profes- 
 sion, and to maintain throughout my career, whether 
 it be brief or extended, the principles and conduct 
 of a man of honour and morality." 
 
 Well said, resolution! — and nothing, we can 
 assure our readers, will give us greater pleasure 
 than in finding ourselves enabled, as we proceed, to 
 prove how satisfactorily our young moralist re- 
 deemed those weighty pledges, for we are quite 
 sure that trials will await his fortitude. 
 
 Having despatched this second letter, he was 
 fully resolved to arm himself for the worst ; and as 
 he was daily adding to the stock of his professional 
 renown, he had reason to believe that public favour 
 might in some degree compensate the loss of pa- 
 rental regard. 
 
 Amongst other subjects of meditation, let it not 
 be supposed the gentle Alice was forgotten. " When 
 the heart of a man's oppressed with care," nothing 
 could have come kindlier to his relief. He steeped 
 his thoughts in the recollection of her beauty, as a 
 kind of anodyne to his aching uncertaintv ; and 
 
 E
 
 50 A JOYFUL SURPRISE. 
 
 cajoled himself into love to supply the void of a 
 sequestered home. He even went so far as to 
 compose eight lines towards a sonnet ; but as the 
 second decade of Livy is not more irretrievably lost, 
 we can give no copy of the impassioned fragment. 
 
 It was early in the next year, February, — 93, 
 and on a certain morning about as forbidding as 
 that on which he " left his father's house," when 
 in the act of raising the street latch of his lodging, 
 to proceed to rehearsal, Elliston was startled by a 
 double rap at the entrance, which set his very pulse 
 into a gallop. It was the postman — a letter ! — not 
 for his own landlady, though she was still indebted 
 in her Christmas rent, and held under a hard land- 
 lord, nor for the medical student in the second 
 floor, who had really a great frailty for correspond- 
 ing, but for himself—'' Mr. Robert W. Elliston"— 
 the post mark " Cambridge," and the hand-writing, 
 that of his uncle, the Master ! 
 
 The contents might have been the bursting of 
 overcharged anger, and a sentence of final abandon- 
 ment — but never, surely, had slighted lover been 
 thrown into such ecstatic joy by the impression of 
 a seal as our dramatic truant at this moment. He 
 kissed it — pressed it to his bosom, and played about 
 as many antics as Tom Jones, on discovering Miss 
 Western's pocket-book on his road from Upton; and 
 a very simpleton, indeed, were any stander-by who 
 could have been persuaded that the specimen in
 
 DR. elliston's reply. 51 
 
 question was no other than a lecture from a grave 
 old gentleman and Master of a college. Yet such 
 was the case. No rehearsal that morning. A half- 
 guinea fine stood in the place of " Mr. Elliston 
 called for the reading of the new piece at ten ;" for 
 there was another manuscript to be looked at, and 
 that the letter from Sidney ! 
 
 The tone of the Doctor was just that which a 
 man of sense and sensibility would have adopted — 
 it was the dove with the olive — but the waters were 
 not subsided. 
 
 " Much as I have cause for indignation," said 
 he, " I write less to reproach than to instruct — 
 less to satisfy any vindictive feeling which I might 
 have towards you, than to offer a lesson, which, 
 if yet timely, will content me more than the ex- 
 action of penalties. Tears, and a mere confes- 
 sion of error, are little — they may indeed be a suit 
 for pardon, but they are no evidence of amendment. 
 This, as it can only be the work of time, so will I 
 consent to receive no other evidence of it. No 
 renewal of my favour will I offer you on trust — 
 whatever portion of this you may acquire, you must 
 win. If these be not the most indulgent terms, I 
 am sure they are the most valuable I can offer 
 you." 
 
 In alluding to the stage, the Doctor observed he 
 was willing to accredit some truth to the apology 
 expressed on the condition of an actor, but the re- 
 
 E 2
 
 52 ELLISTON RETURNS TO LONDON. 
 
 gret that his pupil had embraced the profession 
 would attend him to his grave. 
 
 Our happy friend, it will readily be believed, lost 
 no time in forwarding a grateful acknowledgment 
 to his excellent monitor, in which, in the full con- 
 fidence of his virtuous abundance, he renewed those 
 several bills he had formerly given for the payment 
 of good conduct, loading them with such additional 
 interest, that we forbear to set them out, lest our 
 readers should tremble for his obligations. 
 
 The spring of this year terminated the youth's 
 engagement with Wilkinson ; and he hastened early 
 in May to London, for the purpose of paying his 
 personal duty to his uncle EUiston, who had been, 
 for some time past, on a visit at Professor Martyn's, 
 in Frith Street, Soho. On his arrival, however, he 
 learnt the Doctor had quitted London for Cam- 
 bridge — a piece of intelligence which came not un- 
 acceptably to his temporary relief; for, to confess 
 the truth, his courage had been wondrously oozing 
 somewhere during the whole journey, so that he 
 was in fact " little better than a coward," as he 
 mounted the steps of the Botanical lecturer. In 
 respect of his uncle Martyn, he had never stood in 
 quite the same awe, so that, on the whole, it might 
 have been fortunate that events had thus turned 
 out — for he now consulted with this relative the 
 most prudent way of proceeding; and, by his 
 advice, finally resolved on going to Cambridge,
 
 INTERVIEW WITH THE DOCTOR. 53 
 
 though he had no hope of any boon beyond a mere 
 interview with the master. " Your happiness," 
 observed the Professor, "is an object as much at 
 your uncle's heart as ever ; but Dr. Elliston is not 
 a man to be grievously offended, and be again won 
 by a few idle regrets. To youth, he has always been 
 considerate — ever made allowances " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; and they were never short allow- 
 ances, believe me," interrupted the abashed actor, 
 in a manner which flavoured a little of the lamps — 
 " he shall find me yet worthy his regard." 
 
 To Cambridge he went. The sight of old St. 
 Mary's Church, and the glories of the Senate House, 
 now barred against him for ever, smote him in 
 keen recollection of the past ; and as he trailed 
 along the quadrangle of the small college, over 
 which he once had bounded, tears rose in his eyes, 
 and depression weighed down all sentiment of fear. 
 His uncle received him with the affection of a well- 
 disciplined mind ; and heard, with more than pati- 
 ence, perhaps, the repeated story of contrition. 
 But Elliston was no guest at the Lodge. This 
 interview was all that was conceded ; and if he did 
 not commence his return with a heart abounding in 
 satisfaction, it had been at least supplied by a mo- 
 dicum of instruction, which we have reason for 
 believing played also the part of meat and drink 
 to the body, during nine hours on his journey back 
 to London.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 EUiston's introduction to John Kemble — His success in Romeo 
 — Old actors in young parts — Family feuds — A Thespian 
 wagon — An awkward meeting with an old acquaintance — 
 — EUiston a hero in earnest — " A conflagration — Don Juan 
 in his element — " A speech" — A capital writing-master — 
 A friendly go-between — Miss Flemming, an amorous spin- 
 ster — Tactics — A lovely woman — Miss Rundall — Machina- 
 tions — "A positive engagement" — George Colman — EUiston 
 a married man — EUiston at the Haymarket Theatre — 
 Octavian — Critiques — Sheva — Colman's letter — Mr. Gore — 
 Jocular epistle — George III. 
 
 Professor Martyn, by the assistance of his old 
 fellow-collegian, Dr. Farmer,* now introduced our 
 young aspirant to Mr. George Steevens,t who 
 
 * Author of an '* Essay on the Learning of Shakspeare," and 
 Master of Emmanuel College, Cambridge. 
 
 f George Steevens, the able coadjutor of Dr. Johnson, in 
 an edition of the Works of Shakspeare, whose testimony to the 
 worth of the great lexicographer should be ever borne in mind, 
 as his character has been too frequently misunderstood, — " It 
 is unfortunate," says Steevens, " that his particularities and 
 frailties can be more distinctly traced than his good and amiable 
 exertions. Could the many bounties he studiously concealed, 
 the many acts of humanity he performed in private, be dis- 
 played with equal circumstantiality, his defects would be so far 
 lo.st in the blaze of his virtues, that the latter would alone be 
 visible."
 
 MR. KEMBLE. ^)^ 
 
 took an early opportunity for making him per- 
 sonally known to Mr. John Kemble. By that 
 gentleman Elliston was received with much cour- 
 tesy ; he heard him recite, and the country can- 
 didate for metropolitan advancement went through 
 the usual ordeal. The effect of these interviews 
 was extremely flattering. Mr. Kemble suggested 
 the part of Romeo for EUiston's particular study, 
 proposing that character for his first London 
 appearance, at Drury Lane Theatre. It was July, 
 1793, in which these meetings took place, and 
 as the new splendid edifice was not then com- 
 pleted, nor likely to be so by the ensuing winter, 
 it was arranged that Elliston should appear about 
 the commencement of the season 1794. For the 
 interim, Mr. Kemble strongly recommended that 
 he should return either to Bath or York. "The 
 former," said he, "is, I think, preferable. You 
 require but study, the want of which no genius 
 in the world can supply. It is the exercise of 
 an art which forms the artist ; and some day," 
 added he, with a smile, " you may repay this 
 advice with the ingratitude of disputing with me 
 public favour." 
 
 Mr. Dimond was at this precise time acting 
 at Richmond. Thither Elliston went on the fol- 
 lowing day — an engagement was speedily con- 
 cluded between them — for the Bath manager had 
 had too favourable a foretaste of the young actor's 
 quality, not to desire a fresh importation of it.
 
 56 ELLISTON ACTS " ROMEO." 
 
 Bidding adieu, in a less abrupt manner than 
 on the first occasion, to his parents in Charles- 
 street, with whom he had lodged during his stay 
 in London, EUiston retraced his steps to Bath, 
 in October, and made his second appearance 
 there, in the same month, in the character recom- 
 mended to his attention by Mr. Kemble. His 
 success in Romeo was a yet brighter colouring of 
 that hue w^hich had decked his earlier days. The 
 wild, romantic passion of the Veronese boy — the 
 pouring out of soul on the altar of a youth's 
 first dream — the glowing diction of the poet, and 
 the " mould of form" in which nature would 
 have best rejoiced for the lodgment of such a 
 spirit — stood forth, a beautiful identity of that 
 vision which imagination wakens, as it dwells on 
 the progress of this Italian tale. 
 
 Complete and brilliant as was the success of 
 his second visit to Bath, Elliston was, for a time, 
 shut out from the "first line of business," to 
 which he had now become reasonably entitled. 
 For although the days of which we speak be- 
 longed certainly to the palmy era of the drama, 
 yet they were not altogether free from faulty 
 usages and detrimental example. The youthful 
 parts of either tragedy or comedy were yet in the 
 hands of certain actors, who once, indeed, might 
 have graced them well, but who still retained them, 
 on the claim of thirty years' enjoyment ! — a plea,
 
 OLD ACTORS IN YOUNG PARTS. 57 
 
 which though good and sufficient to the fee-simple 
 of dirty acres, became a questionable tenure to 
 the brighter territory of art. The creation of the 
 poet, gifted, indeed, to flourish in " immortal 
 youth," but ill became the unconscious actor, 
 " grown dim with age," unless, indeed, as fast 
 approaching that second childhood, he might hope 
 in a few years more to advance his first pre- 
 tensions. 
 
 We remember to have met with a somewhat ludi- 
 crous incident in point, which transpired, years ago, 
 on the " Western Circuit." An aged actor, having 
 pertinaciously clung to light comedy long after he 
 had been blessed with a numerous family, had 
 amongst them a son of considerable theatrical 
 ability, but it was in the line of old men. This youth 
 made the first trial of his skill at Exeter, in the 
 part of Sir Anthony, in the comedy of " The 
 Rivals," wdierein the venerable favourite, his father, 
 was equipped, as usual, for Jack Absolute. The 
 play, it will be at once remembered, must have 
 afforded many points which consequently became 
 mightily absurd ; but when the enraged baronet 
 had to exclaim — " I'll disown you — I'll unget you — 
 I'll never call you Jack again !" it produced a 
 roar in the theatre which far surpassed any indi- 
 cation of delight the talent of the young man was 
 able afterwards to excite. 
 
 The fame Elliston had acquired in Romeo, at
 
 58 FAMILY FEUDS. 
 
 Bath, quickly reverberated through the theatrical 
 circles of London, and Mr. Kemble appeared 
 anxious to bring the contemplated engagement 
 to a final settlement. A meeting thereon took 
 place between the great Tragedian and the learned 
 Professor, but the salary offered, and other con- 
 siderations, were of such a nature as to render the 
 project by no means advisable — the negotiation 
 therefore was dropped. 
 
 In August, 1794, Elliston came to London, in 
 consequence of serious and repeated disagreements 
 which had taken place between his parents. These 
 now terminated in a separation of the parties. 
 
 '< Clocks will go as they are set ; but man, 
 
 Irregular man's ne'er constant — never certain," 
 
 says the poet ; and, true enough, the watchmaker 
 had of late contributed rather to the tableau vivant 
 of Hogarth's " Midnight Conversation," than to 
 the picture of domestic enjoyment. His affairs, in 
 short, were now wound up, and the stock sold off. 
 Young Elliston undertook the support of her who 
 had never failed in parental kindness to him, and 
 the " Distressed Mother" once more occupied his 
 thoughts in London, attended with applause more 
 hearty than any he had hitherto experienced — that 
 of his own conscience. The old gentleman, his 
 father, became the joint care of his two uncles. 
 
 At the usual period for opening the theatrical 
 campaign, Elliston again returned to Bath, or,
 
 A THESPIAN WAGON. 59 
 
 rather, Bristol — for it was at that city opera- 
 tions commenced ; the company playing certain 
 nights, but not alternately, at one place or the 
 other. 
 
 For the conveyance of the actors from city to 
 city, the proprietors had built two carriages, of 
 the " caterpillar" tribe, each having eight small 
 wheels : the first of their kind known in England. 
 The regulations under which this vehicular system 
 prospered, were precise and rigid. Within the body 
 of one of these caterpillars, the actors and actresses, 
 after the night's performances at the theatre of one 
 town, were carried to the very stage-door of another, 
 and — not one step beyond. There was no calling 
 at this lodging, and setting down at that — nothing 
 of the mourning-coach accommodation, which, after 
 the solemn obsequies to the dead, will take you an 
 airing to Islington, and drop you afterwards at the 
 London Tavern — but, strictly and literally, so many 
 furlongs were measured, and not a pole to spare. 
 Arrived at the said stage-door, at about two o'clock 
 in the morning, the caterpillar was delivered of its 
 burden — out they came, " all ladies and gentlemen 
 concerned" — the half- clothed aurelia or the full- 
 dressed butterfly, just as it might happen, to seek 
 their own particular shelter — 
 
 " Dicitur et plaustris vexisse poemata Thespis." 
 
 Sauntering, one morning, with a friend, on that 
 conventional spot where some assemble to dissipate
 
 60 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 their lives, and others to patch them up — namely, 
 the Pump Room — Elliston noticed, at a trifling 
 distance, a figure enveloped in sundry flannels, 
 whom he at once recognised as his fellow traveller 
 in the *' Invalid." Scarcely could he forbear a 
 smile, on the first recollection of that pugnacious 
 morning, but 
 
 " Young men soon give and soon forget offence — 
 Old age is slow to both" — 
 
 and so it appeared. Breaking from his companion, 
 he approached the footstool of this polluted ''Mufti," 
 and in mock solemnity of tone, said — " If I am so 
 fortunate as to live in your recollection, sir, allow 
 me to lament that you are still under your severe 
 sentence — but we have all our trials." On which, 
 to Elliston's further astonishment, notwithstanding 
 his lesson and experience, with a look which would 
 have become Jeff*eries himself at the plea of Richard 
 Baxter, the other, in half-smothered accents, re- 
 plied — " Scaramouch !" 
 
 A ludicrous air of perplexity which Elliston now 
 observed in the bystanders, convinced him there 
 was something yet to be explained. " Don't you 
 know him?" asked his companion. " That is 
 
 Mr. D , of the Corn-market — a rogue in grain, 
 
 as they call him at Bath. No one speaks to him 
 here, unless to aff'ront him, as you have done. 
 Sentence ! — trial ! — why, the equivoque was quite 
 dramatic!" lie then went on to explain the
 
 IN EARNEST, A HERO. C)\ 
 
 history of the indictment, whereof the reader " hath 
 by parcels heard, but not distinctively." 
 
 An adventure took place about this time, which, 
 by one particular, was rendered somewhat remark- 
 able. A musical star being in the ascendant, and 
 opera, consequently, the zenith of the "bills," 
 Elliston's duties did not call him to the theatre 
 until late in the evening, when he had to play the 
 part of Don Juan, for about the fiftieth time. 
 Passing down an obscure street, on his way thither, 
 his ears were suddenly startled by indications of 
 terror and distress, and he discovered, on turning 
 abruptly into a narrow court, the lower part of a 
 house enveloped in flames. The occupiers had 
 escaped unhurt, and most of them, miserably poor, 
 were watching, either in stupid agony, or with un- 
 availing cries, the sure destruction of their crazy 
 chattels ; while others, attracted to the spot by 
 mere curiosity, looked on the scene only as an ex- 
 hibition prepared for their special gratification, and 
 every fresh evidence of ruin, but as a coup de 
 thedtre, which they welcomed with applause. 
 
 Mingling with the bewildering appeals of the 
 surrounding sufferers, the most heart-rending were 
 those of a middle-aged female, who, running from 
 spot to spot, and threading the crowd without any 
 identical purpose of action, exclaimed — " Poor 
 Jamie ! he's gone — he's gone ! — no one can help 
 poor, daft Jamie!" By the language and manner
 
 62 A CONFLAGRATION. 
 
 of the woman, it was clear some one yet remained 
 unrescued, and at the mercy of the element. Elliston 
 instantly pushed forward to the frantic suppliant, 
 and soon understood that, in an upper apartment, 
 some helpless being was still imprisoned, whose 
 awful fate was momentarily expected. A side-door 
 of the house afforded still the possibility of ingress. 
 Of this chance Elliston availed himself — he rushed 
 up the staircase, followed fortunately by a bystander, 
 emboldened by his example, and found himself in- 
 stantaneously in a wretched attic, where, on a still 
 more wretched pallet, lay extended a poor bed- 
 ridden being, whose state of idiotcy seemed roused 
 to a glimmering sense of some proximate danger, 
 but who had neither power of utterance nor ability 
 of motion. 
 
 Amidst the varied evidences of decay around 
 him, this wreck of humanity — age, idiotcy, and in- 
 firmity, with their attendant poverty, each in its 
 extreme — powerfully affected our hero. Lost for a 
 moment to the frightful progress of the element, he 
 stood motionless and appalled. 
 
 " 'Tis useless !" exclaimed the man who had fol- 
 lowed Elliston into the house — " he cannot be 
 saved ! the stairs are already in flames !" " He 
 can — he shall!" was the reply — "be steady, and 
 we can accomplish it." 
 
 Approaching the bed, Elliston raised the poor 
 creature in his arms, and binding about him the
 
 (I 
 
 DON JUAN." 63 
 
 tattered remnant of sheet and clothing — as much 
 to disarm his feeble attempts to be free, as for the 
 covering it might afford — carried him to the head 
 of the staircase. The clamour of apprehension 
 and encouragement from the mob below, kept his 
 energy at its pitch, but to descend the flight thus 
 encumbered was impossible. The fire was mount- 
 ing, and suffocation threatening. With difficulty he 
 had passed to the first landing, where, forcing a 
 side-window, he presented his nearly-rescued charge 
 to the multitude. But the shrieks and struggles of 
 the sufferer — the difficulty of making the crowd 
 understand that they were to assist him from below, 
 all, imperatively, the work of a few seconds — had 
 nearly left them in one common ruin. At length, 
 however, by the aid of his companion, all was ac- 
 complished. The living burden, lifted on the sill, 
 was lowered by the fragile tackle, and fell, unhurt, 
 into the contrived treillage of the people. The two 
 liberators now effected their own escape, and within 
 three minutes the whole interior was in flames. 
 
 Disentangling himself from the embraces of the 
 women, (as little befitting Don Juan as his escape 
 from fire,) Elliston now, like good Launcelot, " took 
 to his heels and ran," reaching the theatre just 
 in time to see a substitute Libertine, like other 
 ragouts, " dressed on the shortest notice," and 
 ready to be served up in his place. An apology 
 had been made to the audience for his absence, but
 
 64 A SPEECH ! 
 
 the cause of it was still an interesting mystery. In 
 a few words, he explained to his apologist the event 
 of the evening, who, taking the opportunity of 
 Elliston's dressing, again presented himself before 
 the curtain, and repeated the slight account he had 
 received, with considerable point. 
 
 •* Don Juan," he added, " as announced in the 
 bills, had already ' descended in a shower of real 
 fire,' but having set his very fate at defiance, he 
 had effected his return, to receive, as he richly 
 deserved, a still warmer sentence at the hands of 
 his judges now present." His welcome, as may 
 be well supposed, was most enthusiastic. Called 
 upon to tell his own story, Elliston was as much 
 in his element as Don Juan — for he had to make a 
 speech; a faculty which, though in after life he 
 greatly improved, he by no means inconsiderably 
 possessed at this present. The above incident gave 
 such additional attraction to this drama, that it was 
 scarcely out of the bills at any part of the season. 
 
 So much for the adventure itself; but EUiston, 
 who, it will be readily believed, took the earliest 
 opportunity of searching out the unhappy patient 
 he had rescued, discovered that he had originally 
 been an actor, and frequently a fellow labourer 
 with the great Macklin. Indiscretion, and con- 
 sequent want of employment, had brought on this 
 state of mental aberration and wretchedness. Ellis- 
 ton continued his kindness to him till he died.
 
 A CAPITAL WRITING MASTER. G5 
 
 The prosperity of our hero at this time, " like a 
 full ear of corn," demanded only the gathering — 
 and to do him justice, he was neither careless of 
 the present nor unmindful of the future. His 
 address, and the respectability of his connexions, 
 made him familiar with several resident families, 
 while, on the other hand, his acquaintance was 
 courted by many visitors from the capital, who, by 
 a certain air of patronage they assumed, were evi- 
 dently looking forward to the idle gratification of 
 claiming the first indagation of his merit, when he 
 might have become the centre of metropolitan at- 
 traction. 
 
 The residence of Elliston was at the house of a 
 highly respectable widower, who professed to give 
 instruction in the caligraphic art — a science which, 
 with that enthusiasm which should attend every 
 man in his own vocation, he placed immeasurably 
 above all other accomplishments necessary to the 
 polite world ; — to write a good letter was, clearly, 
 to write a good hand. Not that he considered the 
 matter altogether unworthy attention, but held it, 
 as some of our musical composers esteem poetry, 
 as merelv the vehicle for a more rectified essence. 
 He was the first who convinced the public by a 
 framed and glazed evidence of facts, which, oc- 
 cupying the centre pane of the parlour window, 
 announced the following : — " This is a specimen of 
 my hand-writing, before taking lessons of Mr.
 
 GG A FRIENDLY GO-BETWEEN. 
 
 and a rude specimen it was, to all intents 
 
 and purposes. Immediately below — " This is a 
 specimen of my hand-writing, after taking six 
 
 lessons of Mr. C ;" and a more rapid progress 
 
 could not reasonably bave been expected, for no 
 copper-plate could match it. It was in this worthy 
 gentleman's society Elliston occasionally passed a 
 leisure evening, and as the writing-master was in 
 the habit of giving little card entertainments, the 
 fortunate actor found an agreeable relaxation in the 
 acquaintance. 
 
 A certain merry dame, who, in after years, was 
 an amie du cwur of the Elliston family, was gene- 
 rally a visitor on such occasions — a sprightly, 
 agreeable woman, who, by frequent hints and other 
 indirect expressions, led the young actor to under- 
 stand that he was held in very enviable favour in a 
 quarter by no means to be slighted, and that it 
 would be his own fault if bis fortune were not 
 greatly improved. In fact, she offered to become 
 the means of making him acquainted with a lady 
 in Bath, well known as a personage of great taste 
 and acquirements, " to which consideration," con- 
 tinued his fair friend, '* she had certainly forfeited 
 no particle of claim, in her admiration of so ac- 
 complished a gentleman as Mr. Elliston." For 
 this pretty speech he could express no less than 
 gratitude, and the introduction soon took place. 
 
 The tasteful personage in question was a Miss
 
 AN AMOROUS SPINSTER. G7 
 
 Flemming, whose reputation as a teacher of dancing 
 and corrector of manners had long heen pre-eminent 
 at Bath. She was not, at this period, extremely 
 young, nor had been, perhaps, at any, particularly 
 handsome ; but what time might have ran away 
 with, or nature but niggardly bestowed, her own 
 dihgence had more liberally supplied — liberally, 
 but discreetly — for she was a woman, unquestion- 
 ably, of judgment, wiiere her passions did not in- 
 terfere ; and one, to use Knowles's happier words — 
 
 -Whose fortieth year 
 
 No autumn, but a second summer brings." 
 
 The tenour of her course had never been disturbed 
 by any desires foreign to its nature or dangerous to 
 its interests ; an early round at quadrille, or an 
 occasional visit at the " Rooms," was all that 
 prying curiosity could lay to her charge on the 
 score of frivolity. 
 
 Miss Flemming now suddenly discovered an 
 irrepressible desire for the drama. True, she 
 eschewed Congreve and Farquhar, as low ; but the 
 " fine and serious parts of the 'Provoked Husband' " 
 were quite of another texture. Frequently, she 
 occupied a side-box at the theatre, and under no 
 circumstances would be absent whenever Elliston 
 was advertised for both play and farce. These 
 facts, with sundry invitations to select parties at 
 the lady's residence, very naturally excited a whis- 
 
 f2
 
 i)S TACTICS. 
 
 per in the Bath coteries — an evcnt which, consi- 
 dering Miss Flemniing's appropriation of prudence, 
 might appear a little extraordinary. 
 
 But this lady was not without her motives ; for 
 instead of placing the most implicit confidence in a 
 direct offer of marriage, as some silly, short-sighted 
 women would have done, she played, what she con- 
 sidered, the surer game, of building up an implied 
 engagement, of which, the wider the whisper 
 circulated, the more would the foundations be 
 strengthened. As to Elliston himself, he heard all 
 these surmises with that careless indifference which 
 belongs to youth ; for although sensible of his 
 obligations to the lady's patronage, he was as cold 
 under the irradiation of her smiles, as the snow- 
 capped Andes beneath the torrid zone. 
 
 Such was the state of things, when, at one of 
 these select meetings, he beheld, for the first time, 
 a Miss Rundall, the principal assistant in Miss 
 Flemming's academy. This young lady, of con- 
 siderable personal attractions and sweetness of 
 manner, Miss Flemmmg had dexterously, until 
 now, kept out of sight, and would fain still have 
 preserved her at a distance, but the introduction 
 could no longer be avoided. Suppressing sus- 
 picion, therefore, of w^hat she most dreaded, she 
 too soon perceived the tender contest would be 
 hopeless on her part. Yet, if retreat were in-
 
 A LOVELY WOMAN. 69 
 
 evitable, she still hoped to harass the enemy, and 
 took up her cautious position accordingly. 
 
 EHiston, at once struck by the lustre of" Miss 
 Rundail, was soon entirely captivated by her 
 address ; but his generosity, and, perhaps, his in- 
 terest, not a little, induced him to conduct himself 
 in such a manner towards Miss Flemming, that 
 under no fair pretence could he be curtailed the 
 privilege which had once been so cordially conceded 
 to him, of visiting at the house. With the short 
 course of wooing, it will be unnecessary to detain 
 the reader, — particularly as we bear in mind the 
 caution oi Ranger, that " nothing looks so silly as a 
 pair of your true lovers." Suffice it to say, a 
 mutual sentiment occupied the hearts of the youth- 
 ful twain ; and EHiston, within " a fortnight and 
 odd days," eperdument amoureux, avowed his passion 
 to one of the sweetest women in England, which 
 Miss Flemming heard with feelings not dissimilar 
 to those of Queen Elizabeth on learning that Leices- 
 ter was married to Amy Robsart. 
 
 The probability of the above event, foreseen by 
 Miss Flemming, she had yet hoped to circumvent, 
 by rendering the gentleman previously so involved 
 with herself, as to be no longer at his own disposal ; 
 but the rapid progress of the passion of the youthful 
 pair, and her own hasty prodition, reduced her 
 case to a hopeless extremity. Fjustrated in the
 
 70 MISS RUNDALL. 
 
 first object of her heart, she now looked to the full 
 gratification of the second, which was, of course, to 
 prevent the match. Immediately, she addressed a 
 letter to the parents of Miss Rundall, saying, their 
 daughter had formed a dangerous acquaintance with 
 a player, and, unless they at once interposed their 
 authority by giving her — Miss Flemming — the right 
 of forbidding any further intercourse, the worst 
 consequences might ensue. 
 
 On this intelligence, the brother of the young 
 lady arriving, booted and spurred, at Bath, Miss 
 Flemming looked on her triumph as complete ; but, 
 to her utter dismay, she found it was the intention 
 of Mr. Rundall to remove his sister altogether from 
 Miss Flemming, and carry her off to London. Miss 
 Flemming well knew that the Don, Elliston himself, 
 was on the eve of departure for the metropolis, to 
 negotiate an engagement of another description, and 
 had great reason to fear that the joint supplications 
 of the devoted lovers would carry their point with 
 the Rundall family — an event which she had deter- 
 mined more narrowly to have watched, had the lady 
 been permitted to remain under her roof. But 
 darker still was the prospect to poor Miss Flem- 
 ming. Miss Rundall had been her assistant for 
 thirteen years ; her manners and amiable disposition 
 liad materially tended to the success of the academy, 
 and secured to it the highest patronage ; the re- 
 moval, therefore, was as dangerous to Miss F.'s
 
 MACHINATIONS. 71 
 
 worldly interests as fatal to her heart's desire — like 
 the sailors, who, to lighten the ship, threw over 
 their bags of biscuits, she had parted with the very 
 means by which she prospered. 
 
 This occurrence very soon became a topic of 
 public curiosity ; and as both EUiston and Miss 
 Rundall were special favourites with many of the 
 best families, the peculiar nature of their distresses 
 soon excited the sympathy of the generous of both 
 sexes. A kind of Amphictyonic council was held 
 on the matter ; and the result was, a request for- 
 w^arded by several of the beau monde of Bath to the 
 friends of Miss Rundall, that she might be permitted 
 to return, and that she should receive the best 
 patronage, on opening an academy either as Miss 
 Rundall or " Mrs. Elliston." 
 
 Thus was another battle lost to the Flemming. 
 Baffled on every point, the most miserable of dupes, 
 betrayed by her own machinations, she would fain 
 have quitted the field altogether. Calling once 
 more a council of war, the question was ultimately 
 settled by treaty. To the request forwarded as 
 above, to the friends of Miss Rundall, Miss Flem- 
 ming subjoined her own ; but representing the unad- 
 visableness of two dancing interests, which would 
 be ultimately fatal to both, she offered to receive 
 Miss Rundall into partnership. After a little further 
 correspondence, the matter was arranged. Miss 
 Rundall returned to Bath — the articles were signed
 
 72 " A POSITIVE ENGAGEMENT." 
 
 — "join hands — set partners" — and the matrimo- 
 nial question left altogether to the discretion of the 
 parties themselves. 
 
 , As EUiston had lately received some undeniable 
 evidences of his uncle's presiding favour, he now 
 diligently sought to cherish and deserve so generous 
 a sentiment. Late events had rendered a commu- 
 nication with the Master almost imperative, and 
 too happy was our young lover in the opportunity 
 of again addressing him by letter. This he did, 
 announcing that it was more than probable he should 
 soon enter on an engagement at the Haymarket 
 Theatre, in London, and transmitted 50/., being 
 part of his first professional savings, which the 
 Doctor subsequently placed in the three per cents., 
 in their joint names. 
 
 "There is now, sir, a subject," said he, in con- 
 tinuation, " on which it still more becomes me to 
 speak, and which although, through circumstances, 
 greatly advanced, must still await your approbation: 
 — what I allude to, is an attachment I have formed 
 to a young lady of this place, and whom 1 ardently 
 desire to make my wife. Severed as I have been 
 from my earlier friends, it has been my endeavour, 
 in forming new ones, to connect myself with those 
 who may do the first no dishonour, should they 
 again restore me to their favour. I shall not detain 
 you by hackneyed professions of devotion to the 
 happiness of the lady to whom I have alluded, or
 
 GEORGR COLMAN. 73 
 
 speak at length of the rare quaUties of her mind and 
 person. This, I am aware, would be language 
 received too nmch as a matter of course ; but I may 
 be permitted to say, for your own satisfaction, that 
 she is a lady of great respectability, and one who is 
 regarded with the highest respect by those who are 
 themselves most respected." 
 
 It was early in this year, (1796,) that Professor 
 Martyn having had some communication with Mr. 
 Colman, respecting Elliston's appearance at the 
 Haymarket, did not seem to favour any extraor- 
 dinary haste in the matter. " Colman's circum- 
 stances," says he, " are not at present prosperous, 
 and the pieces acted are, as I understand, but one 
 remove from farce." But London had now taken 
 full possession of the actor's imagination, and all 
 objections were but as new incentives to his 
 purpose. 
 
 Mr. Colman writes as follows : — 
 
 " Piccadilly, 16th April, 1796. 
 
 " Sir, — I have by this post written to Mr. 
 Dimond, requesting leave of absence for you, for 
 a few days, in the course of June. Will you be 
 kind enough to see him on the subject ? 
 
 " I am. Sir, 
 
 " Your obedient Servant, 
 
 ^ • C^<ett.^H0s^€i^%^
 
 74 ELLISTON, A MARRIED MAN. 
 
 Mr. Dimond, very handsomely, at once acqui- 
 esced, and a second letter arrived on the 26th, in 
 which Colman says, — " I have many doubts about 
 Octavian, and as many about your appearing in a 
 new piece. A new drama is a risk of itself, and 
 should it fail, the new actor must, in some measure, 
 fail with it. If, however, you will send a line to 
 Mr. Cross, I will peruse his piece.* Let me have 
 immediately a list of the characters you have per- 
 formed, and mark those in which you think you 
 have been successful." 
 
 In a subsequent letter Colman observes, — " If so 
 valiant, e'en venture on the characters you propose, 
 Octavian, Sheva, Hamlet. Hamlet, perhaps, requires 
 further deliberation. But you will feel the pulse of 
 the town by first playing the other two. As to 
 Young Wilding, it is to be remembered that Mr. 
 Palmer will be with me, who is established in the 
 part. This fact I leave to your discretion." 
 
 On the 8th of June, Elliston thus announced his 
 marriage to his uncle at Cambridge : — 
 
 " My DEAR Sir, — It would be difficult for me to 
 imagine an occasion more happy than an union 
 with the lady who has become my wife, and the 
 privilege of communicating the fact to you. 
 
 " In adding a connexion to that family, of which 
 
 * TJiis was good advice in Colman ; the piece, when pro- 
 duced, did fail — it was entitled, "The Charity Boy."
 
 ANNOUNCEMENT TO HIS UNCLE. /O 
 
 you are justly the pride and ornament, I have done 
 it no discredit in the choice I have made ; for I 
 have united with it all that goodness of heart, sweet- 
 ness of temper, or intellectual capabilities could 
 confer. In point of fortune we meet on equal 
 terms, and it will be our mutual endeavour to im- 
 prove her favours. We have been flattered by the 
 congratulations of some of the leading families of 
 this place, and encouraged by the assurance of 
 their patronage. I have engaged a small house for 
 our accommodation — small, but neat, and suited to 
 our present circumstances. It was not my inten- 
 tion to have married until Midsummer, but Mrs. 
 EUiston was compelled to open her academy by 
 August, and as the preparations required time, we 
 have stolen this matrimonial march upon the ex- 
 pectation of our friends. This will also leave me 
 at liberty to bring her with me to London, where I 
 have engaged to perform for two or three nights, 
 about the 24th of this month. 
 
 " It is unnecessary, I am sure, for me to add 
 that I anxiously look to the opportunity of intro- 
 ducing this lady to you. I feel that I wait only 
 your approval of my choice for the completion of a 
 sense of happiness. 
 
 " Believe me, my dear Sir, 
 '' Your dutiful and affectionate nephew, 
 
 " R. W. Elliston. 
 
 " Chapel Row, 8tli Juiu', —90."
 
 76 HAYMARKET THEATRE. 
 
 Nothing worthy particular remark signahzed the 
 wedding da)^ beyond the great event itself, except, 
 indeed Miss Flemming appearing in the character 
 of bride-maid — a part she w^ent through in a state 
 of mind not very unhke that of some heir-pre- 
 sumptive to a rich estate, who, having for twenty 
 years been in the habit of looking on the reversion 
 as inevitably his own, suddenly hears of the birth 
 of a direct heir, leaving him in the interesting situa- 
 tion of 10,000/. borrow^ed on his expectancies. We 
 may, perhaps, notice also the little coincidence of 
 Foote's " Maid of Bath" being advertized in the 
 bills of the night, in which Elliston himself played 
 the part of Major Racket. 
 
 On the 25th of June, 1796, Elliston made his 
 first appearance in London, at the Haymarket 
 Theatre, in the part of Octavian, in the " Moun- 
 taineers;" and played on the same evening, Vapour, 
 in the farce of " My Grandmother." On the en- 
 suing morning, the following notices made also 
 their appearance in the boards of the journals : — 
 " This young performer had acquired considerable 
 reputation from the reports of provincial theatres ; 
 and his claims are such, that, in our opinion entitle 
 him to the favourable reception he has met with 
 from a London audience. He appears to possess that 
 first requisite to an actor — good conception of his 
 character. Many passages in his performance of 
 Octavian were marked by energy and feeling. His
 
 (C 
 
 OCTAVIAN." 11 
 
 pathos made a successful appeal to the hearts of 
 the audience, and discovered powers beyond the 
 common artifice of trick. His delivery in general 
 was good, except that, when he was desirous of 
 being impressive, he was occasionally too rapid. 
 In Vapour, he disclosed some power of whim and 
 humour." 
 
 Again — " Doctors differ, says the proverb, and 
 it would be curious if critics were to agree. Some 
 say that the new performer, Mr. EUiston, succeeded 
 very well in Octavian, but was indifferent in Vapour. 
 Others think that his Vapour was good, but his 
 Octavian by no means successful. A critic, says 
 Dean Swift, is like a dog at a feast — intent only on 
 what the guests throw away. Admitting, therefore, 
 that of these critics some were pleased with tlie 
 tragedian, others with the comedian, there is not 
 much wonder that, each in his capacity of critic, 
 seized on what was bad in either of the perform- 
 ances, as their inclination directed." 
 
 Taking the various accounts given at the time, 
 there can be no doubt that EUiston made a decided 
 " hit" in the part of Octavian, and in all pi'obability 
 would have shot equally well in Vapour, but for this 
 double aim of being successful in the two characters, 
 before an entirely new audience. However con- 
 fident he might have felt in his powers, the very 
 temperament of the critic was to be dreaded ; and 
 it was not likely, whatever his claim mi2;ht have
 
 78 " SHEVA, 
 
 )> 
 
 been, that equal and unqualified praise would have 
 been his portion in this ambidextrous attempt. 
 Nay, the very delight which the spectator might have 
 felt in witnessing his former performance, was hos- 
 tile to his chance in the latter, from the very unwil- 
 lingness to disturb the first impression, of which 
 the wax was scarcely set — like algebraic quantities, 
 they might have destroyed each other. We remem- 
 ber to have heard an anecdote of a lady whose 
 coachman suddenly discovered a wonderful know- 
 ledge of floriculture and the management of the 
 conservatory, but on no account would she suff'er 
 him to touch a flower ; it turned out, however, that 
 he had passed nearly his whole life in the labour of 
 nursery-grounds, and had scarcely once handled 
 the reins before the first Sunday he drove her lady- 
 ship to church. 
 
 On the 28th, Elliston repeated Octavian to great 
 applause and an overflowing audience, and on the 
 30th he appeared in the character of Sheva. His 
 success in this part was undeniable. In the opinion 
 of the journals, " no performer of better promise 
 had presented himself in London for many years," 
 and the Bath actor was, sur le champ, a confirmed 
 favourite with the London public. These two parts, 
 Octavian and Sheva, he alternately repeated for a 
 few nights, according to agreement. 
 
 Early in July, Elliston resumed his professional 
 duties at Bath, and within a week of his return, his 
 benefit at Bristol took place, whereby he cleared
 
 colman's letter. 79 
 
 nearly one hundred pounds — a sum hitherto un- 
 precedented in that city. On the 15tli of the same 
 month, he received the following flattering commu- 
 nication from Mr. Colman : — 
 
 " London, July 14, 1796, 
 
 " My Dear Sir, — I shall be very happy to see 
 you again the moment your engagement will permit 
 you to return. I will either defer settling terms till 
 we meet, or fix them with you by letter. If you 
 prefer the latter, pray propose, and nothing that I 
 am able to effect shall be left undone to meet your 
 wishes. 
 
 " Octavian and Sheva, you might, I am confident, 
 repeat with increase of reputation to yourself, and 
 advantage to the theatre. Hamlet, too, (of whom 
 you seem a little afraid,) has nothing in the cha- 
 racter which is not within your scope. If you 
 fancy my hints can be of service to you in any 
 part, 1 think they may be so in this, for 1 have 
 been reading " Hamlet" with no small attention, 
 on your account, since your departure. Believe 
 me, whenever I may have anything to suggest, I 
 shall manifest that freedom and friendship which I 
 am most truly inclined to shew you. 
 
 " I am, my dear Sir, sincerely yours, 
 
 " G. Colman." 
 
 To this letter, so full of hope and encouragement, 
 EUiston did not reply for several days ; for not-
 
 80 MR. GORE. 
 
 withstanding his recent anxiety to appear in Lon- 
 don, and his great reception there, he still doubted 
 whether it would not be wiser to remain in a place 
 which had become so essentially his home. " Hors 
 de Bath, point de salut," thought he. 
 
 In the meantime, he received a letter from Mr. 
 Gore,* a gentleman who had long been on terms of 
 great intnnacy with the Elliston blood, which in 
 respect of Robert William was not likely to be now 
 invaded ; as, above all things in life, the Captain's 
 besetting passion was a play. 
 
 " Why have you not replied to Colman's letter ?" 
 says he ; " you should not be too confident. Sense 
 of security is mortals' frailty ; and a man who has 
 behaved so kindly to you as Colman, has a claim on 
 your best attention. Believe me, you are mucn to 
 blame. I see no reason why you should stand in 
 awe of Hamlet ; you have every qualification for it, 
 except feature, and art may do much for you even 
 in this. Dismiss all apprehension ; and as at our 
 Swedish game of ' Fer Heme,' rush boldly forward, 
 and win by daring. I would say to you as Ceesar 
 did to the pilot, who was afraid to put to sea in a 
 hurricane, — ' Quid times ? Ca3sarem veins !' 
 
 * Mr. and Lady Morris Gore resided chiefly at Bath, and were 
 on the best terms with tlie Ellistons. Mr. Gore and his lady were 
 sjjonsors for two children — Mr. Gore, for William Elliston, born 
 18th October, 1798 ; and Lady Morris Gore, for Frances Maria, 
 born 13th August, 1800.
 
 JOCULAR EPISTLE. 81 
 
 " Jack Bannister has recovered his politeness ; 
 after all, what I fancied coolness might really have 
 been fancy. Cumberland and myself have met — 
 we chatted together last Friday behind the scenes 
 very freely, upwards of an hour. He talked much 
 about you ; and be not angry, that I praised you 
 highly as a good son and honest man. Last night 
 I was behind the scenes, at Colman's. Jack Ban- 
 nister bowed again en passant, more coolly than 
 he was wont to do. Perhaps he had heard of my 
 attendance on you, and rooks will smell gunpowder. 
 Charles Kemble asked very kindly after you ; he 
 seemed pleased to hear of your probable return 
 this season. Waldron, the renowned Sir Walter 
 Raleigh, rapped out some dozen oaths — swore ' by 
 'gad,' he could not have thought there was so much 
 stuff in you — that, ' by 'gad,' you had taken them 
 all in ; and that you were an astonishing young 
 man. He talked of Garrick, of whom, to his 
 teeth, he knows no more than I of Sanconiatho. 
 He said, too, he had heard you were engaged at 
 Covent Garden, at 20Z. a week. Then came the 
 Apollo of the house, (Colman,) who asked me if I 
 had received a letter from you ? ' Oh, the rogue !' 
 he replied ; * how can he neglect me so, when he 
 knows I am so impatient to hear from him V 
 
 " In the front of the theatre I met Reynolds ; he 
 told me he had finished another comedy for Harris, 
 in which Lewis is to play Harlequin — ' It is full of 
 
 G
 
 82 GEORGE III. 
 
 stale jokes,' said he ; ' and the characters cast in 
 the same mould as the former ones — and as for 
 plot, even the lying critics can't accuse me of 
 stealing them from other people, for my plays have 
 no plots at all.' This isn't being too partial to one's 
 own — is it? There is much conversation stirring 
 here on the death of Robert Burns ; but honourable 
 fame is imperishable. I cannot do better than 
 dismiss my letter with a hint so useful." 
 
 On the 1st of August, Colman again wrote to 
 Elliston, saying that he had actually announced 
 him to appear at the Haymarket, in a few days. 
 " Let us leave all terms to be arranged at our 
 meeting," he observed ; " I flatter myself you will 
 not be dissatisfied with me." 
 
 It is clearly to be seen that Colman w^as ex- 
 tremely anxious Elliston should join him as soon 
 as possible. In fact, he had a great and par- 
 ticular object at this moment in view — an object, 
 which it was necessary for him at once to carry ; 
 and one which, though Elliston was to become 
 the chief instrument, was as yet a secret to the 
 actor, and known only but in the wary councils of 
 the manager. 
 
 The patronage which George the Third graciously 
 extended to the drama, and to the benefit of meri- 
 torious actors, should never be forgotten. In this 
 summer (1796) Quick played nine nights at Wind- 
 sor, of which the King commanded six !
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The " Iron Chest" — Colman's *' Preface" — Observations on his 
 dispute with Kemble — Elliston studies Sir Edward Mortimer 
 — Plays the part — His entire success-— Reflections of the 
 " Mirror" — The widow Collins — An original Conservative — 
 Her eccentric letter — Sheridan's application to our hero — 
 Another letter from the widow — Elliston plays Philaster at 
 Covent Garden — Colman's renewed applications — Mrs. 
 Elliston, a thriving wife — Elliston plays Walter with sue 
 cess — "Seeing the world" — ''The Court of Comus'' — 
 Club anecdotes — Cussans, a great oddity — Various anec- 
 dotes respecting him. 
 
 Most of our readers are aware of the untoward cir- 
 cumstances which attended the production of Col- 
 man's drama of "The Iron Chest" — that the essential 
 incidents of the piece were taken from Goodwin's 
 novel (" Caleb WiUiams") — that it was tirst repre- 
 sented at Drury Lane Theatre, in March, 1796 — 
 and that the event was disappointment and failure ; 
 on the cause of which, great diversity of pubhc 
 opinion was let loose, but on which the mind of the 
 author was at least free from any embarrassment of 
 doubt, as appeared by a " Preface'' to the publica- 
 
 R 2
 
 84 " THE IRON CHEST. 
 
 ji 
 
 tion of the above — a production which, at the time, 
 excited very general and animated attention. 
 
 The genus irritabile vatum is a zoological classifica- 
 tion much older than the daysof Cuvier or Humboldt, 
 and the delirium tremens which tracks the propensity 
 to write, is as certain as that which follows on an 
 abandonment to drink. It is inseparable from both 
 diseases, and clearly shews how wary men should 
 be in contracting either. There never was a beauty 
 who more complaisantly assented to her own 
 charms, than an author to his ; and it is not sur- 
 prising, therefore, that when any literary creation — 
 a drama, for instance — should fall short of the 
 palpitating presage of its sponsor, he will look for 
 the cause of it on the shores of China, or in the 
 philosophy of Ptolemy, rather than have the least 
 suspicion so lengthy a journey was altogether un- 
 necessary. 
 
 That Mr. Colman might have had many grounds 
 for regret, and some for complaint, the very subse- 
 quent success of this drama is a sufficient proof; 
 but nothing surely could justify an attack on Mr. 
 Kemble, which, for loud invective and an im- 
 pudicious use of " local" language, (for the first 
 time, then, the weapons of a gentleman,) is cer- 
 tainly entitled to its distinction of the " memor- 
 able." That a rhapsody so furious should seize on 
 public attention was no matter of surprise ; but 
 attention may be engaged without approbation
 
 ... 85 
 
 COLMAN S PREFACE. 
 
 making one of the party. We are amused at the 
 fury of the man, rather than admire the science of 
 the combatant, and are not with great difficulty led 
 to believe that he who penned so impotent a piece 
 of reasoning, might possibly have written a play 
 not worth the acting. 
 
 No one has a greater veneration for the memory 
 of Mr. Colman than ourselves ; we bear it, with 
 thousands, towards him as a dramatist, and we 
 cherish it with the comparative few who knew him 
 the charm of social life ; how completely, therefore, 
 should the character and station of Mr. Kemble 
 have protected him from an assault, which might 
 have been pardoned in a class less accomplished 
 than that of Mr. Colman, and in whose coarser 
 perceptions such outpourings might have been ac- 
 counted masterlv ! 
 
 At no epoch of the drama were writers more 
 indebted to actors than the time at which Colman 
 wrote, and none of them more so than Mr. Colman 
 himself. We would detract nothing from the 
 merits of " John Bull," or the " Heir at Law ;" but 
 we do mean to congratulate the reputation of the 
 author that these plays w^ere produced at this genial 
 period — a time in which, when contracting a debt 
 of gratitude to the talent of the profession generally, 
 he should long have deliberated before offering a 
 public insult to the first and greatest of the order. 
 
 The cause of the dispute itself we do not enter
 
 86 OBSERVATIONS THEREON. 
 
 into — its interest passed away with the moment that 
 begot it ; satisfied we are that no provocation can 
 acquit Mr. Colman of doing either violence to his 
 friend or injustice to himself — a dispute in which, 
 as he was not nice in respect of implements of 
 offence, it is the more mournful that he should have 
 been without a triumph — for triumph this was none, 
 except with those who, like himself, could mistake 
 fury for argument, and '' calling names" for the 
 pungency of satire. 
 
 Mr.D'Israeh, in noticing the infirmities of genius, 
 gives the following pointed illustration of self-ap- 
 ])lause in the case of Kepler, which, mutata parte, 
 might be here applied. " I dare insult," cries the 
 astronomer, '' the whole world, by confessing that 
 I am he who has turned science (a novel) into 
 advantage (a play). If I am pardoned, I shall re- 
 joice — if blamed, I shall endure it. The die is cast. 
 I have written this book (* Preface ! '), and whether 
 it be read by posterity, or by my cotemporaries, is 
 of little consequence — it can well wait for readers 
 during one century, when God himself, during six 
 thousand years, has not sent an observer (a dra- 
 matist) like myself!" 
 
 No sooner was Elliston safe in Colman's hands, 
 than the manager disclosed his purpose — namely, 
 the resuscitation of " Sir Edward Mortimer, '^ in the 
 person of Robert Elliston* Having taken some 
 
 * Many were the poetic gerniiuatious on the Colman and
 
 LETTER. 
 
 87 
 
 liberties with Mr. Colman's preface, we must now, 
 in justice to the drama itself, pursue its history to 
 the close. 
 
 The " Mirror," a great theatrical authority of the 
 time, had pronounced this play beyond all hope ; 
 that it was a very defective piece of work, and under 
 no circumstances could possibly make a permanent 
 stand. But the experiment Colman was resolved 
 to make ; — the magic lamp he was determined to 
 possess, and on looking round for a fit instrument 
 to his project, fixed on the young ''Aladdin" he had 
 purposely enticed to London. EUiston was of an 
 ardent but not a presumptuous temper. " Hamlet" 
 he had regarded with becoming diffidence of his 
 immature powers, and the proposition now made to 
 him of rescuing from the very grave a subject which 
 the faculty had pronounced beyond all cure, and em- 
 phatically given over by the great Paracelsus himself, 
 inspired him with no slight sensations of fear. 
 
 Having played Octavian on the 12th of August, 
 and repeated it on the 22nd; he resumes his corres- 
 pondence with his uncle : — 
 
 " Here am I once more in the metropolis, and have 
 again paid my respects to a London audience, by 
 whom I have been received with renew^ed — with in- 
 
 Kemble case — the best, perhaps, a quotation from the Roman 
 Satirist — 
 
 '' populus nie sibilat ; at mihi phiiulo 
 
 Ipse domi, simul ac nunimos contem|)lor in Area."
 
 88 ELLISTON ACTS " SIR E. MORTIMER." 
 
 creased demonstrations of welcome. Colman's 
 ' Iron Chest,' which has made some noise in the 
 dramatic world, is published, and with it a ' Preface,' 
 or a prescription, which the author no doubt in- 
 tended for Kemble's malady. You will be much 
 diverted with it. The ' Iron Chest' is now to be 
 performed at the Hay market, and T am fixed on to 
 take the character of Sir Edward Mortimer. It is 
 thought by many a bold attempt, but by none more 
 so than myself. If this succeeds, it will do greatly 
 for me ; if it fails, the blame will remain where the 
 public voice has already declared it — on the play 
 and the author. Young Bannister, eaten up with 
 spleen, has positively refused my repeating Sheva, 
 which he claims his unalienable own ; and as I do 
 not think it prudent to perform Hamlet, or indeed 
 anything I could not confidently offer to the public, 
 I am at a stand. The ' Iron Chest' engages all my 
 attention — I am already in the stirrup of my pur- 
 pose — wish me, dear sir, success." 
 
 The morning of the 29th arrived. Never had 
 EUiston felt himself more depressed, not even 
 when at Hull he believed himself abandoned by 
 his revered relative. Bannister had not treated 
 him kindly of late, — the words of a respectable 
 journal, speaking of Elliston's Sheva, rankled, per- 
 haps in his memory — " We may set it down as one 
 of the first exhibitions of the day," — so thatElliston 
 began almost to sour at that success which had
 
 HIS ENTIRE SUCCESS. 89 
 
 purchased him the " slings and arrows" of distem- 
 pered friends. He remembered Colman's words, 
 *' A new play redoubles the hazard to a new actor." 
 How disheartening, therefore, had become his 
 present chance ! He almost fancied this manager- 
 author was sacrificing him to the desperate hope of 
 his own extrication. The state of his nerves was 
 something like that of a young barrister on the 
 first day of term, having " to move" in a court as 
 yet unconscious of his accents. A thousand times 
 did he wish the " new trial" were already granted. 
 
 A full house and loud encouragement greeted the 
 appearance of the Haymarket Sir Edward, which, 
 like the first shot in the field, freed his spirit from 
 its bondage, and he entered gallantly on the fight. 
 The experiment was adequate to the purpose — 
 Colman's object was fully accomplished, and Ellis- 
 ton's fame in a considerable degree advanced. The 
 play met with success — the chief performer wdth 
 approbation and applause, — and from that moment 
 the " Iron Chest" became a stock-piece in the 
 acting drama ! 
 
 The " Mirror" now found itself in an awkward 
 predicament. Fain would it still declare, " No 
 looking-glass was half so true!" but its face became 
 not a little wavy, and gave a somewhat distorted 
 line ta the features, like some of those cheap 
 glasses which hang about the neighbourhood of 
 Drury Lane.
 
 90 THE *' MIRROR." 
 
 The " Mirror" — a Kemble reflector — had hitherto 
 represented Elliston also in rather showy colours; 
 but now, although brighter hues were before it, it had 
 been breathed upon by some interest or other which 
 materially dimmed its surface. But Elliston, who 
 by this time had himself manifested sundry incli- 
 nations for " taking another glass," was constrained 
 for a moment to accept the goods the gods provided. 
 The paragraph is curious : — " Had Mr. Kemble 
 played Mortimer infinitely better than he did, the 
 ' Iron Chest' would, nevertheless, have been con- 
 demned at Drury Lane." (It has been acted at 
 Drury Lane a hundred times since with success.) 
 *' Had Mr. Elliston not played half so well as he 
 did, the ' Iron Chest' would have been successful 
 at Mr. Colman's own theatre." (The insinuation is 
 clear ; the charge easily made ; but does the history 
 of the piece for forty years bear out the assertion ? 
 Had its success been the work of " claqueurs," the 
 pages of the " Iron Chest" had long since gone to 
 the trunkmakers.) 
 
 Elliston, of course, transmits the earliest intel- 
 ligence to his uncle. " I have played this part," 
 he says, " at a fortnight's notice; and the 'Iron 
 Chest,' by the spirited exertions of the performers, 
 has been entirely successful. For myself, I feel I 
 have been equal to many of the points, but know, 
 at the same time, my deficiency in others. This I 
 must endeavour to supply. Our author is de-
 
 THE WIDOW COLLINS. 91 
 
 lighted — talks of a very great triumph ; nor do 
 his looks belie him. I am, consequently, in high 
 favour — too high to remain long on the wing." 
 
 The " Iron Chest" was acted every evening, 
 from the 29th to the last of the season, with the 
 exception of those appointed for actors' benefits. 
 For his own " night," EUiston played Romeo — a 
 free benefit, by which he cleared ?04/. 
 
 But not merely with the young and ardent, to 
 whom novelty is as the very dayspring of exist- 
 ence, bad Elliston become an object of interest, 
 but he shared also the regard of those in whom 
 passion is said to wait on the judgment, and 
 sobriety to reprove the whispers of imagination. 
 
 Of that mature class to which Bath had long 
 been a haven and a refuge, was a Mrs. Collins, 
 a widow lady, who, having here buried her hus- 
 band three years since, with whom she had lived 
 in tolerable peace for full thirty, was content to 
 make the experiment of her viduity in the same 
 place which had yielded her so fair an average of 
 connubial profit. 
 
 Mrs. Collins was a respectable, well-meaning 
 woman ; though sometimes falling into errors to 
 which good intentions are notoriously prone. She 
 had, however, one peculiarity, which, as it ran 
 into extremes, we fear we must place in the cata- 
 logue of sins ; and this was, tbat she never de- 
 stroyed, parted with, or lost sight of anything
 
 92 AN ORIGINAL CONSERVATIVE. 
 
 which had ever once passed into her possession. Not 
 that she was a niggard : on the contrary — she was 
 liberal with her means and generous in her senti- 
 ments, but she was incurably possessed with the 
 acervatic spirit of hoarding. Neither note, slip, 
 scrap, bill, nor account had she ever sentenced to 
 the flame : however trivial the document, however 
 perished the occasion, the senseless record was still 
 enrolled in her " Cottonian" Museum. " Mr. Jones 
 will see Mr. Fitz Simons at two o'clock this day," 
 she had already preserved for twenty years ; pro- 
 spectuses of schemes never carried into effect ; 
 shop cards of parties long since in the " Gazette ;" 
 London Directories previous to the days of Wilkes, 
 and hallowed almanacks nearly coeval with herself. 
 Saddles and stoves, frames of pictures and remnants 
 of carpet ; locks of doors and stoppers of decanters; 
 injured Daplines, and noseless Strephons ; spec- 
 tacle-cases and snuffer-stands ; boot-hooks and 
 bell- wires ; old turnpike-tickets and wine-corks ; 
 cataplasms of a relative who died of a gangrene, 
 and the residue of Mr. Collins' medicine in his 
 last illness. 
 
 This well-saved heterogeneous mass, occupying 
 sundry attics, and yielding but little rent, the 
 good widow at stated periods deemed it neces- 
 sary to overhaul and examine. Taking stock in 
 an extensive retail concern was a trifle to this job — 
 it was her occupation for days — the whole went
 
 HEAPS AND HOARDS. 93 
 
 through the operation of fresh pepper for preser- 
 vation, and new labels for inventory ; and according 
 to Elliston, who was ever mightily amused with the 
 original, she had actually an old jack-weight brought 
 once a-year before the kitchen fire, to be w^U aired 
 and made comfortable with the other articles. 
 
 With this besetting propensity to conservation, 
 it may be supposed that she guarded with Papistic 
 zeal every relic of her sainted husband. There was 
 his wig, his hat, his walking-stick, and every thread 
 and button that had encased his perishable form. 
 In fact she had saved all things but him. 
 
 These, of course, w^ere admitted, at stated periods, 
 to the healthier participation of light and air ; and 
 on the saint-days set apart for this holy observance, 
 the looker-on might have been well excused for his 
 uncharitable misgivings, in viewing the widow's 
 chamber strewn with the apparel of a man, or 
 dangUng from a hempen line, " in the same figure 
 of the king that's dead," and whispering to his 
 imagination the terrific legend of the " Widow of 
 Ephesus." 
 
 But these eccentricities destroyed not the more 
 sterling quality of Mrs. Collins. She had the interest 
 of her young friends really at heart. Mrs. Elliston 
 she always valued, and Robert William she some- 
 times admonished. This she did occasionally by 
 letter ; and though we do not consider her grave 
 exhortations so necessary to our readers, as the
 
 94 ECCENTRIC LETTER. 
 
 object to whom she addressed them, we cannot 
 refrain from giving one or two examples, which 
 constitute, in fact, so positive a part of the history 
 of our subject itself. 
 
 The following characteristic epistle Elliston re- 
 ceived before leaving Bath — addressed " Milsom 
 Street:"— 
 
 " I am always in terror, my dear young friend, 
 when I hear you are to dine at the houses of those 
 who love to push the bottle, and think robbing per- 
 sons of their reason is an evidence of hospitality. 
 In this class is Sir J. Cope — and I deem it a kind 
 of duty to let you into his character. Beware of 
 going a second time to the ' Harmonic' with a head 
 full of discord. I heard, with concern, the dispute 
 you got into; but forbore defending you to Mrs. E., 
 lest she might really have heard nothing of the mat- 
 ter. When your enemies {for so they are) would 
 lead you astray, repeat to them your own constant 
 expression, 'professional people should be cautious.' 
 What is become of Mr. Foote ? Prav let me know 
 if he is to perform again — I have a particular wish 
 to see him, because he was recommended to Mrs. C. 
 Brownlow by Colonel Greville. 
 
 " Your faithful friend, A. C. 
 
 ** P.S. Tbe benefit tickets which were not used I 
 have put by.''
 
 SHERIDAN APPLIES TO ELLISTON. 95 
 
 Not many days after the first representation of 
 the "Iron Chest," at the Haymarket, EUiston 
 received offers from hoth Mr. Harris and Mr. 
 Sheridan. The latter gentleman, having appointed 
 to breakfast with him, was so far true to his engage- 
 ment, but arrived in Frith Street at a quarter before 
 six o'clock, P.M., just seven hours after the time 
 that had been named. Sheridan, however, imme- 
 diately entered on the business of his mission, and 
 appeared extremely anxious to see this new meteor 
 under the dome of Drury Lane Theatre ; but EUis- 
 ton, a newly married man, his wife settled at Bath, 
 in partnership with Miss Flemming under a bond 
 of 500/., and himself the paramount favourite as 
 an actor in the same place, was not easily per- 
 suaded to the project. 
 
 He therefore made such proposals to Sheridan 
 as he pretty well knew could not be acceded to — 
 namely, 1000/. to be paid down — the forfeit sum of 
 his articles with Dimond, the penalty of the bond 
 in respect of his wife, " and in conclusion," a large 
 weekly salary for his own professional exertions. 
 Besides which, his preference would have been 
 decidedly in favour of Covent Garden, as he fancied 
 better security for payment would be there forth- 
 coming — a consideration which we trust our readers 
 will deem reasonable enough. The result was, that 
 Mr. Harris proved the successful bidder — his pro- 
 posal being that Elliston should play twelve nights
 
 96 SECOND LETTER FROM THE WIDOW. 
 
 in the course of the season ; to receive 200/. ; and 
 in the event of his being found greatly attractive, 
 to be paid an adequate additional sum. 
 
 In the meantime our new acquaintance, Mrs. 
 Collins, again addresses him. Like Mr. Gore, she 
 was a nice observer of manners, and, like him, 
 passionately fond of the drama : — 
 
 " Ashley Grove, August 19, 1797. 
 
 " Dear Friend, — I have heard with pleasure 
 from sweet Mrs. Elliston, who kindly enclosed a 
 paragraph from the " Oracle,'' which gave me infi- 
 nite satisfaction. As you request me to become 
 your monitress, I do not think I should discharge 
 the trust faithfully ^ unless I were to transmit my 
 sentiments as you may give occasion for them, lest 
 by delay they might be too late to be useful. I have 
 been perusing the part of Colonel Fainwell, with 
 much attention — and it strikes me as one calculated 
 to portray your powers and versatility, to great 
 advantage. 
 
 " But, on a subject infinitely of greater import- 
 ance., (no less, my young friend, than the preserva- 
 tion of your health and morals,) it now behoves me 
 to say a feiu words. You will readily believe I 
 wish you to consult Mr. C* on theatricals only. 
 Avoid being led by him into convivial parties, which 
 may be ruinous to your purse, and, above all, to 
 
 * Colman.
 
 DEBUT AT COVENT GARDEN. 97 
 
 your peace of mind. Be wary of him when the 'play- 
 house doors are shut ! Of his abilities I think highly, 
 and therefore wish you to talk \vith him on your 
 performing Belcour and Don Felix on the stage of 
 the theatre ; but on the stage of life, have as Uttle to 
 do with any of them as possible. I am pleased to 
 hear you are to appear in Walter. You outshone 
 Bannister in Sheva, and may do no less in Walter. 
 If it be practicable, I wall attend on your night at 
 the Haymarket, therefore let me have your bill of 
 fare. 
 
 *' In a feiv hours, I set off for Bath, where I hope 
 to find Mrs. Elliston and my pretty god-daughter* 
 well. 
 
 "Believe me, my dear friend, your faithful well- 
 wisher. " Anne Collins." 
 
 *« To Mr. Elliston, 
 
 Frith Street, Soho, London." 
 
 On the 21st of September, 1797, Elliston made 
 his debut on Covent Garden stage, in the part of 
 Sheva. His observant friends had long confirmed 
 the opinion of Tate Wilkinson — namely, that too 
 frequently he had wanted power, and they were 
 consequently not without some apprehension that 
 he might not be fully successful in so large a 
 theatre. But in himself he had better confidence; 
 the hint he had taken wisely, and had so cherished 
 
 * Eliza, EUiston's first ciiild, born at Bath, May '2'2, 1797. 
 
 H
 
 98 " FHILASTER." 
 
 the very necessary faculty to metropolitan excel- 
 lence, that he opened new beauties in the imper- 
 sonation of this character, and produced an effect 
 that, while the most sanguine were taken by sur- 
 prise, the backward and unwilling confessed he was 
 indeed an actor. The night's receipt, amounting to 
 258/., was welcome as summer to Mr. Harris ; and 
 on EUiston's repeating the part on the 28th, the 
 amount was 300/. — on the following evening he 
 acted the same character at Bristol ! 
 
 On the 9th of October, after repeating 8heva at 
 Covent Garden, the bills announced that the pro- 
 prietors of the Bath Theatre had consented that 
 Elliston should perform in London once in every 
 fortnight throughout the season, and that his sub- 
 sequent characters would be those of Philaster and 
 Don Felix. On the 26th, he played Douglas ; and 
 on the IGth of November, Elliston acted Sheva, by 
 command of their Majesties. On the 24th of the 
 same month, he appeared in Philaster, in Beau- 
 mont and Fletcher's play of the same title, as 
 altered for William Powell by the elder Colman 
 in 1673. 
 
 On EUiston's being announced for Douglas, Col- 
 man writes a hasty note to him, saying, " I don't 
 much admire this schoolboy, water-gruel Douglas — 
 he will not advance you ; and I am decidedly 
 averse to Don Felix. I have more than hinted to 
 Mr. Harris he should not run you out of wind.
 
 colman's renewed application. 99 
 
 Slowly and sure — they stumble who go fast.' Phi- 
 laster should be a hit." 
 
 " Philaster" is a piece of bilious mosaic, com- 
 pounded in a great measure of the ravings of 
 Hamlet, the jealousy of Othello, and the turbulence 
 of Posthumus — requiring a versatile abundance of 
 mental and physical power, for a stage illustra- 
 tion of character. EUiston's success in Octavian 
 and Mortimer suggested, no doubt, the proba- 
 bility of a '* hit" in this new part; and though 
 he seems to have aimed with good success in 
 those passages wherein tenderness and suspicion 
 alternately prevail, yet on the whole, it does not 
 appear that Philaster was one of his triumphant 
 undertakings. The receipt to " Philaster" was 
 only 148/. — the play was not repeated, nor did 
 EUiston's name appear in the Covent Garden bills 
 after that occasion. He acted only seven nights, 
 for which he received 200Z. 
 
 Elliston again settled at Bath ; Colman renews 
 his correspondence with him : — 
 
 " All I shall observe," he says, " of your Covent 
 Garden business is, that never was so promising 
 a child so ill nursed. Your letter bears with it 
 an air of disappointment ; but you are so unused 
 to checks, that trifles seem to upset you. I must 
 see you fighting under my banner in the summer; 
 but as you cannot be with me throughout the 
 season, how can I, my dear Elliston, write a part 
 
 H 2
 
 100 BATH THEATRE. 
 
 for you without injury to the theatre on the whole? 
 I must apply whatever strength of authorship I 
 have while you are away ; and when you come to 
 town, you in your own person, will be attractive 
 in the old pieces. I am now deep in the business 
 of a new comedy ;* as far as I have proceeded, 
 there is nothing which I think would suit you — 
 it is all sock, not a shred of buskin — nor can I 
 introduce anything likely to shew you off to advan- 
 tage. The cut and dry you can still make palatable. 
 I am for Macbeth ! Open my booth on the 12th 
 of June." 
 
 After some further correspondence, the Hay- 
 market engagement being fixed, Elliston — as fond 
 of rest as an armadillo — desirous, no doubt, of the 
 repose attendant on a state of theatrical proprietor- 
 ship, from what he had seen in Colman's affairs, 
 proposed to himself no less than a similar indul- 
 gence. 
 
 Mr. Palmer, the principal shareholder of the 
 Bath Theatre, had just served the office of mayor 
 of that city, which he carried through in a most 
 expensive and spirited manner, and was conjec- 
 tured, at this moment, to be in want of money — 
 this Elliston thought a good opportunity for endea- 
 vouring to effect a part purchase of the theatre. 
 Measures were taken for this object, and his most 
 
 * This M'as the " Heir at Law."
 
 MRS. ELLISTON. 101 
 
 conciliatory uncle agreed to advance the funds ne- 
 cessary. But Elliston's calculations appear to have 
 been erroneously made : the offer was not enter- 
 tained by the other parties ; and although year 
 after year he renewed his advances, yet his pro- 
 posals were never accepted. When, however, the 
 new theatre was building in 1805, he fancied him- 
 self sure of his object : his offers were not posi- 
 tively rejected, but so many obstacles were raised, 
 that he finally abandoned the project altogether. 
 
 Mrs. Elliston — in all things a good example — 
 gave pleasing indications of " Lucina's" favour, or 
 in other words, of a thriving wife; and in the Mas- 
 ter's consent, by letter, to become godfather to the 
 daughter already born, he observes, — 
 
 " I had fancied the period arrived in which I 
 should not again appear in the character to which 
 you have invited me ; and you may doubt the wis- 
 dom of your choice when, in all probability, before 
 the damsel is able to reply to the first words of her 
 catechism, I may not be found to put the ques- 
 tion." 
 
 Elliston now took a spacious house in Pulteney 
 Street, estimating that he should stand rent-free by 
 letting off part of it — a calculation on which so 
 many similar successes have been built, which, like 
 fortunes made on the slate, appear at the outset so 
 natural and easy. 
 
 Owing to the lateness of the Bath season, Ellis-
 
 102 " WALTER. 
 
 j> 
 
 ton was not able to join the Haymarket company 
 before the 9th of August, when he made his appear- 
 ance in his favourite Octavian. His reception was 
 highly gratifying. He seemed to have surmounted 
 the prejudices even of the enthusiastic followers of 
 Kemble in this part, and obtained credit for that 
 which always charms — originality. The great im- 
 provement he had attained was, a certain energy 
 which had before been wanting ; for the taste of 
 EUiston, at that time, had so little affinity with the 
 vulgarity of rant, that he would not unfrequently 
 rein up the impulse of passion whilst bounding to 
 the goal of some powerful effect. 
 
 Having next played Sir Edward Mortimer, he 
 appeared in the part of Walter, in " The Children 
 of the Wood." Here EUiston had the same ob- 
 stacles to contend with as in Octavian — namely, 
 stepping into a character rendered singularly attrac- 
 tive by a living popular actor. Bannister had justly 
 acquired a perfect command over the feelings of 
 the auditor, in this part of Walter : his acting was 
 natural, simple, yet deeply impressive ; a part, 
 also, in which he was constantly before the public. 
 The stand, however, which the Bath actor made 
 was greatly flattering. 
 
 " Elliston's Walter was only inferior to Bannis- 
 ter's because it did not precede it," said a great 
 theatrical authority ; but although the pathos of the
 
 " SEEING THE WORLD." 103 
 
 part was a material which he was expected successfully 
 to deal with, perhaps he was somewhat too stilted for 
 the impersonation of lowly and familiar scenes — 
 Difficile est communia dicer e" — it was the pathetic 
 of tragedy, not comedy. This, like all Elliston's 
 previous attempts, was no copy — confirming his 
 reputation as an original actor. 
 
 Elliston, " the child of fortune," was now in a fair 
 way of becoming a man of fortune — for not only 
 was he making money, but what is more rare, he 
 was saving it. The sensation, also, he had lately 
 produced rendered him quite " the observed" of the 
 gay metropolis, so that he was nearly as much 
 courted by the elegons of London as he had been at 
 Bath itself. 
 
 But London affords a vast variety of scenes to 
 lads of metal, other than the halls of science, or the 
 chambers of the polite — many places which young 
 men, not absolutely " content to dwell in decencies 
 for ever," would just like to witness once ! — scenes 
 which, being fortunately hidden from the world, 
 and loving darkness rather than light, are some- 
 times sought under the most curious plea which 
 was perhaps ever advanced — namely, of seeing the 
 tvorld! Thus your" good sort of man," stroking 
 his boy's forehead, observes, " The lad should see 
 everything, that he may know what to avoid !" — in 
 other words, " We will lose no time in making
 
 104 CLUBS. 
 
 liim acquainted with folly ; so that, it" he never ac- 
 quire anything else, he shall at least be accom- 
 plished in that." 
 
 The poet indeed says — 
 
 " Vice is of that hideous mien, 
 
 Which to be hated, needs but to be seen;" 
 
 and historians tell us that the antique Spartans 
 would make their helots drunk, for the purpose of 
 deterring the nobler born from so degrading a vice ; 
 but the first, being poetry, is "licensed to deal" in 
 that commodity by which it can alone grow rich, 
 namely, fiction ; and the tendency of the latter is so 
 far disproved by modern experience, that we doubt 
 whether the sight of a hundred reeling footmen 
 W'Ould admonish a single master, or teach him a 
 better lesson, than " as drunk as a lord." 
 
 But to proceed : there existed at this period 
 {1797), as now, in the neighbourhood of the theatres, 
 certain conventions, yclep'd " clubs," which, though 
 not containing the pecuhar essence of Will's, or 
 the precise quality of Button's, had yet an essence 
 and quality of their own. Here was no narrow 
 eligibility or invidious proscription ; " order," in 
 fact, under every denomination, was totally irreco- 
 gnisable — their doors, like a box of charity, were 
 open to the whole world, pro hdc node, on the pay- 
 ment of sixpence. These were frequented chiefly 
 by a class of persons who had but one plan in life.
 
 " COURT OF COMUS." 105 
 
 which was, to give over work the first moment they 
 had earned enough to get drunk for the remainder 
 of the week. 
 
 One of the principal establishments of the above 
 kind was the " Court of Comus," which had laid 
 its foundations in Wych-street, whereof a certain 
 choice spirit of the name of Desborough was rated 
 to the poor ; or in other words, the landlord. This 
 Desborough, as dull a rogue on most points as any 
 in Christendom, was yet famous by a kind of con- 
 centration of genius, the light whereof became more 
 vivid by the illimitable stupidity by which it was 
 encircled. This outrageously stupid man was 
 famous, in fact, for doing one thing well — well ! 
 surpassing, in sooth, any effort of the " Court of 
 Comus" itself— and this was, singing Dibdin's song 
 of " Fortune's Wheel !" 
 
 Stupid Desborough was, indeed, so far before 
 all rivalry in this song, that Charles Dibdin actually 
 sought him out, with another tap-room Apollo, 
 known as Dick Mason, to give him assistance in his 
 musical olios. Desborough most hopelessly failed 
 in everything but " Fortune's Wheel ;" as for poor 
 Dick, he succeeded in nothine;. 
 
 This sort of monophlox, or single flash, is a curious 
 fact in histrionic research, for there is no actor 
 perhaps so obscure but can produce some one little 
 part by which he is rescued from absolute non- 
 entity, and in which he leaves all competition far,
 
 106 FURTHER ANECDOTES. 
 
 far behind him. Of this sort, we recollect to have 
 heard of a certain ill-favoured wench in Sussex, 
 who, though wofully wanting in mental, constitu- 
 tional, and personal qualities, yet excelled the whole 
 sisterhood of the county in the composition of a 
 beef-steak pudding. This solitary accomplishment 
 rendered her illustrious — procured for her a hale, 
 strapping yeoman to take her to church, who allow^ 
 her forthwith but little opportunity for improving 
 any other faculty. 
 
 But to return to the " Court of Comus." Pre- 
 cisely at nine o'clock p.m. by the chimes of St. 
 Clement Dane, the doors of this sanctuary were 
 thrown open to devotees, (who, like crabs, moved 
 only at night,) and the " Flamen" of the sanded floor 
 (Cussans) ascended the curule chair, before whom 
 a pickled herring, some strong waters, and an ounce 
 of tobacco, were regularly placed. 
 
 This celebrated youth was the son of an opulent 
 West Indian, and educated at Marylebone school — 
 an indubitable genius ; but like farmer Ashfield's 
 horse of that name, " he would never work." 
 Cussans had, in fact, many opportunities of mixing 
 in the best society, but the company he preferred 
 to mix with was a cordial far more suited to his 
 taste. 
 
 " A lion cub, of sordid mind. 
 Avoided all the lion kind; 
 He loved the cellar's vulgar joke, 
 And pass'd his hours in ale and smoke."
 
 CUSSANS, AN ODDITY. 107 
 
 Cussans lodged at a baker's, as it afforded him 
 the means of getting in at any hour of the four- 
 and-twenty, except on Saturdays, when he never 
 went home at all. Sims, another lad, hopeful as 
 young Filch himself, occupied one room of a tene- 
 ment in Dark-House Lane, the door of which, for 
 the sake of light and air, had not been shut for 
 forty years ; and Hawtin, the trumpeter and stone- 
 eater, with one Smith, a glass-eyed clarionet-player, 
 constituted the " leaders " in the " Court of 
 Comus." 
 
 On Cussans taking the chair, the official club 
 cocked-hat, resembling very nearly that of Billy 
 Waters, was handed to him by the serjeant-at-arms, 
 Sims ; and the moment he placed it on his head, 
 " the kettle to the trumpet spake," and the court 
 was declared sitting. 
 
 The first thing, as we have heard, was " Fortune's 
 Wheel." Then the renowned Cussans, the court 
 improvisatore, gave a canzona, in which, with some 
 ability, he identified each visitor present ; after- 
 wards, in turn, every one present was separately 
 called on to " do soinething." This " doing some- 
 thing" was imperative, except, indeed, that indul- 
 gences and absolutions might be purchased ; but 
 these, though always marketable, were placed con- 
 siderably beyond the reach of the generality of 
 sinners, the price for each being half-a-crown. 
 ** Doing something" implied either a song, a
 
 108 CUSSANS. 
 
 speech, poising a tobacco-pipe or coal-skuttle ; an 
 imitation of cat, dog, or fowl, posturizing, or the 
 more classic feat of quaffing to the dregs the 
 pewter Amystis* of some potent compound. 
 " Qui canerent agerentque peruncti faecibus ora." 
 
 Each actor had his turn, and each effort its short 
 pre-eminence, till drink alone was triumphant, 
 which, like the sole survivor of the fray, claimed 
 the mown field its own. 
 
 On gala nights, Cussans, as the clock struck 
 twelve, from a god, descended, like Jupiter himself, 
 into a beast, — not, indeed, as a rampant bull, but 
 as a dancing bear ! The scene of riot was thus 
 conducted: — Sims, the bear-leader, beating the 
 bottom of a pewter pot with a marrow-bone, threw 
 a lasso about the loins of Cussans, now rolling in 
 the sand, whilst Hawtin and Smith accompanied 
 the exhibition with other signs and sounds fitting 
 the occasion. The belluine judge, nobly sustaining 
 his part, which, like Snug, the joiner, he might 
 " do extempore, for it was nothing but roaring," 
 danced, whirled, evoluted, till the poor excitement 
 which drunkenness had produced left him at length 
 as lifeless as an unburied corse. 
 
 " Man differs more from man than man from beast." 
 
 * " Araystis,'' a capacious cup, which to drain off at one 
 breath was accounted a glorious piece of drunken Greek valour. 
 — See /lor., Ode xxxvi. lib. i.
 
 A WELL-TIMED SPEECH. 109 
 
 The insane exploits of Cussans would occupy a 
 volume, which as we by no means meditate, 
 we dismiss him with one further anecdote, to shew 
 the keenness of his perception. On one of these 
 occasions, when each spectator had been called on 
 to " do something," an extremely well-attired spec- 
 tator, who had taken his place in the vicinity of a 
 person, evidently a stranger, was about commencing 
 some characteristic " agendum," when up rose the 
 presiding Cussans himself, and thus addressed the 
 assembly : — 
 
 " By the rules of this institution, each individual 
 is called on to do something whereby he proves 
 himself worthy a seat in this fraternity. The gen- 
 tleman before me has already passed a most credit- 
 able examination, and is entitled to exalted honours, 
 for, if I mistake not, his neighbour, on making an 
 appeal to his coat-pocket, will find a snuff-box 
 missing, which, perhaps, the Count Fathom in my 
 eye may be able to account for." 
 
 It is needless to add, this address produced the 
 desired effect, and the pickpocket was forthwith 
 kicked out of court, a punishment which, in the 
 judgment of those present, he richly deserved ; not 
 for the strength of the theft, but, hke the Spartan 
 lad, for his weakness of concealment. 
 
 In his idiosyncrasy, Cussans had also a singular 
 and conceited regard for his word of promise. This, 
 whether given under a false representation from
 
 110 ADVENTURES 
 
 others ; forced at the very point of the bayonet, or 
 filched from him in the moment (the many hours !) 
 of intoxication, he still invariably regarded. Having 
 been reminded that, on one of these occasions, he 
 had promised to hire himself as a pot-boy to a 
 neighbouring house of call for wits, he actually 
 entered on the ignoble service, at the " Red Lion," 
 in Russell-street, for one entire month, at the expir- 
 ation of which, he gave notice to his retainers that 
 a "Lodge" would be open at the "Court of Comus." 
 The procession of his manumission quitted the 
 blushing lion at a certain hour — Sims, Hawtin, and 
 others, occupying the interior of a hackney-coach, 
 and Cussans, ipsissimus, in a harlequin party tire, 
 perched on the roof — Desborough preceding, and, 
 of course, singing " Fortune's Wheel!" 
 
 On another occasion, a review of troops taking 
 place in Hyde Park, before the King and Prince of 
 Wales, Cussans procured a military uniform and 
 charger, and having effected his way on the ground, 
 actually joined the royal party as they were passing 
 along the line. The distinguished stranger attracted 
 presently universal attention, his mock-heroic aspect 
 and imperturbability of deportment bade defiance 
 to the gravity of the whole staff, and shook the 
 nerves of as gallant a brigade as ever entered the 
 field 
 
 Cussans was also a considerable actor ; he played 
 frequently at Sadler's Wells, generally choosing
 
 AND DEATH. 1 1 1 
 
 Sneak, in the " Mayor of Garratt," as he was much 
 celebrated in the character song of ''Oh! Poor 
 Robinson Crusoe !" In this song, he had as many 
 " encores" as he pleased ; and on a certain evening, 
 having sang it three or four times, the curtain drew 
 up for another part of the night's entertainment, 
 when, to the astonishment, but still greater delight, 
 of the Sadler's Wells' auditory, Cussans started up 
 from the very centre of the shilling gallery, vigor- 
 ously singing '' Oh ! poor Robinson Crusoe !" nor 
 would the Wellsites suffer the drama to proceed till 
 he had again sang it twice from the same spot. 
 
 Poor Cussans ! brandy was his death, and water 
 his grave ; for he died on his voyage to a softer 
 climate, and was buried in the deep. 
 
 Such were the " clubs" — such the " Court of 
 Comus !" — ex una, &c., and such was the place (we 
 confess it with a blush) where Robert William, 
 oblivious of dear Mrs. Collins, " when the playhouse 
 doors were shut," satisfied his young curiosity. 
 Shaking his plumes from the encumbrance of rule, 
 and unbuckling the heavy breastplate of decorum — 
 here, amongst the "free and easy," we track the 
 footsteps of our adventurous hero, but (as the 
 " bills" express it) " for this night only" — at least, 
 we hope so — and will therefore leave him to all the 
 gratification the adventure can afford.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 An unexpected meeting — Elliston a critic — Widow Collins 
 again — Elliston a public lecturer — " The Artichoke" — Earl 
 of Harcourt — His Lordship's letter to Mrs. Elliston — Ob- 
 servations on Elliston's "Charles Surface" — Sheridan's 
 note — the Duchess of Devonshire — Two letters of Lord 
 Harcourt — Elliston plays before the King — A royal fete at 
 Frogmore — A curious adventure with Davis, the pugilist — 
 Remarkable anecdote of George HL 
 
 By one of those fortuities which render truth some- 
 times stranger than fiction, the unhappy parents of 
 our hero, between whom, it will be remembered, a 
 separation had taken place many months before, 
 w^ere now brought, face to face, tout a coup, in the 
 small back parlour of a chemist's shop, in Somers 
 Town. 
 
 A crowd had collected before the glazed door, 
 owing to a person having been carried within who 
 had a few minutes before fallen down in a fit. The 
 good mother, passing at the time, being well known 
 to the compounder of drugs, gained ready admit- 
 tance ; and prompted by something better than
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 1 13 
 
 curiosity, approached the unfortunate sufferer just 
 as he was "coming to." No sooner had she 
 fixed her eyes on the object in question, than the 
 epileptic shock seemed instantaneously conveyed 
 by contact with the patient, and clasping her hands, 
 she faintly exclaimed, "Robert!" and sank on a 
 chair beside him. The one was the horloger, Ellis- 
 ton himself, and the good Samaritan no other than 
 his faithful helpmate, whose affection for her hus- 
 band neglect had never w^eakened nor separation 
 estranged. 
 
 But this rencontre was destiny rather than chance, 
 or " chance, direction, which they could not see ;" 
 for being thus brought together, a renewal of con- 
 jugal rights was the result ; and a cottage, in the 
 neighbourhood of Bath, was taken and furnished 
 for the aged couple — the expenses of which, young 
 EUiston, with some assistance from the Doctor, 
 cheerfully engaged to defray. The old lady, how- 
 ever, did not long enjoy the comfort thus provided 
 — she died in November, 1798. 
 
 On EUiston's return to Bath, in 1799, he found 
 his father in a very alarming state, who was there- 
 fore immediately removed from the cottage to his 
 son's house, where he lingered till the June of the 
 following year, and then expired. The fact was, 
 both mother and son had gone through much vexa- 
 tion and painful trouble on the watchmaker's ac- 
 count. Drink had sadlv disordered Nature's works ;
 
 114 ELLISTON A CRITIC. 
 
 and the time-piece, man, was no more. If his 
 
 amiable mate had ever found him a blessing, he 
 
 was, beyond all question, a blessing in disguise, for 
 
 he was seldom sober. So, in his age, like the old 
 
 eagle, he lived only on suction — it was both his 
 
 malady and his medicine. 
 
 " Si nocturna tibi noceat potatio vini, 
 Hanc tu mane bibas iterum, et fuerit mecUcina." 
 
 As a proof of EUiston's sincere and attentive de- 
 votion to his art, at this period of his career, it 
 should be noticed that he was in the habit of 
 drawing up an analysis of each part previous to his 
 first appearance therein. For a brief example, we 
 give an extract of his view of the character of 
 Panglos. 
 
 " It is no uncommon thing to find men of letters 
 courting the hand of power or fortune, by descend- 
 ing to meannesses which an independent mind 
 would shudder at. Knowledge, it would be sup- 
 posed, should fortify the mind to bear disappoint- 
 ments and meet the casualties of life with firmness, 
 but no sooner does the gripe of poverty bind us, 
 than we frequently forget the theorems which have 
 convinced us in books, and altogether discard our 
 philosophy in practice. In this state is the subject 
 of our present contemplation. He continues with 
 few or no attempts to release himself from the 
 caprice and insults of his employers, and his con- 
 science is presently reconciled to his interest. His
 
 HIS REMARKS, ETC. 115 
 
 quotations are not unnatural and irresistibly 
 laughable, and we forgive his vanity for the sake of 
 the mirth it causes. We are not elated at his 
 success, because he has not deserved it. His 
 reverse of fortune we behold with indifference, 
 because his nature is not deeply vitiated. 
 
 " Comic characters are seldom analyzed in their 
 moral features ; we laugh at singularities, without 
 regarding their tendency, which may possibly be 
 bad. The oddity of Panglos, his pedantry and 
 cringing, all combine to make him ridiculous ; but 
 the author has done good dramatic justice ; for, 
 while we find the Doctor amusing, to answer the 
 cause of theatrical entertainment, he is left con- 
 temptible, as a lesson to take home with us." 
 
 Happy should we have been to leave undisturbed 
 the good impression which no doubt our hero has 
 made on our readers, by this example of professional 
 diligence ; but, as faithful historians, we are com- 
 pelled now to present them with a letter, which may 
 possibly raise more than a suspicion of his fallibility, 
 and call to mind those sundry airy securities for 
 good behaviour which in 1792 he showered on his 
 confiding uncle, and made us tremble, at the time, 
 for his liabilities. The epistle is from the conser- 
 vative Mrs. Collins, who, from the storehouse of her 
 affection, supplies the following admonition — the 
 exigency of which occasion will be explained by the 
 tenour of her words. 
 
 I 2
 
 116 MRS. COLLINS AGAIN ! 
 
 " I received your packet, my dear young friend, 
 with mingled sentiments of concern and satisfaction. 
 If I ever mentioned to Mrs. E. the report of your 
 being an unsteady husband, it was to weaken the 
 blow of her being a deceived ivife — for these latter 
 reports are flying about like musquitoes. For myself, 
 I have ever considered you incapable of studied 
 deception ; and the affectionate zeal with which she 
 has often spoken of your unabating tenderness, I 
 would not for the world disturb. 
 
 "That you are really in debt, I never have believed ; 
 but that you go the way to become in debt, I do 
 believe, because I know it — know that you play — 
 gamble — know that you have visited the hazard table 
 — thank God, I do not believe it is yet a habit. 
 But it is in dread of this that I now write — when 
 once the habit is confirmed — when once this idle 
 pleasure has ripened into passion, you are lost to any 
 hope which this world can give of your own preser- 
 vation ; whilst the pang that event will inflict on 
 you, will be a hundredfold repeated in the knowledge 
 that you are the curse instead of the blessing to 
 innocent hearts, who now look up to you alone for 
 shelter, and for whose moral nature you are also 
 responsible. 
 
 " The reports that ' young Elliston is a gambler,' 
 have already reached Mr. Gore; I therefore recom- 
 mend you to take an early opportunity, not of 
 denying these, if they be true, but of breaking the
 
 HER LFTTER. 1 17 
 
 vicious bonds while yet they are within your strength. 
 What have I heard ! that even between the scenes 
 of the very playhouse — frequently in your dressing- 
 room there — you gamble in some shape or other. 
 Can such things fail of notoriety ? and will notoriety 
 have any tenderness for the ears of your Inestimable 
 ivife ? ' I say again, Take heed !' and believe me, 
 
 " Your sincere friend, 
 
 " Anne Collins. 
 
 " P.S. — I hope you have not forgot to thank 
 Lady Perth for her letters to the north in your behalf; 
 and Mr. Ashe thinks it would be right for you to 
 call on Mr. Duff, who addressed his sister, Lady 
 Ann, and several others, for you. You may find 
 out her abode at the Pump Room." 
 
 This letter was unequivocally to the point ; as 
 Elliston secretly confessed, not without abundant 
 reason. He first made an attempt at some display 
 at indignation on reading it, but, like Jonathan 
 Wild, who, when thrust to sea alone, in an open 
 boat, cocked his hat and looked fierce for a moment, 
 and then recollected there was no one by to applaud 
 him, so did our hero think better of his anger, and 
 pocketing the affront, vowed there was no real hap- 
 piness but what conscience approved ; and so passed 
 that evening in the full enjoyment of domestic 
 virtue.
 
 118 
 
 ELLISTON A PUBLIC LECTURER. 
 
 In the midst of these things — the analysis, one 
 moment, and the dice, another — schemes of thea- 
 trical partnership, and sudden excursions of pleasure, 
 — EUiston made his appearance as a public lecturer ! 
 
 During the Lent season of this year, 1798, he 
 undertook a series of lectures, both at Bath and 
 Bristol, on morals and general criticism — it was a 
 kind of "Blair," "Kames," and EUiston partner- 
 ship, in which the moralist and the critic, pleasantly 
 impregnated with the popular actor, drew together 
 very profitable assemblies at both cities, and ended 
 greatly to the success of this new enterprise. Poor 
 Mrs. Collins ! what a letter would she have written 
 — how emphatically scored each alternate word — 
 had she heard the malicious anecdote which for a 
 time prevailed on the termination of these academic 
 displays ! 
 
 It was on a certain evening, at the ancient city 
 of Bristol, after our adventurous scholiast had 
 delivered himself, "ore rotundissimo," on the Life 
 and Genius of Bishop Berkley, and having left 
 his enraptured audience with the words of Pope, 
 "To Berkley every virtue under heaven!" that, 
 having pocketed the proceeds of his spiritual exer- 
 cise, amounting to no less than thirty- six pounds, 
 he carried the same to a house of riot, known in 
 those days as the " Artichoke," scattering the profits 
 of so much godliness amidst "Bates, Dawson, and 
 the rest :" when returning to Bath with his despised
 
 THE EARL OF HARCOURT. 119 
 
 friends — namely, his own reflections, — he was met 
 with a smile of confldence and aflection, which, 
 though in value beyond all human price, stung him 
 in the keenest vibration of his heart. 
 
 Some few months previous to these events, Ellis- 
 ton had discovered the mistake in his calculation of 
 the Pulteney-street establishment. He found that 
 bringing a large house " over his head" was as 
 destructive as an " old one," — part of it had never 
 once been occupied at all, and his tenant for another, 
 had absconded, with a month's rent yet unsatisfied, 
 and a few^ pounds to boot, borrowed from his land- 
 lord in the hurry of some business, by which any 
 gentleman may be surprised. Elliston and his 
 family had now taken up their residence in Bath- 
 wick-street. 
 
 It was about this period Elliston became known 
 to the Earl of Harcourt, a nobleman of unostenta- 
 tious friendliness and refined taste, enjoying the 
 favour of the sovereign, and dispensing patronage 
 and encouragement to British art under every de- 
 nomination. 
 
 The Earl's father had been nominated ambassador 
 extraordinary to the court of Mecklenburgh Strelitz, 
 to demand the Princess Charlotte in marriage for 
 George III. : he lost his life by a lamentable acci- 
 dent — falling into a well in his own park at Nune- 
 ham, and was succeeded by George Simon, the 
 subject of our present notice. This nobleman was
 
 120 HIS LORDSHIPS LETTER TO 
 
 a great patron of the stage and its professors ; the 
 Kemble family shared his especial favour, and many 
 actors of merit his notice and regard. To Elliston 
 and his wife he was most friendly ; and whilst his 
 position enabled him to be highly beneficial in their 
 professional pursuits, his enlightened mind and 
 mature judgment supplied them frequently with the 
 best counsel. 
 
 The two following are among the earliest of Lord 
 Harcourt's letters — the first addressed to Mrs. El- 
 liston. 
 
 " Nuneham, April 6th. 
 
 " Madam, — As it cannot but be gratifying to 
 you to hear the opinion of a good judge of acting, 
 and who is himself an excellent comedian, respecting 
 Mr. Elliston's performance of Charles, I will not 
 deny myself the pleasure of transcribing a para- 
 graph from a letter I received this morning. The 
 approbation of a few such judges, is of far higher 
 value than the plaudits of an unreflecting multitude, 
 for such, I fear, must all multitudes be considered. 
 
 *' ' Charles was better performed by Elliston than 
 by Smith — at least, in my opinion. Smith I never 
 really liked in the part. It was a relief to me not 
 to see the chair leaned upon, &c. &c. Elliston 
 looks the character admirably. Lord St. Helens 
 was as much pleased as myself, who, never having 
 seen O'Brien, thinks Elliston the first gentleman 
 on the stage — he has an easy vivacity and a spiritual
 
 MRS. ELLISTON. 
 
 121 
 
 quality which no other performer possesses — a 
 charming voice, and his side acting is admirable.' 
 
 " If your affection, madam, has some satisfaction 
 from reading this eulogy, my own vanity is grati- 
 fied while I write it, as I take to myself the credit 
 of having discovered Mr. Elliston's peculiar talent 
 in much earlier days than the present. The annals 
 of the stage record two gentlemen actors only — 
 viz., Wilkes, in the time of Gibber and Mrs. Old- 
 field, and O'Brien in that of Garrick, which last- 
 named, with all his astonishing powers both in 
 tragedy and comedy, could be anything— everything 
 — except a gentleman. 
 
 " I am. Madam, your humble servant, 
 
 Who the correspondent of Lord Harcourt really 
 was, does not appear ; but we by no means call on 
 our readers to subscribe implicitly to his opinion of 
 Elliston's personification of Charles Surface. In our 
 own humble impression, Charles w'as not amongst 
 his most successful efforts ; and we the more regret 
 this, as it was no doubt, the dazzle, of this character 
 which led Elliston away from Joseph — a part which 
 he ought to have made most triumpliuntly his own,
 
 122 " CHARLES SURFACE. 
 
 )5 
 
 and but for the other attraction most probably 
 would have done so. 
 
 That he played Charles charmingly, no one can 
 deny ; but his transcendent merit therein is at least 
 equivocal. Joseph Surface is perhaps the most 
 difficult part in comedy on the stage, to sustain with 
 effect — to make what is called a hit, is next to im- 
 possible. Here are no points — no strong situations 
 which sometimes command applause ; all that can 
 be done must be accomplished by sound, intrinsic 
 acting. The character is introduced by neither 
 flower nor flourish — the mere " good morrow" are 
 the simple words committed to him. You sympa- 
 thize with him for not one moment in the play, — 
 for he is no bold-faced villain, who will sometimes 
 beguile the spectator of a transient impulse of pity 
 or applause — he is detested throughout, on whose 
 shoulders the airy fascination of Charles is borne 
 sparkling to the close ; and yet, with all this, is 
 Joseph the hero of the play — a question which the 
 inimitable Palmer satisfactorily proved ; and a fact 
 which EUiston, in that peculiar quality of his art 
 which so distinguished him, ought still to have 
 maintained and perpetuated. 
 
 The second letter is to Elliston himself — the 
 subject of it appears to have been his own benefit. 
 
 " Nunehain, April 24th. 
 
 " Lord Harcourt sends his compliments to Mr. 
 Elliston, and assures him that he has great pleasure
 
 Sheridan's note. 123 
 
 in communicating to him the enclosed letter from 
 Mr. Smith. He thinks it would be more correct 
 and respectful towards their R.R.H.H., the Duke 
 and Duchess of York, to advertise the play to be 
 performed by their command, than under their 
 patronage. No one, except Mr. EUiston himself, 
 need know that their R.R.H.H. cannot actually be 
 present at the performance." 
 
 In July of this year, (1799) Sheridan renewed 
 his attack on Elliston in his Bath fastnesses, 
 bringing so powerful a force into the field, as to 
 calculate on the fullest success. On the 6th, the 
 following despatch reached the besieged party : — 
 
 " Mr. Sheridan presents compliments to Mr. 
 Elliston, and, at the desire of the Duchess of Devon- 
 shire, has transmitted the enclosed. Mr. Sheridan 
 will do himself the pleasure of writing to Mr. Ellis- 
 ton on the subject, in a day or two." 
 
 The enclosure was addressed to Mrs. Elliston by 
 the Duchess, 
 
 " The Duchess of Devonshire has heard so much 
 of Mr, EUiston's success in London, that if he 
 wishes to be engaged at Drury Lane Theatre, she 
 thinks there can be no doubt of his succeeding ; 
 and Mr. Sheridan would offer him terms he would 
 approve. The Duchess will, in case this should 
 take place, endeavour to obtain for Mrs. Elliston a 
 great number of scholars." 
 
 There can be no doubt that the " desire of the
 
 124 DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 Duchess" was, in point of fact, the suggestion of 
 Sheridan himself; who not unnaturally concluded 
 that an application so flattering as that of her Grace 
 of Devonshire — of her 
 
 " Who, had she lived before the Siege of Troy, 
 Helen, whose beauty summon'd Greece to arms, 
 And drew a thousand ships to Tenedos, 
 Had not been named in Homer's Iliad," 
 
 would have been too dazzling for the weak eyesight 
 of the noviciate actor, and that he would have been 
 led blind to the asylum of Drury. But such was 
 not the result — his duty and inclinations had both 
 been pledged to his Bath friends beyond this offer 
 of redemption, and for the present, at least, he 
 refused acceding to any permanent engagement in 
 London. 
 
 Thornton, the Windsor manager, having offered 
 proposals to EUiston for his services for a certain 
 number of nights, Robert William solicits the advice 
 of his friend Lord Harcourt on the occasion, and 
 receives, in consequence, the following answer : — 
 
 "Oxford, July 11, 1799. 
 
 " Sir, — As I understand their Majesties will not 
 leave Windsor before the beginning of next month, 
 I am glad to hear that you are in treaty with Mr. 
 Thornton, as it will be the means of making your 
 talents known to the king and queen, who, I doubt 
 not, will honour you with their commands. I have
 
 LORD HARCOURT. 125 
 
 apprised them of the probability of your engage- 
 ment at Windsor, and allow me to say, their Majes- 
 ties are no strangers to the opinion I entertain of 
 your abilities in the art you profess, or of the esteem 
 I feel for you in your private character. 
 
 " I fear you will experience some difficulty in 
 your choice of character for an appearance before 
 their Majesties ; for I must observe, that if Mr. 
 Thornton's company be not improved since I last 
 saw it, then is it only fit to exhibit in a village barn. 
 This opinion, however, I have kept to myself, lest 
 by its expression I might injure this most wretched 
 band of performers : though I could not but regret 
 so many able haymakers, sturdy blacksmiths, and 
 active ostlers, should thus have miscalculated their 
 usefulness, and despised the station which Provi- 
 dence had evidently allotted them. 
 
 "With this company, I cannot imagine how 
 such plays could be produced which might shew 
 you to advantage ; and I should be concerned to 
 find you were reduced to appear only in such 
 characters, which, having no archetype in nature, 
 render the actor but a mere buffoon, wherein he 
 who stoops lowest is most successful. I wish you 
 had seen Mr. Fawcett and Munden in the " Birth- 
 day." their performance was exquisite; worthy, 
 not only the Garrick school, but even Garrick 
 himself. Munden is an actor of true genius ; but 
 I trust he will, for the future, honour Nature, and
 
 126 LETTERS. 
 
 not hold her up to scorn ; that he will see by the 
 fairly earned applause he obtained in the above 
 drama, that it is not necessary to become a merry- 
 andrew in order to please. The loudest laugh is 
 not always the liveliest sensation of delight — it is a 
 kind of borachio, which leaves no satisfaction better 
 than a head-ache. 
 
 " Don Felix, Charles Surface, Young Wilding, the 
 Jew, (in the " Jew and Doctor") and Vapour, are 
 characters which would please their Majesties, and 
 represent you to advantage. Walter, one of your 
 best performances, I do not mention, because / am 
 sure the king will never again see the ' Children in 
 the Wood.' Pray give my comphments to Mrs. 
 ElUston, and beheve me to be, your humble 
 servant, " Harcourt." 
 
 Again, the Earl writes : — 
 
 " Nuneham, Saturday. 
 " Sir, — The patronage afforded to the theatre at 
 Windsor by their Majesties, gives to it a distinction 
 that obviates any objection which a performer of 
 eminence might naturally have in appearing amongst 
 actors so greatly inferior ; and several of the first 
 have, consequently, shewn themselves on that 
 stage. It w^ould be to your advantage, therefore, 
 to accept the offer of the manager; otherwise, as 
 I have been informed, the passion for cards so 
 engrosses the minds of the Windsor inhabitants,
 
 LETTERS. 127 
 
 that they have but little inclination to go to 
 plays. 
 
 " There is every reason to believe that the 
 king and queen have no intention of quitting 
 the castle this summer, and as I have before 
 told you, their Majesties knowing my opinion of 
 you, I think there is but little doubt of their com- 
 manding a play in which you would have the 
 leading part. If I should have the honour of 
 being summoned by their Majesties before Sep- 
 tember, I will contrive to pave the way for your 
 appearance ; but the choice of character is an affair 
 of no small concern, as the king does not like any 
 comedies of a serious cast, and I should be sorry, 
 on the other hand, that you only shewed yourself 
 in the walk of mere farce. 
 
 " I am particularly anxious you should play The 
 Liar, because the grace of your deportment, your 
 vivacity, and youthfulness of figure, unite to render 
 your representation of that character a first-rate 
 performance. You, Sir, and you almost alone, are 
 the theatrical gentleman. Pray give my compliments 
 to Mrs. Elliston, and believe me, your humble ser- 
 vant, " Harcourt. 
 
 " My compliments also to Mr. Dimond." 
 
 In consequence of this flattering correspondence 
 with his noble patron, Elliston arrived at Windsor 
 on the 24th of July, and by command of his Majesty
 
 128 ELLISTON ACTS BEFORE THE KING. 
 
 acted on the following night, Don Felix, before the 
 royal party. On the 26th, the next night, he was 
 playing at Bristol, and again on the 27th at Windsor. 
 Thus, to and fro, between Bristol and Windsor, he 
 vibrated in the space of each civil day ; constant 
 as the sun, for one whole fortnight, he performed 
 his course, and like him imparting light and life to 
 the opaque bodies of his clustering fraternity. 
 
 It may be well believed, Elliston felt no little 
 satisfaction in perceiving he had pleased the king. 
 His Majesty expressed himself in terms highly 
 flattering to this new object of his notice, and 
 the delight he evidently felt at the several per- 
 formances became a subject of pubhc comment. 
 
 It was interesting as singular to behold, at this 
 time, a sovereign — the King of England, at the head 
 of his family, in simple citizenship, indulging sym- 
 pathies with his people in their national pastimes ; 
 confessing his sense of enjoyment from the same 
 source to which they, one and all, were accus- 
 tomed to apply ; brought with them by one com- 
 mon, humble invitation, to social pleasures ; quite 
 in fellowship, almost in contact with him who 
 looked alone to health and strength, for the supply 
 of his daily wants ; on a spot which even the 
 humblest burgess would have accounted mean ; 
 asking no adulation but the respect of well dis- 
 ciplined minds to age and honour ; placing no 
 restraint on the impulsive expression of joy or
 
 FETE AT FROGMORE. 129 
 
 wonderment, but leading the way in each indi- 
 cation of delight ; echoing the youthful glee 
 which the boy's " first play" excited, and almost 
 pressing the same plank which danced with the 
 compact array of animated gazers ! 
 
 A fete on the 7th of August, in honour of the 
 birth of the Princess Amelia, was given by her Ma- 
 jesty at Frogmore, and more especially in conse- 
 quence of the princess's recovery from recent 
 illness. Elliston was invited to speak some occa- 
 sional lines, in the character of Merlin, before the 
 royal party, for which the august convalescent 
 presented him with ten guineas ; Dr. Aylward, the 
 king's organist, having given him apartments in the 
 castle, during his stay. 
 
 EUiston acted six times in the fortnight's engage- 
 ment at Windsor, the king having commanded 
 five ; by whose order, also, twenty-five guineas 
 were transmitted to him on his benefit. He cleared 
 by this trip above one hundred guineas. 
 
 These daily transits between Bristol and Windsor, 
 being undertaken after each performance, by night, 
 (for he slept like a top within a coach, as sound and 
 as vertical,) were styled by his comrades Night 
 Errantry ; and verily our " Troubadour" could have 
 been no. other than " William de la Tour"" himself, 
 achieving also some certain exploits on these mis- 
 sions, if report be true, not altogether unworthy the 
 famed" Provencal " band. 
 
 K
 
 130 A GENTLE REPROOF. "''^ 
 
 Elliston, who was one of those who consider no 
 behaviour towards the other sex worthy the term 
 civihty which falls short of a positive declaration of 
 love — like our forefathers, who fancied their hospi- 
 tality poor, unless they made their guests dead 
 drunk — used to relate a smart rebuke he once 
 received in one of these moments of stage-coach 
 innamoramenti. Addressing himself to a fair fellow- 
 passenger in language somewhat savouring of Young 
 Wilding, and perceiving the lady less favourable to 
 his suit than he had expected, concluded by hoping 
 he had not exceeded the bounds of decorum. 
 " Perhaps not, sir," replied she ; " but your limits 
 of decorum are so extremely liberal that you may 
 possibly lose your way in the excursion." 
 
 On another occasion, having acted the night at 
 Windsor, and finding himself too late for the mail 
 on reaching Slough, he was compelled at once to 
 order a post-chaise, as it was necessary he should 
 arrive at Bath by a certain hour the next day. 
 With but a faint hope of finding any companion at 
 that time of night, who might be about to take the 
 same direction, he still made application within the 
 entry of the " White Hart," when a stranger of no 
 ordinary size, and enveloped in a large shaggy coat, 
 sprang eagerly forward, declaring at once that he 
 " was his man !" 
 
 His new-found friend being evidently a little 
 sprung, Elliston began to repent his invitation ; but
 
 AN ADVENTURE. 131 
 
 before he eould raise any plausible objection, liis 
 agile companion had taken his seat within the 
 vehicle, and already deposited what little baggage 
 he appeared to be travelling with. Eiliston, not 
 displeased with the stranger's humour, but having 
 little hope of reducing him to his own state of 
 sobriety, fancied he could do no less than elevate 
 himself to the same level. Ordering, therefore, a 
 double-strong glass of brandy-and-water, much to 
 the applause of his companion in the large coat, 
 they started together. 
 
 Naturally enough, Eiliston began his surmises 
 who and what his companion could be. He was 
 rough, but not vulgar; rude in speech, yet on the 
 best terms with the very pride of nobility ; and the 
 tumblers he had emptied, (which too frequently, in 
 humble life, like cupping-glasses, only draw out the 
 ill-humours of the animal,) proved him clearly 
 enough as good-tempered a fellow-voyager as many 
 of his betters. What could he be ? A question 
 which his increasing volubility only rendered still 
 more obscure ; for, like an unskilled finger travel- 
 ling the keys of a harpsichord, he touched on a vast 
 variety of subjects, producing anything but intelli- 
 gent sounds. 
 
 In summing up the case, Eiliston concluded him 
 to be the first-born of some good easy yeoman, who, 
 on his first visit to London, had paid dearly for the 
 " Stranger's Guide," and was now returning with 
 
 K 2
 
 132 
 
 FRIEND AND PITCHER. 
 
 mock satisfaction and empty pockets to astonish 
 the " auld wife at home." Suddenly, the stranger 
 struck up the ballad of " Black-eyed Susan," which 
 he sang not without some slight pretensions to 
 taste ; and on EUiston expressing his satisfaction at 
 the change of entertainment, he pulled from under 
 his coat a copy of the " Convivial Warbler," which, 
 for all he could have deciphered at that time of 
 night, might have been the " iEschylus" of Parson 
 Adams, and immediately commenced, " My Friend 
 and Pitcher." 
 
 How long he would have pursued this vein of 
 melody is uncertain ; but on the chaise stopping 
 for change of horses, (as to the term " fresh," it 
 was far more applicable to the travellers than the 
 poor cattle,) he abruptly broke off, and ordering 
 one other tumbler " of the same," cried, " So much 
 for good luck at Moulsey, and now all's over !" 
 This expression Elliston as little understood as the 
 rest his companion had vouchsafed in the form of 
 prose, when suddenly the stranger raising the 
 ostler's lantern directly on the comedian's counte. 
 nance, and planting his hand impressively on his 
 shoulder exclaimed — 
 
 " I know you, sir ; you are the Prince of Wales. 
 I'll not sell you — you know, sir, Pll not sell you," 
 shaking ElHston cordially. " Here !" continued he, 
 pointing to his empty glass ; " I would say it before 
 your honoured father himself, God bless him ! —
 
 A PUGILIST. 133 
 
 never a drop more from this clay midnight — six 
 weeks and hard allowance ; you look to me — I 
 know you look to me, and I'll stand your friend." 
 
 Like an Egyptian hieroglyphic, full of interest, 
 yet perfectly unintelligible, he continued his frag- 
 mental address for some miles further, when again 
 murmuring, " You're the ' Prince of Wales,' " he 
 fell into a most audible sleep. 
 
 In due time, the travellers reached Woolhampton, 
 the place, as Elliston had understood, his friend 
 intended parting ; he hereupon returned the hu- 
 meral salutation, with a full per centage of violence, 
 at the same time roaring in his ear, " Wool- 
 hampton !" This altisonant announcement had the 
 desired effect. Up sprang the tenant of the rough 
 habiliment, and rubbing his eyes violently for a few 
 moments, " Woolhampton ?" repeated he. " Yes," 
 continued Elliston, " and here, I'm afraid we part.'' 
 
 " Sir," rephed the other, taking the actor's hand, 
 " we've been fellow-travellers so far ; and now, with 
 best service to ye for the number o' merry tales 
 you've told us, what's the total of my whack ?" and 
 out he drew a canvass bag, containing no despicable 
 sum. 
 
 "Why, verily, my good fellow " began Ellis- 
 ton ; but the other at once apprehending his meaning, 
 jerked him smartly by the collar, exclaiming, " Gin- 
 gerly — gingerly ! You don't stir to-night unless I pay 
 my whack. Come! how much — a brace o' smelts ?"
 
 134 TOM OWEN. 
 
 " A brace of smelts !" repeated Elliston. 
 
 " Two half- guineas," continued the other ; ''re- 
 member, I've six hard weeks on't in yon village 
 there." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Why, didn't I tell you all at the 'White Hart ? " 
 
 "Not a word?" 
 
 " Whew ! — that I should 'a been travelling with 
 a gent thirty mile, and said not a word !" Elliston 
 here merely interrupted him with a smile. " My 
 name's Tom Owen," proceeded he, jocosely, but 
 confidentially ; " you've heard of the fight that's 
 to come off, in September, at Moulsey, 'twixt me 
 and Davis, as good a man as ever entered the ring ; 
 but 'tis plaguy hard, training — six weeks on't. 
 Harkye, I know I'm the better man, for a' that ; so 
 make your bets." Which having said, and insisted 
 on paying his share of the chaise expenses, he was 
 departing, brisk and partly sober ; his little port- 
 manteau dangling from a sturdy ash, when Elliston 
 called out, 
 
 " Well, beat your man, and good luck to you ; 
 but the girl ! — the girl ! Why give ' Susan' a 
 black-eye ?" 
 
 Snapping his fingers with a laugh, the bruiser 
 mounted the stile, and was presently out of sight. 
 
 From Windsor, Elliston proceeded to Plymouth, 
 and acted for the first time the part of Rolla. His 
 youth, his appearance, the romantic cast of the
 
 ANECDOTE. 135 
 
 drama, and the great popularity of both actor and 
 play, at this precise time, rendered this one of the 
 most successful sea-port speculations, that the ma- 
 nager of the West had made for several years. The 
 Cornish and Devon families talked more, even 
 at this moment, of " Pizarro," than Tippoo Sul- 
 tan — of EUiston, than Sir David Baird ; while 
 Acre, Napoleon, and Sir Sidney, were lost in the 
 Andes, Almagro, and Holla. From Plymouth, Ellis- 
 ton went next to Birmingham, and having acted his 
 number of nights, according to agreement, he pro- 
 ceeded to Weymouth, where he terminated his 
 summer excursion, and again played before the 
 royal family. 
 
 George the Third, as is well known, was extremely 
 partial to Weymouth, and it was no unusual thing 
 for him to take his stroll, quite unattended. On 
 the morning of EUiston's benefit, (an occasion which 
 the king had expressly honoured by a command,) 
 he had been enjoying one of these afternoon wan- 
 derings, when rain coming on just as he was passing 
 the theatre-door, in he went, and finding no one 
 immediately at hand, proceeded at once to the royal 
 box, and seated himself in his own chair. 
 
 The dim daylight of the theatre, and slight 
 fatigue, which exercise had occasioned, induced an 
 inclination of drowsiness. His Majesty, in fact, 
 fell into a comfortable doze, which presently became 
 a sound sleep. In the meantime, Lord Townshend,
 
 136 GEORGE III. 
 
 who had encountered EUiston in the neighbour- 
 hood, inquired whether he had seen the king, as 
 his Majesty had not been at the palace since his 
 three o'clock dinner ; and it being then nearly five, 
 the queen and princesses were in some little anxiety 
 about him. But his lordship gaining no direction 
 from the dramatic star, pursued his object in another 
 course. 
 
 Elliston, now making his way to the theatre for 
 the purpose of superintending all things necessary 
 for the reception of his august patrons, went straight 
 into the king's box ; and on perceiving a man fast 
 asleep in his Majesty's chair, was about recalling 
 him to his senses, in as ungentle a manner as he 
 roused the recollection of Tom Owen in the post- 
 chaise, when, very fortunately, he discovered who 
 his friend really was, who had so unexpectedly 
 dropped in. 
 
 What was to be done ? Elliston could not pre- 
 sume to wake his Majesty — to approach him — speak 
 to him — touch him, impossible ! — and yet some- 
 thing was necessary to be attempted, as it was now 
 time the theatre should be lit, and what was of still 
 greater importance, the anxiety of the queen and 
 family assuaged. 
 
 Elliston hit on the following expedient : taking 
 up a violin, from the orchestra, he stepped into the 
 pit, and placing himself just beneath his truly- 
 exalted guest, struck up, dolcemcnte, " God Save
 
 " FAST ASLEEP." 137 
 
 the King!" The expedient liad the desired effect : 
 the royal sleeper was gently loosened from the spell 
 which had bound him ; and awaking, up he sprang, 
 and, staring the genuflecting comedian full in the 
 face, exclaimed, " Hey ! hey ! hey ! what, what ! 
 Oh, yes ! I see, EUiston — ha ! ha I rain came on — 
 took a seat — took a nap. What's o'clock ?" 
 
 *' Approaching six, your Majesty." 
 
 " Six ! — six o'clock !" interrupted the king. 
 " Send to her Majesty — say I'm here. Stay — stay — 
 this wig won't do, — eh, eh ? Don't keep the people 
 waiting — light up — light up — let 'em in — let 'em 
 in — ha ! ha ! fast asleep. — Play well to-night, Ellis- 
 ton ! Great favourite with the Queen. Let 'em in — 
 let 'em in." 
 
 The house was presently illuminated — messengers 
 were sent off to the royal party, which, in a short 
 lapse of time, reached the theatre. Elliston then 
 quitted the side of his most affable monarch ; and 
 dressing himself in five minutes for his part in the 
 drama, went through his business with bounding 
 spirit \ nor was his glee at all diminished, when, on 
 attending the royal visitors to their carriage, the 
 king once more nodded his head, saying, " Fast 
 asleep, eh, Elliston ! — fast asleep !"
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Covent Garden Theatre — '* The Glorious Eight" — Subscrip- 
 tion Room at Windsor — A fracas — Damages — A conjurer 
 — EUiston eased of his money — A cock without a head — 
 EUiston grows ambitious — Lord Harcourt's reproof — A 
 royal fete — EUiston in many parts — Bon mot of the King — 
 Mr. EUiston writes to the Master of Sidney — EUiston a 
 gamester — Mr. RundaU's advice — A comic adventure with 
 an old bachelor of Bath — A dinner — Extraordinary hoax. 
 
 It will be recollected by those who may have felt 
 an interest in theatrical history, that, at the com- 
 mencement of the year 1800, Eight of the actors 
 then on the establishment of Covent Garden Theatre 
 assailed Mr. Henry Harris, the proprietor, in a 
 pamphlet,* on asserted grievances ; which dispute 
 being referred to the Lord Chamberlain,! was by 
 him decided against the complainants. 
 
 * The pamphlet was supposed to have been written by Hol- 
 man. The other seven appellants were, J. Johnstone, A Pope, 
 J. Munden, C. Incledon, J. Fawcett, T. Knight, H. Johnston. 
 With the exception of Holman, all these actors continued at 
 Covent Garden, after the award given against them. 
 + The Mar(|uis of Salisbury.
 
 " THE GLORIOUS EIGHT." 13!J 
 
 The " Glorious Eight,'.' as this hand of insur- 
 rectionists was designated by superannuated Moody, 
 (memorahle as the apprentices in arms against a 
 former Harry of England,) having sustained a sig- 
 nal defeat, the monarch of Covent Garden sought 
 now the strength of some foreign alliance, and made 
 overtures accordingly to Robert William, Lord of 
 the principality of Bath ! Long was the negotiation 
 pending, and for a considerable time Elliston was 
 undecisive whether to accept the flattering offers 
 made to him from Mr. Harris, or to enter on the 
 management at Bath, as Dimond was now on the 
 eve of retiring from the stage. 
 
 Once more did Elliston make an effort for a share 
 in that theatre, which had been the cradle of his 
 fame ; but his very popularity was in this instance 
 prejudicial to his purpose — the proprietors fearing, 
 had they acceded to his request, he would soon 
 acquire an absolute control. His engagement, how- 
 ever, was renewed, under terms highly advantageous. 
 
 Elliston was fond of billiards, and played a good 
 game — for a gentleman — but had as little chance 
 with its professors, as any idler who suddenly takes 
 a fancy for a country life, and turns agriculturist in 
 opposition to the whole farming practice of the 
 county, on some infallible principle of his own — 
 within two years he is gazetted ! 
 
 On one of his repeated excursions to Windsor, 
 he visited the " Subscription Room" of that cele-
 
 140 " SUBSCRIPTION ROOM." 
 
 brated town ; and amongst other persons, met there 
 a Mr. R., a gentleman who followed, with equal 
 diligence, two professions — billiards and painting. 
 In respect of the former, he had also a twofold 
 faculty of performance, namely, ill or well, just as 
 he pleased ; in respect of the latter, his quality fell 
 perhaps only under one denomination. Be this as 
 it may, there is no doubt that either from modesty 
 or a hatred of display, or some such benign senti- 
 ment, he did not always shew himself to the best 
 advantage at the game of billiards ; as men of good 
 taste deem it a piece of coxcombry to be ever walk- 
 ing the streets in a birth-day suit. 
 
 Such had been the delicacy of Mr. R. whenever 
 he had knocked about the balls in Elliston's com- 
 pany ; so that the artist's " second best suit" of 
 play, appearing upon a par with the actor's only 
 one, a match was proposed between them, and to it 
 they went with mutual gusto. 
 
 For some time they played about even ; but the 
 stakes being now raised to a considerable amount, 
 with additional interest the combatants began anew. 
 The actor required no prompter to give him his 
 cue, nor the artist to be reminded of the bold 
 strokes of the great masters. To it they went 
 — when suddenly, by some sudden inspiration, 
 Apelles was invested, like a harlequin, with his 
 birth-day suit of colours, beating his adversary com- 
 pletely off the field ; so that, in the same propor-
 
 A FRACAS. 
 
 141 
 
 tion that he filled the pockets of the table, he 
 emptied those of the tragedian. 
 
 Surmises followed closely on the heels of astonish- 
 ment ; and EUiston began strongly to suspect he 
 had fallen amongst thieves — a point on which he 
 was not long in making himself understood, by at 
 once pronouncing Mr. R. a swindler. 
 
 The limner, ill enduring " the immediate jewel 
 of his soul" to be thus rifled, threw down his cue, 
 and advancing to EUiston, threatened to kick him 
 down stairs, at the same time, wheeling him round 
 as if to put his menace into execution. But though 
 the assault was the painter's, the battery was the 
 player's ; for EUiston, directing a well- aimed blow 
 on the sconce of his assailant, sent him reeling over 
 a tall coal-scuttle, scattering, at the same time, the 
 bituminous contents over the "Subscribers' " apart- 
 ment. The painter soon recovered his legs, but 
 was in a woful plight ; in the language of art, his 
 eye actually stood out from the canvass, and he dis- 
 played a bold outline of feature, of which Fuseli 
 himself might have been enamoured. 
 
 To render the matter still more unfortunate, the 
 artist was, at this juncture, laying soft siege to the 
 affections of a certain merry wife of Windsor, who 
 was in fact quite to his taste, — being a delicate 
 piece of art, and unquestionably in good keeping ; 
 and although scars, like grey hairs, are ever deemed 
 honourable and mightily extolled by the fair, yet a
 
 142 DAMAGES. 
 
 thorough thrashing, in a pubhc billiard room, could 
 scarcely be deemed a feather in a man's cap, unless, 
 indeed, a white one. The consequence was, the 
 academician was spoiled of his intrigue ; and deem- 
 ing it prudent to raise the siege in respect of his 
 mistress, he turned all his energies to an action of 
 another description — withdrawing from the Court 
 of Cupid to prosecute more advantageous triumphs 
 in the Court of King's Bench. 
 
 The result was, a trial, which took place in 
 February, 1801. Mr. Rundall, of the India House, 
 (Elliston's brother-in-law,) having attended the 
 cause, transmits to our hero the following ac- 
 count : — 
 
 " You may be surprised — I am sure you will be 
 annoyed — at the event of your trial : a verdict for 
 the plaintiff, and damages fifty pounds ; which, with 
 costs, I fancy can be no less than one hundred. 
 Brown's evidence differed wonderfully from the his- 
 tory he gave to me ; he stated, that without any 
 provocation, beyond mortification at your own bad 
 play, you gratified your humour by knocking down 
 your opponent, declaring, that if you couldn't beat 
 him one way, you would another. Your counsel, 
 Erskine, dwelt long on the improbability of this 
 statement ; and in a humorous speech, alluding to 
 the skuttle, told the jury that this witness being 
 " hauled over the coals" in cross-examination, cut 
 but a dirty figure. This was well enough ; but he
 
 AN " OFF-NIGHT." 143 
 
 called not a single witness himself ; relying for suc- 
 cess, as he is too apt to do, on the merits of his 
 speech. I am quite persuaded, tliat if perjury did 
 not absolutely get a verdict on the one hand, care- 
 lessness lost one on the other. The uncertainty of 
 the law is too great a grievance at the best — it need 
 not be aggravated by the slovenliness of counsel." 
 
 Elliston was attached to his profession by lovelier 
 ties than those of mere worldly acquisitions — he 
 delighted in its mystery — was fond of acting ; and 
 on the non-play nights, at Bath or Bristol, he ge- 
 nerally gave some provincial theatre a taste of his 
 quality. 
 
 On one occasion, being at an inn with manager 
 Shatford, after a night's performance at Salisbury, 
 from which place the only public conveyance to 
 Bath was a coach, wdiich passed through Sarum 
 between two and three o'clock in the morninfr, 
 Shatford suggested, for pastime, a game at loo ; a 
 dish of which (like Henry I. and his lampreys) he 
 was particularly fond. 
 
 " But where can we procure a third ?" said he — 
 " the landlord ? let's call him up !" 
 
 " By all means," responded Elliston. " And I'll 
 run and hold the maids from stepping into bed ;" 
 — which part of the proposition he was in the im- 
 mediate act of prosecuting, when the ears of both 
 were assailed by a voice on the stairs, chanting, 
 " The early Horn salutes the Morn ;" and on the
 
 144 A GAME AT LOO. 
 
 two companions opening the door, they descried a 
 tall, gaunt stranger on the landing, in a scarlet 
 coat, brown hat turned up with green, and leathern 
 small clothes, exhibiting fresh indications of the 
 lutulent condition of the highways. 
 
 EUiston, rushing forward, and catching him by 
 his bespattered tail, exclaimed, 
 
 " You'll ri'iake one, sir ! — come, let's begin ! 
 With ' Tantivy,' Shatford, we're three already." 
 
 The stranger, not a little astonished, gazed for a 
 moment without reply, and then began, deliberately, 
 to resume his stave. 
 
 " Hoh ! ha ! Early Horn !" " What, again ?" 
 interrupted EUiston ; but hark ye, one game — one 
 round at loo, before you go — 'tis a noble, a charming 
 game. Socrates learnt to dance, and Isocrates 
 played at loo. — Come, come, a chair for 'Actseon' !" 
 
 " With all my heart, gentlemen," replied the 
 stranger, raising his hat with profound politeness — 
 " but the poor state of my purse " 
 
 " Nay, nay, we'll lend you five guineas," inter- 
 posed Shatford. 
 
 "Ten!" rejoined EUiston; on which, the guest 
 in scarlet again manifesting the deepest sense of 
 obligation, they all sat down together. Shatford 
 produced his cards, which, like a charm against 
 witchcraft, he ever carried about him, and in a very 
 short time, our friend, the "Early Horn," made 
 considerable progress. He presently won the five
 
 A CONJUROR. 145 
 
 guineas already lent to him ; and in the course of 
 one half-hour, cleared the purses of Elliston and his 
 companion ; winning, in fine, a silver pencil-case, 
 the last tenant of Robert William's side-pocket. 
 
 Deliberately drawing forth his watch, and marking 
 the time, the gentleman in red, with his wonted 
 politeness, rose to take his leave. 
 
 "You'll give us our revenge, sir?" shrieked 
 Oct avian. 
 
 " Undoubtedly, sir," responded the owner of the 
 brown hat. 
 
 " But when ? — where ? I shall be at Salisbury 
 this day week — Thursday — Early Horn !" 
 
 " Why really, sir, I would indulge you," continued 
 the tall traveller, " but on that night I am engaged 
 at Devizes, to cut a cock's head off!" 
 
 " To cut a cock's head off!'' repeated Elliston, 
 with the most petrifying solemnity — " to cut a 
 cock's head off! — and have we been playing with a 
 decapitator of the sultan of dunghills '? Who are 
 you, sir?" 
 
 " Much at your service," answered the politest 
 horseman in England, presenting, at the same time, 
 a card, not remarkable for cleanliness ; on which 
 Elliston, in his beloved intonation of voice, read 
 " Ml'. Moon, the celebrated conjurer, ivhose dexterity 
 in command of the cards is universally acknowledged, 
 will undertake to convey the contents of any gentle- 
 man's purse into his, Mr. Moon's pocket, with sur- 
 
 L
 
 146 ELLISTON EASED OF HIS MONEY. 
 
 prising facility. He will, moreover, cut a cock's head 
 off without injuring that noble bird!'' 
 
 It may be well conceived, the group at this mo- 
 ment formed rather a striking picture. The scarlet 
 Caterfelto was the first to dissolve the tableau ; 
 when, again bending his body, he quitted the apart- 
 ment, just as the coach drove up, which was to 
 convey the hero of these Memoirs from his profitable 
 engagement at Salisbury. 
 
 The interest Lord Harcourt had taken in Ellis- 
 ton's professional honour and advancement, flat- 
 tering as it was to the husband, was yet more deeply 
 felt in the grateful reflections of the wife. To Mrs. 
 Elliston the happiness was twofold ; for while the 
 favour of the Earl had clearly backed the actor's 
 merits, when they had been brought under the 
 notice of the sovereign, still 
 
 " The heart of woman feels no greater joy 
 
 Than when 
 
 She hears the praises of the one she loves." 
 
 This favour had also operated usefully to Mrs. 
 EUiston's progress in the good graces of the great. 
 " Mrs. Elliston" was the fashion- — the rage! The 
 young debutantes in elegant life were proud of the 
 instruction received under her direction ; and, like 
 Buonarroti's scholars, the character of the pupil was 
 sunned by the fame of the instructor. 
 
 Mrs. Elliston was eminently endowed with those
 
 GROWS AMBITIOUS. 147 
 
 qualities which tend to the solid endurance of do- 
 mestic peace — cheerful, but circumspect — gentle, 
 yet energetic ; while liberality with prudence min- 
 gled in every sentiment of her mind, and were the 
 counsel of all her actions. 
 
 Elliston, at this period (the commencement of 
 1801), was suddenly possessed by an esprit de vertige 
 — a fancy for obtaining a royal licence for opening 
 a third theatre in London : and such was the sah- 
 guine, or rather precipitate quality of his mind, 
 that in his own imagination, he beheld the new 
 edifice already built — himself absolute dictator ; 
 issuing his Berlin and Milan decrees against the 
 labouring dynasties of Drury Lane and Covent 
 Garden — declaring their stage-doors in a state of 
 blockade, and holding in his palm the destinies of 
 the allegiant Muse. 
 
 Recalled at intervals, by his faithful monitress, 
 to more sober deliberations, under her advice he 
 solicits the opinion of his friend Lord Harcourt, and 
 wisely consents to abide his direction. The Earl 
 admonishes him in the following terms : — 
 
 «' Harcourt House, April 25, 1801. 
 
 " Sir, — You have imposed on me the ungracious 
 task of discouraging the pleasing prospects of 
 youthful, but by no means, a blamable ambition ; 
 yet it is the duty of an honest man, when applied 
 to, to give his opinion with plain sincerity ; and 
 
 l2
 
 148 LORD harcourt's reproof. 
 
 therefore, in one word, I tell you, I am perfectly 
 convinced of the impracticability of your plan, and 
 my reasons are, 
 
 " In the first place, my firm belief that the King 
 would not be inclined to grant another patent ; and 
 that, were his Majesty so disposed, the powerful 
 opposition of the existing patentees would induce 
 his Majesty to yield to the prayer of their petition, 
 against the establishment of a third winter theatre. 
 
 "In the next place, the magistrates would probably 
 remonstrate against the introduction of a new place 
 of public amusement, as unfortunately theatres are 
 becoming more and more the refuge of idlers rather 
 than the resort of men of taste. 
 
 " Recollect, too, the existing theatres have been 
 enlarged, to meet the extended population of the 
 town ; and if you were permitted to examine their 
 accounts at the termination of each season, you 
 would perhaps find that the number of persons who 
 frequent plays, scarcely remunerate the exertions of 
 the two houses. Some fortunate seasons certainly 
 transpire ; but to what costly and precarious expe- 
 dients are the managers compelled ! The pure 
 drama has but little attraction for the unhappy 
 fancy of the day. How is success at present calcu- 
 lated on ? — a five-act farce composed of such cha- 
 racters as never did yet exist, intermixed, occa- 
 sionally, with some forced, or sickly sentiment, 
 supported by grimace or buffoonery, with the motley
 
 A ROYAL FETE. 140 
 
 train of processions, battles, spectres, pantomimes, 
 and Scaramouch ballets. I should regret that you, 
 sir, should administer to this perversion of a noble 
 stud)^ ; but this you must do, should your object be 
 pecuniary success in any new theatrical speculation. 
 ** Having now honestly placed before you my 
 impressions on your proposed scheme, I have only 
 to assure you of my good wishes and ready advice 
 on all occasions. Pray give my compliments to 
 Mrs. Elliston. Harcourt." 
 
 The foregoing letter, reader, was written in the 
 year 1801. Shade of the Earl! what would have 
 been his language in 1841 ? 
 
 On the first of August, a fSte dramatique took 
 place at Radipole, under the immediate direction of 
 the Princess Elizabeth — a kind of masque champetre, 
 projected, and given by her royal highness to the 
 King and Queen, accompanied by other branches 
 of the family, and many of the nobility. 
 
 A superb tent was erected for the reception of 
 their Majesties, before whom, as they approached, 
 young damsels, in the character of Dryads, tripped, 
 and carolled, scattering flowerets and devices. 
 Then commenced the entertainment by an agrestic 
 masquerade : a party of comedians, attired as gip- 
 sies, being grouped under a hedge in the distance, 
 which formed the boundary of the pansied stage. 
 Here was a king mightier than George of England,
 
 150 ELLISTON 
 
 and a Queen o'er spells more potent than the flag 
 of Britain ; for here, enthroned, were Oberon and 
 Titania — here, Puck and Pease-blossom, and here — 
 
 " Over hill — over dale, 
 
 Thorough bush, thorough brier, 
 Over park — over pale. 
 
 Thorough flood, thorough fire," 
 
 a handful of fairies, outstripping far the Alpine pro- 
 gress of the hero of Marengo. Music, too, breaking 
 in dulcet sounds the willing air, joined the con- 
 spiracy to charm and captivate. All was as yet 
 illusion, till Oberon and his filmy train, condensed 
 once more to a state of man by the mortal visitation 
 of thirst and hunger, gave ample proof that not all 
 the acorns Nature had ever yet showered on the 
 ground, would have supplied one tolerable cup ; 
 and as to *' a little mushroom table spread," we fear 
 such fungus bit of furniture, with pedicle to boot, 
 would scarcely have yielded a mouthful for the con- 
 dition of the flesh. 
 
 It was at this period of the entertainment, when 
 Elliston (who had been again engaged by the Wey- 
 mouth manager at the express desire of his Majesty) 
 appeared before the delighted party in the more 
 mundane quality of " Herald of the British arms !" 
 The Danish fleet had been just destroyed by Lord 
 Nelson ; and in the same year the French had been 
 defeated by Abercrombie at Alexandria. Elliston, 
 laying the captured ensigns of victory at the feet of
 
 IN MANY PARTS. 151 
 
 the king, repeated a poetic address, written ex- 
 pressly by the Princess Amelia ; the subjoined is an 
 extract : — 
 
 " Welcome, my liege, my ever honour'd lord I 
 Oh, were it mine, in action or in word. 
 My zeal, my loyalty, my duteous love 
 To thee, the father of our land, to prove 1 
 
 " See, the flush'd cheek, so lately pale with fear, 
 Receives the grateful, the ecstatic tear — 
 The quivering lip, now trembling with delight, 
 Fain would articulate, confess aright. 
 How deep affection's root still deeper grows, 
 Which to thy worth, progressive firmness owes. 
 
 "As o'er the hidden riches of the main. 
 Thy conquering navy rides with pride, — disdain, 
 In search of knowledge which it values more ; 
 So o'er Time's offerings doth thy spirit soar. 
 .Call on the hov'ring shades of Minden's plain, 
 On Nelson's heroes, victors on the main, 
 That they may aid this ill-sufficient lay, 
 To bless thee, Brunswick, and preserve thy day !" 
 
 The applause which followed this recital had 
 scarcely ceased, when EUiston, a new impersonation 
 — " forsooth, took on him as a conjuror" — and in 
 the garb of " Philippus Aureolus Theophrastus Bom- 
 basfus Paracelsus de Hohenheim," or more familiarly, 
 as the renowned Paracelsus, presented himself again 
 on the parterre. 
 
 " ille suae non immemor artis, 
 
 Omnia trausformat scse in miracula rcrum.
 
 152 BON-MOT OF THE KING. 
 
 In this he was very happy : sustaining the part 
 of the magician, with timely allusions to the martial 
 glories of England — that the genius of Britain was 
 in fact the long-dreamt-of philosopher's stone, and 
 the valour of her sons, that moral elixir, diffusing 
 unanimity and peace throughout the nations of the 
 world. 
 
 This tissue of clap-trap being dexterously spun 
 and admirably measured out, was received of course 
 with no less applause than everything else which 
 had preceded. The king was mightily pleased, and 
 the whole court therefore obediently gratified ; while 
 the royal hostess, the princess, expressed herself in 
 terms highly complimentary to the exertions of the 
 favourite comedian. 
 
 There was but one slight failure in the whole en- 
 tertainment. A young vocalist, of some promise, 
 belonging to the Weymouth company, having been 
 appointed to sing one of Dibdin's ballads, in the 
 costume of a sailor, was seized by sudden panic on 
 being brought into the presence of real Majesty, and 
 most piteously broke down at the first stanza. His 
 cheek fairly struck its colours ; his whistle failed 
 him, and in point of fact, the British tar " stuck in 
 his throat." The king good-humouredly observed, 
 it was the first time he had ever seen an English 
 sailor frightened. 
 
 Other jewa? sceniques followed, and the day passed 
 off" with well-merited eclat. The king and part of 
 his family visited the theatre that very night.
 
 MRS. ELLISTOn's LETTER. 153 
 
 Elliston, having transmitted all these fine ac- 
 counts to his wife, at Bath, she writes the following 
 to his uncle, the Doctor, who was at that time resid- 
 ing at Westminster : — ■ 
 
 " Bath, August 20, 1801. 
 " My dear Sir, — As I know the pleasure ;you 
 always feel in hearing good news of ourselves, 1 am 
 induced to send you a short statement of Mr. Ellis- 
 ton's progress at Weymouth. He tells me that the 
 royal family witnessed all his performances, and 
 said so many handsome things of him, that had he 
 not been WTiting to me, his sense of modesty would 
 have withheld him from repeating them. At an 
 entertainment given by the Princess Elizabeth, at 
 Radipole, he was entrusted with the whole manage- 
 ment. The king presented him with twenty-five 
 guineas, the queen, with ten, the Princess Elizabeth, 
 twelve, and he received ten in addition from the 
 rest of the royal family. 
 
 "Mr. Elliston has been, during the last fortnight, at 
 Plymouth, where he found a depressed state of the- 
 atricals ; but the princess interested herself in his 
 favour, — writing to the Countess of Ely, who with 
 others of the nobility, residing around, patronized 
 him. Believe me, my dear sir, I mostly value all 
 this because, I am sure his diligence will recommend 
 him to your regard, and confirm the generous friend- 
 ship felt for him by Lord Harcourt. Of my hus- 
 band's talents, I think highly, (if I might venture 
 such judgment as my own,) but I am sure the in-
 
 154 MASTER OF SIDNEY. 
 
 creasing favour of personages so exalted as those I 
 have named, is greatly owing to the esteem they 
 have for him as a gentleman : this point I trust he 
 will long bear in mind. 
 
 " I bless God that our prospects are so good; and 
 I pray blessings on those who have been the instru- 
 ments, in His hands, of conferring on us so much 
 comfort. Your god-daughter, Eliza, has had the 
 hooping-cough, but is now fast recovering — the 
 other two continue well. 
 
 "I have ventured to send you half-a-dozen of our 
 Bath cheeses, as you may have some friends near 
 you, whom you might wish to oblige with a sample, 
 as well as for your own use. And believe me, my 
 dear sir, with all respect and gratitude, 
 
 *' Your dutiful niece, 
 
 <i>^f- 
 
 <^i^^/^/>^ 
 
 To this the Doctor made a most affectionate re- 
 ply, congratulating his nephew on the brilliancy of 
 his prospects, and recommending him to look on 
 these late favours rather as encouragement to ex- 
 ertion than as any temptation to frivoHty or repose. 
 
 " And begging pardon," continues he, " for quot- 
 ing Greek to that sex whose occupations should 
 always be strictly feminine, I would remind him of 
 the wise exhortation — «»£v apjo-reyeiv, and to think no- 
 thing achieved whilst anything remains unaccom- 
 phshed."
 
 A GAMESTER. 155 
 
 As we have professed in the outset, so will we 
 endeavour to preserve to the end, the character of 
 fidelity in these pages, nor, in tenderness to the 
 memory of our subject, cast a veil over facts which 
 might operate as a lesson to later generations, or be- 
 come useful to others in a similar career to his own. 
 
 The truly parental letter which we have just no- 
 ticed, while it filled our adventurer with exultation, 
 might have taught him also the value of a good 
 name. Within two months of its receipt, the fol- 
 lowing was addressed to EUiston, written by his sin- 
 cere friend Mr. Rundall, brother to his wife: — 
 
 " My dear Robert, — I have heard a piece of in- 
 telligence which has afflicted me more severely than 
 anything which has occurred to me for many years. 
 This, to speak out, is your love of gaming! Dal- 
 meida has given me this most unwelcome informa- 
 tion. He was lately in company with some friends 
 — theatrical and otherwise; and on mentioning you 
 with commendation and regard, a gentleman pre- 
 sent — a counsellor, very high in his profession — ac- 
 ceded willingly to your public talents, but pro- 
 nounced you a determined — an habitual gamester, — 
 that Knight was the man who had been the prin- 
 cipal instrument of your disgrace, which, owing to 
 your easy temper, he found no difficult task. 
 
 " Your exploits are the theme of gossip amongst 
 the very waiters at the White Hart, the frequenters
 
 156 MR. rundall's advice. 
 
 of that house talking openly and before them, of 
 what you had either won or lost at billiards or with 
 the dice. You will gain the character of a blackleg 
 long before you will acquire wit enough to live by 
 his profession ; you will be ruined in fame and for- 
 tune, without the advantage of that cunning which 
 occasionally prospers. Knight is a very bad cha- 
 racter ; I have seen, 'tis true, but little of him, yet 
 quite enough to know he is not your friend. 
 
 " I will not, my dear Robert, disguise my senti- 
 ments from you, however harsh they may be, or 
 however deeply they may wound you for the mo- 
 ment ; for, by the blessing of God, you may have 
 hereafter cause to thank me. I am cut to the soul 
 when I contemplate these facts, and look on you at 
 the same time, as a husband and a father. Think 
 of your shame, too, should the knowledge, the hint 
 only of these reports, reach your uncle — one who 
 has indeed been a parent to you, having cherished 
 you in your days of guiltlessness, and forgiven your 
 transgressions. For the sake of others, let me im- 
 plore you to reflect ! I have not told you all I have 
 heard, nor many malicious anecdotes, which I am 
 still willing to account untrue. 
 
 "With fervent prayers for your happiness, and for 
 the peace of a wife you cannot too highly value and 
 cherish, 
 
 " I am most affectionately yours, 
 
 " T. W. RUNDALL. 
 " East India House, Dtc. 18, 1801."
 
 MR. SIMS. 157 
 
 Having fulfilled our duty by inserting the above, 
 in which we assure our readers we will not follow 
 them with any action for slander, whatever terms of 
 reproach they may heap upon our graceless hero, 
 we turn cheerfully to an incident which, if not so 
 full of solid instruction as Mr. Rundall's letter, will 
 shew that our subject could sometimes be merry 
 without sacrifice of character : — 
 
 In the vicinity of the Abbey Church, Bath, re- 
 sided a Mr. Sims, an opulent woollen-draper — -a 
 man of strict probity in all transactions of life — 
 whose active benevolence and unassailable good- 
 humour, had acquired to him the esteem of a wide 
 circle of acquaintances. 
 
 This personage was a bachelor, and at this time 
 about sixty-five years of age. His figure was tall, 
 his step airy, his deportment the flower of polite- 
 ness, and in disputes he was the very Atticus of 
 parties. His dress was usually a suit of grey; and 
 his hair, of which there was a profusion, being per- 
 fectly white, whereunto a queue appended, gave him 
 somewhat of a Sir Joshua contour ; though perhaps 
 he bore a nearer resemblance to the more modern 
 portrait of that precise merchant, as personated by 
 the late Mr. Terry, in Poole's admirable little co- 
 medy of " Simpson and Co." 
 
 While he paid a marked deference to all men's 
 opinions, he had a mistrust of his own, which was 
 singularly curious. On a sudden torrent, for in-
 
 158 HIS CHARACTER. 
 
 stance, which some people would denominate " cats 
 and dogs," he would merely apprehend that it rained; 
 and if the house were as suddenly enveloped in 
 flame, he would suggest the expediency of quitting the 
 tenement. His respect for the other sex was so pro- 
 found, as to keep in awful subjection every gentler 
 impulse of the bosom — for he was far from a woman- 
 hater ; on the contrary, he could not honour them 
 too highly ; but it was all honour. 
 
 His " menage" consisted of a duplicate female at- 
 tendant, that is, two separate beings, but with brains 
 under the same meridian, whose autumnal time of 
 life and counterpart in attire, rendered them per- 
 fectly homogeneous. 
 
 The great characteristic of Mr. Sims was a pain- 
 ful precision in all things. His hat always occupied 
 the left peg in respect of his coat. His parlour fur- 
 niture was cased in cotton covers, which covers 
 were again involuted by divers sheets of brown 
 paper, resembling the pendant patterns in a tailor's 
 shop. Everything, according to him, was " to wear 
 even ;" if he pulled this bell rope on the first occa- 
 sion, he would bear in mind to handle that on the 
 second ; every chair, tea-cup, and silver spoon, had 
 its day of labour and relaxation ; and had he dis- 
 covered that, by misadventure, he had worn a pair 
 of shoes or grey stockings out of turn, he would 
 positively have lost his stomach. 
 
 In his dressing-room, he was constantly attended
 
 COMIC ADVENTURE. 159 
 
 by his two waiting-women ; not that he actually re- 
 quired the services of both, but by such means the 
 reputation of each was kept in a state of preserva- 
 tion ; and, to conclude, whenever he retired to bed, 
 he invariably crept up the foot of it, that his linen 
 might be without a wrinkle. 
 
 It may not at once appear, how any sympathies 
 could have existed between a Milesian like Elliston 
 and such a character as this ; but Mr. Sims was by 
 no means an ascetic : he was never as wise as 
 Ximenes, and not always as moderate as Fleury; 
 and in respect of his little indulgences, like the 
 country wench, he looked very much as though he 
 had rather sin again than repent. And why not ? 
 an extra glass of punch, or a visit prolonged to mid- 
 night, constituted his excess ; though once, indeed, 
 he had been known to have so far mvstified himself, 
 as to toast a certain female of no extraordinary vir- 
 tue, in a tumbler of toddy. He, however, confessed 
 he went for three days unshaved, from the above 
 event, as he had not the assurance to look on him- 
 self in the glass, after so peccant an action. 
 
 Mr. Sims was fond of a play, and had some taste 
 for the drama. He had seen the best actors of 
 Garrick's day, and could talk critically on the 
 genius of "rare Ben Jonson." Mr. Sims, there- 
 fore, became, with other Bath people, known to the 
 ElUston family. 
 
 Mrs. Elhston being absent for a few days on a
 
 160 ' A DINNER. 
 
 visit to Mrs. Collins, EUiston was consequently left 
 at Bath, engar^on. On one of his widowed after- 
 noons, his knocker announced some visitor, and 
 Mr. Sims himself deferentially entered. 
 
 "My dear Mr. Elliston," cried he, as he ad- 
 vanced, w^ith a step lighter than a roebuck, " have 
 I indeed caught you ! — this is charming ! — and how 
 w^ell you look ! Listen : I promised your excellent 
 wife to have an eye on you during her absence, and 
 so I will, for you positively must — must I say, dine 
 with me to-day." 
 
 " Dine with you, Mr. Sims?" exclaimed Elliston, 
 in a tone which must have been truly comic. " My 
 good Mr. Sims " 
 
 " Nay, nay — I shall be downright riotous if 
 
 I hear any excuses. I absolutely must — must have 
 you. In fact," continued he, making a leg, as he 
 advanced, and tapping the tip of his left fore-finger 
 with the corresponding extremity of the right, " nay 
 dinner is already ordered — within one hour will be 
 served — see, with what little ceremony I treat you." 
 
 There was something irresistibly grotesque even 
 in the proposition ; for though Mr. Sims was by no 
 means a stranger in the house, yet the very sugges- 
 tion of a tete-a-tete repast with the precise woollen- 
 draper, appeared one of those things which, although 
 clearly possible, had still never yet been known to 
 have transpired. As for instance, A man shall not 
 marry his grandmother
 
 MR. SIMS. IGl 
 
 *' To-day! said you, worthy neighbour?" de- 
 manded EUiston, as he passed his hand thoughtfully 
 across his forehead — " to-day — that is — this day, 
 is " 
 
 " Thursday, I would suggest," interposed Sims, 
 most ajDologetically. 
 
 " Just so ; and here comes my friend Quick, who 
 reminds me of his promised visit. Dinner on table 
 punctually at five — " continued Elliston, addressing 
 himself to Quick, just as he entered — "not a minute 
 later ;" which was of course the first notice the other 
 had had at all of the matter, while Elliston himself was 
 quite aware he had not a solitary cutlet in the house. 
 
 " But — but — " interrupted Sims, with his fingers 
 as before — " my humble fare is preparing — is nearly 
 ready " 
 
 " And will be excellent when eaten cold to- 
 
 morrow," rejoined Elliston; " but to-day — to-day, 
 Sims, you are my guest!" 
 
 The draper having recovered from the shock 
 which these words occasioned, was evidently as 
 pleased as Punch at the proposition, though he 
 looked on the affair as one of the maddest pranks 
 ever yet attempted — quite a Camelford exploit of 
 that day, or Waterford of the present ; the chal- 
 lenge, however, he accepted, but to no one's sur- 
 prise more than his own. 
 
 " I will at least apprise my domestics," said 
 Sims, catching up his hat and cane, with the inten- 
 
 M
 
 162 A TROUT. 
 
 tion of tripping off to his own abode ; but Elliston, 
 grasping his arm with considerable melodramatic 
 effect, said, " Not so, friend Sims ; this is a point 
 easier settled ; and our time is short. Take your 
 own card, neighbour, and just subscribe in pencil, 
 ' remains to-day with Mr. Elliston^' and I will des- 
 patch it instantly." 
 
 The expedient was no sooner suggested than 
 adopted, and Elliston, taking Mr. Sims' card, va- 
 nished instantly from the room, for the purpose al- 
 ready named, but secretly interpolated certain other 
 words to the protocol in question, so that it ran 
 thus — " Mr. Sims remains to-day with Mr. Elliston, 
 and begs that the dinner he had ordered, may be care- 
 fully delivered, just as prepared, to the bearer.^' 
 
 This being achieved, Elliston returned to the 
 apartment ; and Quick being by this time, well 
 assured some belle plaisanterie was in blossom, took 
 part in the amicable contest of civil things, till 
 dinner was announced ; and thus, within a quarter 
 of an hour of five, the happy trio sat down together. 
 But no sooner was the first cover removed, than 
 Sims, with some little look of surprise, and great 
 show of satisfaction, exclaimed — " A trout ! Mr. 
 Elliston. Well, and I protest a very fine one ! but 
 the fishmonger's a rogue, for he told me mine was 
 the only one in the market !" 
 
 " Fishmongers do lie most infernally," observed 
 Elliston ; " why, he told me the very same thing.
 
 A SHOULDER OF MUTTON. 1 03 
 
 Come, a glass of wine ! Had you been a married 
 man now, this little annoyance had never reached 
 you. Ah ! you bachelors ! But perad venture you 
 are one who, in searching for female perfection, can 
 only find it in the wives of his friends." 
 
 Here Sims hid his face. 
 
 " And then as to a nursery," interposed Quick, 
 " your bachelor, by adoption, may pick and choose 
 his heir ; but if he marries, he must put up with 
 any booby that Providence assigns him." 
 
 "Excellent!" cried EUiston. " Come, a glass of 
 wine !" 
 
 A second cover was now removed, and a shoulder 
 of mutton, admirably dressed, was presented ; at the 
 sight of which Sims, clasping his hands in token of 
 renewed astonishment, exclaimed, 
 
 " A shoulder of mutton ! — why, it is a shoulder — 
 the very dish I had ordered myself." 
 
 *' Similar, similar," interposed Quick, laugh- 
 ingly ; " a coincidence." 
 
 Sims acknowledged the correction by one of the 
 blandest smiles in nature. 
 
 " Coincidences are indeed extraordinary," ob- 
 served Elliston. "I remember in May, — 99, the 
 very day Seringapatam was taken, our sexton's wife 
 was brought to bed of twins." 
 
 *' With great humility, my dear Mr. Elliston," ob- 
 served Sims, " that maybe a coincidence ; but is it, 
 think you, so very — very remarkable?" 
 
 M 2
 
 104 AN APPLE PIE. 
 
 " Why, Hindostan does not yield us cities every 
 spring," replied Elliston, " nor are sextons' wives 
 brought to bed of twins, as a matter of course." 
 
 "And that, both of these events should have hap- 
 pened on the same day, is at least extraordinary," 
 added Quick. 
 
 " Say no more — say no more ; I am completely 
 answered," rejoined Sims. 
 
 Here Elliston suggested another glass of wine 
 all round. 
 
 By this time a third cover was removed, and a 
 tart very temptingly served, succeeded, which Ellis- 
 ton having commenced dividing, Sims rose from 
 his chair, and extending his hands over the dis- 
 mantled tourte de jjommes, screamed out, 
 
 " An apple-pie, as I live ! Forgive me for swear- 
 ing, but I gave special orders for an apple-pie my- 
 self. Apple — apple, said I to Mrs. Green and Mrs. 
 Blowflower, and here it is !" 
 
 ''Yes, I'll give up Seringapatam after this," said 
 Elliston, mysteriously ; " but when fruit is in season 
 you know why, I'll be bound they have an apple- 
 tart next door." 
 
 "Apples are unusually plentiful this year," ob- 
 served Quick. 
 
 " Come, another glass of wine ! It shall at least 
 be no apple of discord." 
 
 The repast was now drawing to a close, and Ellis- 
 ton, who had promised his guests a bottle of supe-
 
 A STILTON CHEESE. 165 
 
 rior port wine, gave orders for its immediate intro- 
 duction ; but in the meantime, a half Stilton cheese, 
 in prime condition, was placed on the table. 
 
 We are told that a certain marechal of France 
 was always taken in convulsions at the sight of a 
 sucking pig, that Tycho Brahe swooned at the very 
 glimpse of a hare, and that the philosophic Bayle 
 was seized with sickness at the sound of water run- 
 ning from a cock ; but the concentrated force of all 
 these phenomena, could scarcely have produced a 
 more electric shock, than the sudden appearance of 
 the said Stilton cheese on the nerves of Mr. Sims. 
 Springing from his seat, as though stung by an 
 adder, he gazed upon the dish before him in breath- 
 less stupefaction, and was no sooner restored to 
 strength of utterance, than he shrieked aloud, 
 
 " A cheese 1 a cheese ! — and is it possible, a Stil- 
 ton cheese, too?" 
 
 " My good Sims " interrupted Elliston. 
 
 " 'Tis magic ! magic ! Excuse me for swear- 
 ing; but I — I, myself, my dear Mr. Elliston, have 
 a Stilton too !" 
 
 "And what more probable?" 
 
 "But the mould ! — that fine blue mould ! — and 
 all this marble tracing — 'tis most positively the 
 same !" 
 
 *' Similar, similar," interposed Quick, a second 
 time. 
 
 " Tell me," said Elliston, with an ineffable look
 
 lt)G THREE BOTTLES OF PORT. 
 
 of wisdom, " where did you purchase your half Stil- 
 ton ?" 
 
 " At Coxe's," was the reply. 
 
 " Then, upon my honour, the cheese before you 
 was bought at the same place. Why, 'tis the other 
 half! and your fine blue mould and marble veining 
 must inevitably correspond to the minutest speck, 
 the fact is, we have been lucky to-day in hitting 
 each other's taste. Come, the port !" 
 
 This lucid judgment w^as acquiesced in by Sims, 
 with a smile of the most lavish admiration, and the 
 cloth being removed, the host began to push the 
 bottle. 
 
 In vain have we collected all the fine things that 
 transpired from this moment. The three friends 
 were in considerable force, and the decanter circu- 
 lated as briskly as a hat in a mountebank's ring. 
 As the wine sank, their spirits rose ; Mr. Sims so 
 far forgot himself as to remember a song, and by 
 ten o'clock there was not a happier gentleman of 
 threescore in the four parishes. 
 
 Mr. Sims being now sufficiently far gone — ripe as 
 his own Stilton, for the purpose — EUiston gave 
 directions for a sedan chair to be in waiting, and 
 collecting the crockery of the woollen- draper, 
 which had lately graced the dinner-table, he placed 
 the pyramidical pile on a wooden tray, flanking the 
 edifice by the four black bottles they had just 
 emptied.
 
 AN EXTRAORDINARY HOAX. 107 
 
 All things being now in readiness, Mr. Sims, 
 much against his inclination, was assisted into the 
 chair, and being secured therein, the tray and porce- 
 lain, borne on the head of a porter, like a board of 
 black plumes in advance of a solemn hearse, led the 
 procession to the Abbey Churchyard. The body 
 of Mr. Sims, dancing between the poles, came next 
 in order, while EUiston and his friend, as chief 
 mourners, brought up the rear. In this way they 
 reached the mausoleum of the illustrious departed, 
 and having " made wet their eyes with penitential 
 tears," left the rites of sepulture to the care of Mrs. 
 Green and Mrs. Blowflower. 
 
 Such was this trait de gaiete. What time elapsed 
 before poor Mr. Sims could acquire courage to sur- 
 vey himself again in his glass, we have never been 
 able to ascertain, nor has it yet reached our know- 
 ledge, when next he ventured to encounter, face to 
 face, the chief of the EUiston family.
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 Humorous letter from Mr. Gore — Lord Nelson — Lady Hamil- 
 ton — Early career of that lady — Adventure at Cockslioath 
 Camp — A scene at Naples — Marinari, the painter — A scene 
 of Magic — A bewildered Artist — Lady Hamilton and the 
 Mussulman — Strange shifts in country play-houses — Ellis- 
 ton at Weymouth — A curious interview with his Majesty — 
 EUiston loses the Liverpool theatre — ElUston in snug quar- 
 ters — His landlord's wife — Love and Idleness. 
 
 Elliston, in the summer of 1802, received the 
 following communication from his lively friend, Mr. 
 Gore. It is written from Tenby ; and it will be 
 curious to notice the great change, which the little 
 sea-port must have undergone, and its rapid pro- 
 gress towards a polite state, between the date of his 
 letter and the present time. 
 
 " Never in my days, have I been so disappointed 
 in a place as this. We have neither bread, meat, 
 licpior, horses, conveyances, nor lodging. Alexan- 
 der Selkirk was not more destitute. We have no 
 clothing, but what we carry with us ; no water, but 
 the sea, and we must fish for our living. All power
 
 HUMOROUS LETTER OF MR. GORE. U)9 
 
 of description, like the natives themselves, is posi- 
 tively beggared. I verily believe the Esquimaux, 
 lately exhibited in London, to have been an impos- 
 ture, and that the animal will turn out a mere ' Ten- 
 by ite' at last. 
 
 " I made a visit to the small isle of Caldy ; it is 
 throughout alive with rabbits, as a cheese is said to 
 be with mites. Their multitudes might inspire even 
 their pavid nature with courage to attack, and 
 brought to my fancy the fate of that unhappy pri- 
 soner who, thrown into a blind dungeon, was in one 
 night literally devoured with rats. 
 
 " I am in a hovel which is termed an hotel, with 
 less accommodation than a roadside alehouse, and 
 by no means so picturesque. One of the female 
 natives acts in the capacity of landlady, a being 
 resembhng the ' Maid' in the comedy of' Rule a 
 Wife, ' as our players are pleased to represent her ; 
 with great variety in her face, her eyes being of 
 different colours, and the left side of her nose gone. 
 
 " I was yesterday witness to an exhibition which, 
 though greatly ridiculous, was not wholly so, for it 
 was likewise pitiable ; and this was in the persons 
 of two individuals who have lately occupied much 
 public attention — I mean the Duke of Bronte, Lord 
 Nelson, and Emma, Lady Hamilton. The whole 
 town was at their heels as they walked together. 
 The lady is grown immensely fat and equally coarse, 
 while her ' companion in arms' had taken the other
 
 170 LORD NELSON. 
 
 extreme — thin, shrunken, and, to my impression, 
 in bad health. They were evidently vain of each 
 other, as though the one would have said, ' This is 
 the Horatio of the Nile!' and the other, ' This is 
 the Emma of Sir William!' 
 
 " Poor Sir William ! wretched, but not abashed, 
 he followed at a short distance, bearing in his arms 
 a cucciolo, and other emblems of combined folly. 
 You remember Hogarth's admirable subject, ' Even- 
 ing;'' it somewhat illustrates the scene I would de- 
 scribe. 
 
 "This distinguished trio are concluding a summer 
 tour ; but at Blenheim, I understand, they encoun- 
 tered a rebuff, which must have stung the hero to 
 the quick, the noble family of that domain carefully 
 avoiding any occurrence with the visitors of the 
 mansion. Emma is reported to have said — * Nelson 
 shall have a monument, to which Blenheim shall be 
 but a pig-sty!' There is an insolent display about 
 this person, which, while it is a scandal to her sex, 
 must pain the heart of every Englishman, in its 
 baneful dominion over the mind of so brilliant a 
 commander and so sincere a lover of his country, 
 as Nelson. 
 
 " After what I have said of Tenby, what think 
 you of a theatre in the town ? but such is no less 
 the fact. Truly, it is no bigger than a bulky bathing 
 machine, and bears about the same proportion to 
 Sadler's Wells, as a silver penny to a Spanish
 
 LADY HAMILTON. 171 
 
 dollar. They play 'The Mock Doctor' to-night, 
 and the Hero of the Nile is the subject of an Ad- 
 dress." 
 
 Some months subsequent to this correspondence, 
 Mr. Gore, in EUiston's presence, recurring to the 
 subject of the above letter, related many incidents 
 which had been well known to him, connected with 
 the career of Lady Hamilton ; some of which, not 
 having made their appearance in memoirs since 
 published of that extraordinary character, we will 
 beg leave, en passant, to notice. 
 
 Emma Lyon, after quitting the service of the 
 honest tradesman in St. James's Market, which 
 must have been about the year 1777, passed into 
 the family of Mi-. Linley, the composer, where she 
 lirst gave indications of strong natural talent for 
 music, and had the benefit of initiatory instruction 
 in an ait, in which she afterwards so greatly ex- 
 celled. Novels and romances, however, engrossing 
 that attention which housemaids are expected to 
 give to other studies, and the " Minerva Press" 
 having gained an entire ascendency over the linen 
 press, she was dismissed ; and thus becoming her 
 own mistress, made at least one step towards be- 
 coming the mistress of others. 
 
 That very pretty woman and clever actress, Mrs. 
 Powell, was at this time, a servant in a family at 
 Chatham Place, Blackfriars. The two damsels be- 
 came acquainted, and being of similar dispositions.
 
 172 EARLY CAREER. 
 
 their hearts were presently open to each other ; and 
 as these, together with their heels, were as light as 
 might be, they started on what we should call at 
 the present day " a lark," and in the capacity of 
 ballad-singers, made their entree at the Cocksheath 
 
 camp. 
 
 Mr. Perry, who was afterwards proprietor of the 
 " Morning Chronicle," with his friend Bish, subse- 
 quently director of the well-known lottery-office — 
 young men at this period — made a similar excur- 
 sion to this celebrated depot, and in a sutler's booth 
 fell in with the two adventurous girls. 
 
 The gentlemen were at once struck with their 
 prompt wit and seduisant ease of deportment ; and 
 though they looked on them as ballad- singers of no 
 common order, yet they verily believed them to be 
 ballad-singers, having no suspicion of their rank, 
 much less of their real elevation as housemaids. Un- 
 suspecting as Killigrew and Sidney* when at the play- 
 house, in the actual presence of the blonde Jennings 
 and dazzling Price, equipped as saucy orange-girls, 
 they were, nevertheless, not so careless of the bonne 
 fortune which the adventure seemed to promise ; 
 but rather with the perseverance of Rochester and 
 Brounker, they determined to trace the damsels to 
 London ; for it is nothing more than just to the 
 character of the girls to mention that, they had ob- 
 
 ♦ See •' Memoirs of Count Grammont."
 
 ADVENTURE AT COCKSHEATH. 173 
 
 stinately refused a treat offered them to a tavern, 
 and were now dexterously eluding their suitors, 
 whom they began to look on as persecutors. 
 
 " Vitas hinnuleo me similis, Chloe," cried the 
 baffled Perry, which, as Emma did not hear nor 
 Bish understand, he might have spared. As to 
 Bish himself, it was hard that he should lose a 
 " prize," yet such appeared to be the fate which 
 awaited both, when to their mortification they be- 
 held the wenches suddenly mount a higgler's cart 
 for the purpose of making their final escape. 
 
 This was a piece of generalship our cavaliers by 
 no means expected. It was now half-past two on 
 the following morning, and the creaking caravan 
 had already commenced its journey. Perry and 
 Bish had travelled to Cocksheath on horseback, 
 and now, as on a sudden alarum " to arms," they 
 had to seek their steeds. The stables were closed, 
 and the ostler fast asleep, with the other cattle, 
 within. However, by dint of thundering with their 
 sticks and other indications of irritability, the man 
 was roused to a half wakefulness ; when, opening 
 the door, he received a coup de baton across his 
 shoulders, which brought him to a due sense of 
 animation. The coucliant animals were started 
 from their repose — the unoccupied beds at a neigh- 
 bouring inn paid for— and within three quarters of 
 an hour of the fugitives, Robin Hood and his com- 
 panion were in full pursuit.
 
 174 ADVENTURE. 
 
 After a gallop of above an hour, during which 
 not a word was exchanged, the horsemen pulled up, 
 and Perry, with a look of ineffable concern, said, 
 very wisely, " The jades have been over cunning 
 for us, and have taken another road." Bish was 
 too blown immediately to reply, but gave some pan- 
 tomimic indication that he was much of the same 
 opinion. They continued their course, however, 
 at a foot pace, and after spending an hour at an 
 ale-house, for the purpose of refreshing their horses, 
 during which time they held their pie-poudre court 
 in the highway, Bish taking his seat on a mile- 
 stone, they resumed their journey towards London. 
 
 It was now nearly seven o'clock when our two 
 friends, jaded and disappointed, had entered the 
 Kent Road, and were approaching London Bridge, 
 when a loud shout of merriment induced them 
 simultaneously to turn about, and to their unspeak- 
 able delight they beheld the caravan, passengers 
 complete, in the act of giving them the " go by." 
 
 All was again hope and activity. Suddenly the 
 cart stopped, and out jumped one of the girls, — 
 Emma, — when the vehicle as instantaneously jogged 
 on towards the bridge. Bisli's "prize" being still 
 in the wheel, he stuck close to the caravan, while 
 Perry directed all his attention towards the flying 
 Daphne. In a twinkling he lost sight of her. 
 What was to be done? He could not dismount, 
 unless, indeed, at the price of his horse, which at
 
 MARINARI. 175 
 
 this period of his fortune he could ill afford to do. 
 Wild with vexation, he looked on one side and on 
 the other — paced backwards and forwards, ex- 
 pressing himself in terms that even startled the 
 tired animal, which hardly sustained its master, 
 with his additional weight of disappointment. 
 
 Being now on the centre of the bridge, and 
 casting his eyes over the parapet, he descried Emma 
 in a wherry, taking the down direction of the river. 
 No sooner did she perceive he had discovered her, 
 than she gave most distinct sounds of unbounded 
 mirth, waving her ivory arms in token of victory. 
 Ill-starred Perry ! In a state of frenzy he sat 
 grinding his teeth and threatening vain revenge ; 
 nor did he quit the spot, until he saw the little vixen 
 safely ashore, whence she finally vanished amid the 
 gloom of Wapping. 
 
 Such was the Cocksheath adventure ; but Robin 
 Hood and his ally were, in fine, amply recompensed 
 for all their toil. Bish traced his damsel to her 
 service in Bridge Street, where, if she did not put 
 off the garb of a princess, she certainly resumed 
 that of a Cinderella; through whom, a meeting, 
 within a few days, was effected between Perry and 
 Emma ; and the twain, from this time, entered on 
 the most agreeable interchange of favours. 
 
 Not long after the marriage of Sir William 
 Hamilton with the witching Emma, Marinari, (who 
 for upwards of forty years was accounted one of the
 
 176 A SCENE OF MAGIC. 
 
 first scene painters in Europe, but who now, at the 
 age oi four score and ten, is lingering in extremest 
 poverty in London,) made a visit to Naples, with 
 letters of introduction to Sir William, the English 
 ambassador, a man well known as a great patron of 
 the arts, and of the most polished taste. 
 
 Sir William received the artist with affability, in 
 his favourite studio. It was a chamber at the upper 
 part of the house, without any apparent entrance, 
 and entirely surrounded with looking-glass. Fancy 
 and erudition were gratified with specimens of the 
 choice antique, while nothing was wanting to admi- 
 nister to luxurious imaginings or fulfil the variety 
 in actual enjoyment. 
 
 '' Sofas 'twas half a sin to sit upon, 
 So costly were they ; — carpets, every stitch 
 Of workmanship so rare, they made you wish 
 You could glide o'er them like a golden fish." 
 
 After some conversation on the arts. Sir William 
 expressed a wish that Marinari would visit him the 
 next day, for the purpose of taking a drawing of 
 one of the finest models of the human form that 
 his research had ever discovered. 
 
 Punctual to his appointment, and armed with the 
 necessary implements for the work in question, the 
 artist took his position in the hall of mirrors, pati- 
 ently awaiting his more circumstantial instructions. 
 After a short pause, seraphic sounds, first in soft
 
 A BEWILDERED ARTIST. 177 
 
 murmurs broke upon the ear — perfumes, sweeter 
 than the violet, mounted to the delighted sense — har- 
 mony then, in the fulness of sound, proclaimed the 
 scene at hand, and Emma Hamilton, attired as 
 " Hebe," with as much drapery as poetry permits, 
 but with an identity of person far transcending 
 any child of song, glided from the secret opening 
 of a glass panel, and stood before the bewildered 
 painter. 
 
 The words of Sir William were verified to the 
 letter. " Never had the artist witnessed a form so 
 lovely, a grace so enchanting." In vain was he 
 called on to his task imposed ; he felt totally dis- 
 armed of all power of art, and the pencil he held, 
 but a lifeless reed. Like the wily magician, Sir 
 William watched in secret exultation, the working 
 of his spell. " To your task !" said he. " Begin." 
 
 " but her eyes, 
 
 How could he see to do them ? Having made one, 
 Methinks it should have power to steal both his, 
 And leave itself unfinished.'" 
 
 Again was the air gently agitated by the power 
 of music, — now as though sweeping over the distant 
 bay, and anon filling the attentive ear in richest 
 fulness. 
 
 " 'Tis a dream ! — a vision !" exclaimed the half 
 terrified painter. "Where, where am I?" And 
 as he turned his gaze a moment from the scene, 
 
 . N
 
 178 NAPLES. 
 
 the airy figure vanished as it came, and Hebe 
 plunged again into the stream of mirrors. " Oh, 
 forgive me my sins !" cried Marinari, like the be- 
 wildered Trinculo, as he tottered on his way from 
 the enchanted chamber. 
 
 The magician, however, had not yet fully accom- 
 plished his purpose ; Marinari was still, that day, 
 detained the ambassador's guest. A sumptuous 
 entertainment succeeded, at which the modern 
 Thais presided. Here, all that was most costly 
 was most profusive. Imagination could suggest 
 nothing which art had been unequal to supply to 
 the demands of this house of joy — but the bleeding 
 soil in which its foundations were laid, claimed not 
 a sigh — not a thought ; nor were the united cries 
 of trampled thousands for one moment heard, amidst 
 the unpausing shout of insolent festivity. 
 
 As to poor Marinari, excess followed soon upon 
 indulgence — bewildered with delight, he was now 
 more mystified with the grape, and if the day com- 
 menced with illusion, the night closed in absolute 
 forgetfulness. Like Christopher Sly he awoke the 
 next morning in his own narrow cell, nor had 
 he quite made up his mind between the substance 
 and the shadow, when Sir William Hamilton ac- 
 costed him with an English gripe, which left but 
 little doubt on the question of identity. 
 
 Mr. Pryse Lockhart Gordon, who was well 
 acquainted with Mr. Gore, related to him the
 
 LADY HAMILTON AND THE MUSSULMAN. 179 
 
 following incident to which he was an eye-wit- 
 ness. 
 
 Shortly after the flight of Ferdinand and his court 
 to Sicily, a Turkish messenger arrived, bearing a 
 despatch from the Emperor Paul to Lord Nelson, 
 who was of course residing with the English ambas- 
 sador. 
 
 The credentials having been sent to Corfu, and 
 no Russian vessel being there at the time, the Tur- 
 coman had been employed to transport them. The 
 tender-hearted Mussulman was a guest at the minis- 
 ter's table, and as his Excellency's rum came not 
 under the prohibition of the Prophet, he shewed a 
 liberality in Christian observances that had been 
 rarely witnessed, for he got outrageously drunk — 
 we cannot say without hesitation, for he was soon 
 wholly inarticulate. When, however, but only 
 " half seas," he entertained the party, through an 
 interpreter, with an account of his exploits, — 
 amongst others, that of having fallen in with a 
 French transport, conveying invalids and wounded 
 soldiers from Egypt, whom he had brought on board 
 his frigate ; but provisions running short, it was ex- 
 pedient to relieve himself from the burden of pri- 
 soners, which he did by deliberately putting them 
 to death. 
 
 " Ha, ha !" cried he, flushed with the liquor, 
 " with this brave blade I severed the heads of twenty 
 Frenchmen in one day. See, the blood yet clings 
 
 N 2
 
 180 SHIFTS AT COUNTRY PLAYHOUSES. 
 
 to it !" Whereupon he passed his scymitar to the 
 delighted Emma, who, receiving it in hands fairer 
 than alabaster, examined the gory encrustation, as 
 tenderly as she would a flower, and having im- 
 printed a kiss upon the blade, and fervently blessed 
 the deed, replaced the weapon in the scabbard of 
 the appropriate warrior. Mr. Gordon was present 
 at this entertainment. 
 
 It has been said that Lady Hamilton in her very 
 early days was on the stage, and that she had been 
 the " Miss Lyon" who appeared at the Hay market 
 Theatre as a ballad-singer, in the year 1781, in the 
 pantomime of " Touchstone;" but for this there is 
 no certain authority. 
 
 During the Bath recess, Elliston commenced 
 manager of the pigmy theatres (we might have said 
 bandboxes, but there were neither hand nor boxes) 
 of Wells and Shepton Mallet, where he played 
 everything, from Macbeth to Pantaloon, so that he 
 very fairly might have been considered a host in 
 himself. 
 
 On one occasion he made the extraordinary ex- 
 periment of sustaining the two parts of Richard 
 and Richmond in the same drama, and this he ex- 
 ecuted with the most amusing dexterity. Richmond, 
 it will be remembered, makes his entree in the last 
 act of the play, when the scenes become alternate, 
 in wdiich the king and the earl are before the audi- 
 ence. On making his exit as Richard, Elliston
 
 ELLISTON "plays MANY PARTS." 181 
 
 dropped his hump from his shoulder, as he would a 
 knapsack, and straightening his leg with the faci- 
 lity of a posture-master, slipped into a bit of paste- 
 board armour, and, galeated with fresh head-gear, 
 went through the heroic lines of the Tudor prince. 
 Well might the interpolation have been forgiven, 
 " Myself am to my oivn turned enemy !'' Going off 
 on the other side of the stage, he was expeditiously 
 again invested with his bison shape, and thrusting 
 a sheet of music into his stocking, was again the 
 vindicator of the Yorkist rose. 
 
 In this way he carried through the scenes until 
 the last; and when the field was to be decided by 
 personal collision, shifted was the pasteboard to the 
 body of a shifter of scenes, who, being enjoined to 
 say nothing, but fight like a devil, was thus enabled 
 to bear the drama successfuUv to a close; in which, 
 so far from " six Richmonds in the field," there had 
 not been one; and as to Richard, if "deformed," 
 he was indeed " unfinished," and not unfrequently 
 " but half-made up." 
 
 EUiston, active in body as well as mind, in the 
 heyday of youth and spirits, positively gloried in 
 these little shifts and hindrances, transmuting all 
 dilemmas into rosy laughter, by an alchemy pecu- 
 liar to his own genius; and in carrying with success 
 any difficulty like that just recorded, he felt incom- 
 parably greater delight, than though the aftair had 
 gone smoothly from the commencement.
 
 182 AT WEYMOUTH. 
 
 His love of fun often got the better of his sense 
 of dignity ; and when it is remembered that this lat- 
 ter organ was pretty strongly developed in the cha- 
 racter of Robert WilUam, his love of fun must, at 
 times, have been indeed exuberant. He acted Mac- 
 beth and Harlequin, Hamlet and the Clown; so that 
 by the time he had closed his profitless campaign at 
 Shepton Mallet and Wells, it is a question whether 
 his own characters had not outnumbered his audi- 
 ence. 
 
 It is recorded in the Memoirs of Macklin, that 
 that singular actor once played the part of Mercutio ; 
 the reader might as nearly have suspected Dr. 
 Johnson of the experiment. But whatever Elliston 
 did he did well, and in many instances in these 
 amateur experiments, he overtopped the original in 
 his own " line of business." 
 
 Such was the state of affairs in Somersetshire — 
 light in pocket as in heart — when Elliston was sum- 
 moned, somewhat suddenly, to Weymouth, as the 
 king had again visited that place, and had expressed 
 his pleasure respecting our popular comedian. Ellis- 
 ton thereon, like Duke Vinccntio, delegates the prin- 
 cipalities of Wells and Shepton Mallet to Egan, his 
 trusty Anyelo. "Be thou at full ourself," said he; 
 " take thy commission." But here all parallel 
 ceases, for the grand Duke Elliston never deemed it 
 worth while to resume possession of his dominions; 
 and if vicegerent Egan did behave ill to the ladies,
 
 GEORGE Til. 183 
 
 in his master's absence, he certainly was never 
 called to account for his misdemeanors. 
 
 Elliston, on his re-appearance at Weymouth, had 
 the happiness of finding he had lost no portion of his 
 Majesty's favour, since last he had had the honour 
 of acting before the royal party. Young Marlow, 
 Wilding, and Tag, were amongst the several charac- 
 ters, in which he was fortunate in pleasing the king ; 
 and at his benefit, his Majesty being present, Ellis- 
 ton introduced his daughter EHza, then only five 
 years old, in a dance ; on which occasion, Mrs. 
 Elliston and her sister also made their appearance 
 in the same ballet of action. This was entitled the 
 " Temple of Fame," composed expressly by Mrs. 
 Elliston, quite as full of loyalty as poetry — '* Peace, 
 the offspring of British valour !" — " King George," 
 an illuminated medallion, with a transparent young 
 woman volante, above his shoulders, blowing the 
 only trumpet in the playhouse. An additional 
 stanza to " God Save the King," telling regene- 
 rate France what she was to expect, should she ever 
 again dare to meet the British lion in arms, termi- 
 nated the interesting occasion. 
 
 His Majesty this season frequently conversed 
 with Elliston — whenever, in fact, he visited the 
 theatre ; and as this was pretty often, our come- 
 dian seemed fulfilling the notion of the celebrated 
 French actor. Baron, who was wont to say, that tragic 
 actors should be fondled in the arms of princes.
 
 184 CURIOUS SCENE WITH THE KING. 
 
 It being Elliston's property as a " star" to 
 light the king through the narrow mazes of "all 
 the world" — namely, the " stage," it was by no 
 means below the dignity of Majesty to hold com- 
 munion with his astral guide. George the Third 
 was a good king, and consulted his stars : and 
 although he frequently put more questions to them 
 in a breath, than they could reply to in a night, yet 
 it was sufhcient to shew he duly acknowledged their 
 intendency. 
 
 " Well, well, EUiston," said he ; " M^here — where 
 have you been acting lately ?" 
 
 " At Wells and Shepton Mallet, your Majesty, in 
 which places I was manager." 
 
 " Manager — manager ! that wont do — that wont 
 do, eh, Charlotte? Managers go to the wall — get 
 the worst of it." Her Majesty graciously vouch- 
 safed a smile on the attendant comedian. 
 
 " It difhit do, your Majesty. At Wells I was 
 particularly unfortunate." 
 
 " At Wells — Wells !" replied the king, good hu- 
 mouredly, " 'mongst the bishops ! quite right — 
 quite right ; no business with bishops, eh, Char- 
 lotte ?" Her Majesty here turned a look of slight 
 rebuke upon her lord — "Bishops don't go to plays — 
 no business at plays — you, none with them. Well, 
 well, where next ?" 
 
 "I returned to Weymouth, where I have redeemed 
 everything, in the honour of serving your Majesty."
 
 THE ROYAL FAMILY. 185 
 
 **Eh,eh?" responded the king, in the same affa- 
 bility of tone and manner — "What, kings better than 
 bishops, eh ? — found it out — found it out, Elliston ?" 
 
 By this time their Majesties had entered the 
 carriage, and the king having taken his seat, cried 
 out, while the horses were withheld one moment to 
 his signal, " Bishops and managers — both a mis- 
 take — ought to have known better — eh, eh, EUis- 
 ton?" and away they drove.* 
 
 * The royal house of Brunswick had always been attached 
 to theatrical amusements. George II., notwithstanding his 
 imperfect knowledge of the English language, was still fond of 
 going to the play. His Majesty was at Drury Lane Theatre 
 when the CuUoden despatches were presented to him. The 
 instant his Majesty liad opened tliem the happy intelligence 
 transpired, and Garrick directed the national anthem to be sung, 
 in which the whole audience joined. 
 
 Frederick of Wales, his son, directed Mrs. Devenish (whose 
 first husband was Rowe, the poet) to prepare an edition of 
 Rowe's dramatic works, for the benefit of the young princes, who 
 were in the habit of acting plays at Leicester House. These 
 were under the direction of Quin. The graceful manner in 
 which Prince George delivered his first speech from the throne, 
 impelled this celebrated actor to exclaim, ♦' Ah, I taught that 
 boy to speak !" 
 
 On the 4th Jan. 1749, the children of his royal highness, with 
 the aid of some juvenile branches of the nobility, performed the 
 tragedy of " Cato," before the court — and the following was the 
 cast : — 
 
 Portias Prince George. 
 
 Juba Prince Edward- 
 
 Cato Master Nugent. 
 
 Lucius Master Montague. 
 
 Sempronitis. .Master Evelyn. 
 Decius Lord Milsington. 
 
 *»' 
 
 Marcid. . . . Princess Augusta 
 
 o' 
 
 Lucia Princess Elizabeth.
 
 186 ELLISTON AND THE 
 
 But neither the gracious hint of the king, the 
 repeated caution of the earl, nor Elliston's own 
 observation on the fate of managers, could restrain 
 him long from a purpose which had gained so 
 powerful a hold on him, as that to which we have 
 alluded. His " ventures w^ere not in one bottom 
 trusted, nor to one place." 
 
 Frank Aicken (" Tyrant" Aicken, as he was 
 called, for the direct reason that, by metathesis, a 
 later gentleman has been denominated "Tender," 
 namely, from constantly playing the parts of iron- 
 hearted despots and flinty fathers) had rented, for 
 some years, the Liverpool Theatre, and his lease 
 being now about to expire, printed conditions had 
 been circulated in March, for the purpose of re- 
 letting it. 
 
 The building w^as now considerably enlarged, and 
 rendered fitting and commodious to meet the con- 
 venience of the increased population of this town ; 
 but the covenants to which the new lessee was ren- 
 dered subject, w^ere far from liberal or tempting. 
 The rent, from 350/. per annum, was raised to 
 1500/. Each subscriber or proprietor, to the 
 number of thirty, to be entitled to a free trans- 
 ferable ticket, which w^as to be delivered every 
 morning at the holder's residence, whilst the 
 new lessee was curtailed of many privileges, 
 which had hitherto been enjoyed by preceding 
 tenants. 
 
 Elliston was amongst the first in the field, and in
 
 LIVERPOOL THEATRE. 187 
 
 this instance preferred consulting his uncle, before 
 whom, he placed so clear and impartial a statement 
 of the question, that the Doctor agreed to become 
 security for two years' rent — namely, 3000/. The 
 candidates were, however, numerous and respect- 
 able, and the fair prospect of future theatrical 
 prosperity, in a town justly esteemed for spirit 
 and liberality, occasioned considerable compe- 
 tition. The old " Tyrant" offered a larger rent 
 than the sum proposed ; but the election ulti- 
 mately fell on the united bidding of Lewis and T. 
 Knight, who, like Hippias and Hipparchus, now 
 succeeded to the joint investiture of Attic sove- 
 reignty. 
 
 The prosperity which attended the career of these 
 gentlemen, very naturally occasioned much chagrin 
 on the part of EUiston, that he had been thus baf- 
 fled on a point which he had so ardently pursued : 
 the speculation terminated very profitably to both 
 Lewis and Knight. They continued lessees till their 
 death ; and one of Lewis's family held the theatre 
 until within the last few years, when he retired 
 from the toils of management on a handsome in- 
 dependence. 
 
 At one of Elliston's visits to Liverpool, during 
 this negotiation, he took up his quarters at a re- 
 markably neat and well-appointed inn ; and finding 
 the landlord a good-humoured fellow, he requested 
 permission to take pot-luck within the bar, as it
 
 188 SNUG QUARTERS. 
 
 would relieve him from the care of ordering his own 
 dinner, and the family hour of two o'clock an- 
 swered admirably the daily suggestions of his appe- 
 tite. In this he met with far better success than in 
 his theatrical tenders, for his terms were at once 
 accepted ; and so far from any stringent conditions 
 being fixed on the agreement, he met with many 
 indulgences which his new friend, in the two-fold 
 capacity of host and husband, seemed willing to 
 concede him. 
 
 The fact was, the landlord's wife was an ex- 
 tremely merry creature, with considerable preten- 
 sions to beauty, or at least prettiness, and a very 
 positive example of the homely benison, — " Laugh 
 and grow fat." EUiston, though a volacje in love, to 
 do him justice, had no design, in the first instance, 
 more spirituel than the beef-pudding which consti- 
 tuted the first day's repast ; but this might have 
 arisen from his total ignorance, at that time, of his 
 landlord being wedded to anything but his business ; 
 and now that he discovered " a pretty woman," as 
 it were " purposely thrown in his way," we trust 
 our readers will deal mercifully with him, as he had 
 not a single friend at hand, from whom he could 
 borrow a shred of morality. 
 
 Amidst the coarser wares of Liverpool, this com- 
 merce de (jalanterie was undoubtedly agreeable, and 
 tended materially to beguile his anxiety during the 
 undetermined theatrical lesseeship — for he was here.
 
 A landlord's wife. 189 
 
 in the best sense, a tenant-at-will, under no obliga- 
 tions to uphold, while all repairs would naturally fall 
 on his landlord. In truth, he passed sundry days, 
 off and on, as it is called, at this very hostel ; and 
 whatever business he might have pleaded in the 
 morning, there was at least nothing fictitious in his 
 amusement in the afternoon. 
 
 " No man is a hypocrite in his pleasures," says 
 Dr. Johnson ; and when frequently our gay come- 
 dian, engaged either at backgammon with his twink- 
 ling hostess, or telling fortunes from the sixpenny 
 catechism, declared himself the most enviable fellow 
 in the parish, he verily said what he thought. The 
 house was, however, well-ordered ; for the good 
 landlord seemed to be quite aware that, if his wife 
 were neglected, that defection could easily be sup- 
 plied ; but if the affairs of the house were disre- 
 garded, the remedy might not be so readily at hand. 
 He was, therefore, sedulously attentive to business, 
 his only recreation being in the manufacture of 
 artificial flies for trout-fishers — a piece of art in 
 which he was content to excel. As to his little 
 blue-eyed wife, the only duty that devolved on 
 her, was that of scolding the maids, for which 
 office, however, her happy temper rendered her 
 totally unfit. 
 
 A trifling incident took place in the course of this 
 pleasant delassement, which may serve to explani 
 how thoroughly the domestic sky is influenced by
 
 190 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 the elementary qualities of the individuals them- 
 selves, and unquestionably proving, 
 
 " Marriage is a thing, 1 take it, 
 Just as the parties choose to make it." 
 
 EUiston had been playing — "his custom of an 
 afternoon" — a hit at backgammon with the sprightly 
 mistress of the neatest house of entertainment in 
 Liverpool, and for the most satisfactory of all pos- 
 sible stakes —namely, kisses, (for whether you win or 
 lose, it comes to pretty nearly the same thing,) and 
 having been singularly unfortunate in his throws, 
 was in the very act of paying his debts, like a gen- 
 tleman, when the door gently opening, Boniface 
 himself entered the apartment. 
 
 Great and immediate was the confusion, but it 
 was a sense our losing gamester had the undivided 
 impression of, for the frolic of a kitten could 
 scarcely have been less an operation of disregard to 
 the married pair, than this identical contretemps. 
 which has been the darling coup de scene of half the 
 comedies from the days of Congreve to the new 
 piece of yesterday. 
 
 But, in point of fact, the landlord (mild as our 
 old acquaintance " Mr. Tow-wouse") had no eyes 
 at his disposal, the only pair he was possessed of, 
 being nervously fixed on a tumbler of brandy-and- 
 water, which he held at that very moment in custody, 
 the contents whereof being just level with the rim,
 
 IDLENESS. 191 
 
 demanded all the dexterity he was master of for its 
 level preservation. And having now taken a lump 
 of sugar from a corner cupboard, and thrown the 
 same into a thimble glass, he took his departure as 
 calmly as he entered, for the purpose of conveying 
 the steaming mixture into the "Commercial Room." 
 As to the lady, the effect produced was equally un- 
 worthy particular remark — she chuckled, and ut- 
 tered, •' Droll man !" so that ElUston was at once 
 relieved from the necessity of a speech, which no 
 doubt would have been clear and satisfactory as the 
 explanation of Joseph Surface himself. 
 
 The reader being now pretty conscious of the 
 Italian sky under which this wedded pair had con- 
 sented to live, may have some apprehension for the 
 fair fame of our hero, seeing that like fire which 
 had once reached the first floor of the building, 
 there was some danger threatening the thatch ; but 
 we are by no means prepared, by any evidence we 
 at present have, to lead them to such painful con- 
 clusions. At the same time, we w^ould earnestly 
 counsel our host of the " Star," that people who 
 sleep with their doors unfastened, cannot expect to 
 be so secure as they who bar them up ; while, on 
 the other hand, for the " actor's benefit," we would 
 also advise him, that it has been decided, over and 
 over again, by the highest legal authority, that he 
 who raises only the latch, commits as clear a felony 
 as he who passes the threshold.
 
 192 LIVERPOOL. 
 
 We will now beg leave to break up the party, 
 particularly as the above, may not be the only inter- 
 view our readers may have with these good-natured 
 individuals, in the course of these Memoirs. We 
 may be permitted, however, to notice, that at the 
 period of Christmas, for seven years following this 
 event, Mrs. Elliston received a full-sized hamper, 
 containing the best produce of St. John's market, 
 as a friendly gift from her husband's pleasant ac- 
 quaintances in Liverpool. 
 
 [At the short peace with France in this year (1802), Mr. 
 Kcnible paid a visit to Paris. The following is from a French 
 paper at the time : — 
 
 " Mr. Kemble, the celebrated actor of London, whose arrival 
 at Paris has been announced by all the papers, is a fine figure, 
 and appears to be from 36 to 40 years of age. His hair dark, 
 and the marked character of his features, give him a physio- 
 gnomy truly tragic. He understands and speaks perfectly well 
 the French language, but in company he is thoughtful and in- 
 communicative. His manners are, however, very distinguished, 
 and he has in his look an expression of courtesy that gives us 
 the best idea of his education. The Comedie Francaise has 
 received him with the respect due to the Lekain of England."]
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Hayniarket Theatre — Foote's Patent — Sharp correspondence 
 between Cohnan and Elliston — Declaration, Plea, and Re- 
 joinder, Surrejoinder — Issue — Diniond — His history — 
 Blissett, humours of — Some account of him — His own his- 
 tory of the Bath theatre — Elliston baffled at Oxford — Cor- 
 respondence with the Vice-ChanccUor — Mr. Gore — Escourt, 
 the player — A curious anecdote respecting liim — An inno- 
 cent youth — A happy escape. 
 
 At the close of the Hay market season, in Septem- 
 ber, 1802, Colman's deputed manager, Fawcett, in 
 his farewell address, said — 
 
 ** That when a royal patent was about to be 
 granted to the late Mr. Foote, it was inquired, with 
 that justice which characterizes the British throne, 
 what annual extent of terrh might be allowed him, 
 without injury to the winter theatres. With their 
 consent, it was fixed to be from the 1 5th of May to 
 the 15th of September, and a patent for life was 
 granted to Foote for tha^t period. Foote's enter- 
 tainments were unique. He depended principally 
 on his own writing and personal acting. 
 
 " At his death, a licence was granted to the elder 
 
 o
 
 194 FOOTE S PATENT. 
 
 Colinan, on similar terms ; but aware that he could 
 not, Uke his singularly gifted predecessor, depend 
 on his own individual accomplishments, he engaged 
 a regular company of comedians, selected from the 
 tw^o w^inter theatres ; and as they had since en- 
 croached on the Haymarket season, he was com- 
 pelled to wait until those theatres closed, for the 
 assistance of the actors. To obviate this evil, was 
 the present object. The proprietor, therefore, 
 anxiously solicits public support, in his endeavours 
 to establish a perfectly independent company. 
 
 " There is no theatrical town in the kingdom 
 that will not be resorted to for procuring the best 
 talent for all departments. In addition to new 
 authors, you will be entreated, early in the season, 
 to continue your indulgence to the proprietor's fur- 
 ther attempts in dramatic composition, whose pen 
 he humbly hopes is not yet thoroughly worn down 
 in your service." 
 
 Some days before making his intentions public, 
 Colman entered into a correspondence with Ellis- 
 ton, which turned out more voluminous than neces- 
 sary for the reader. We shall, therefore, give it 
 only in part. Colman writes as follows : — 
 
 " Accident has snapped our intercourse, which I 
 hope may become more sound by splicing. I can 
 truly say, my wishes for the increase of your pro- 
 fessional prosperity and private happiness have 
 never abated.
 
 DECLARATION. 195 
 
 " My present purpose is to offer you an engage- 
 ment at the Haymarket ; but to suit me, it must be 
 for a longer duration than any of our former agree- 
 ments — and such, I trust, may suit you. In short, 
 we must meet on the Haymarket ground next year 
 for four months, or not at all. It is my intention 
 to open the house on the 15th of May, with an in- 
 dependent company, which I am confident I can 
 procure from the provinces, to support tlie new 
 efforts of my pen which has been so long smoke- 
 dried in London. 
 
 " As I know not what may be your own views for 
 the future, or what sacrifices you might make in 
 coming to me, take, for the present, the following 
 general outline of agreement — articles, if you please, 
 for three years ; a weekly salary of 12L, and a be- 
 nefit. Your business will be that of a performer of 
 the first rank in the company. Remember, you 
 have eight months of the year at your own disposal, 
 during which you will of course, not be idle. Pray 
 send me a line by return — and if we cannot meet 
 very speedily, be full in everything you may have to 
 suggest." 
 
 To this a long correspondence succeeded on the 
 subject. Elliston, like the paper on which he wrote, 
 was " Bath superfine ;" but his line of argument 
 was business-like : — 
 
 " Had I," he says, " voluntarily oflfered you a 
 commodity for purchase, I might have been ex- 
 
 o 2
 
 19G PLEA. 
 
 pected, perhaps, to accept the terms you have 
 named ; but as you come to me, who am no wiUing 
 seller, on your own exigencies, you have no right 
 to complain of my demands, even should you fancy 
 they exceed the real value of the article. Such an 
 understanding is always allowed, in the positions we 
 hold to one another. It is like money — money is 
 more valuable at one time than another, to a cer- 
 tain party ; and if this be your case, and you will 
 have it, why you must pay for it. I have already 
 invested the capital of my professional attraction here 
 with ' Bath, Bristol, and Co.,' and ' I must sell out 
 at an amazing loss' to satisfy you. This is usurious 
 language ; but I cannot apply the metaphor to one 
 who will better understand its force, than George 
 Colman." 
 
 Again, he says, — 
 
 " The terms you have offered me are liberal ; and 
 when I object, I do it, not from a belief that I am a 
 better actor than some you have hitherto engaged, 
 but that circumstances have made me more attrac- 
 tive. If that attraction were a mop-stick without a 
 head, still the mutilated piece of furniture would be 
 worthy its results. Some years since, you gave me 
 a clear benefit and twenty guineas per week, for my 
 eight weeks — I am now to come to you, with more 
 experience and greater fame, on a less remunera- 
 tion. I shall take all the risk, while you grow fat 
 upon the cream of the dairy."
 
 REJOINDER. 197 
 
 He concluded by asking twenty pounds per week 
 and a clear benefit. But, 
 
 *' Wits arc game-cocks to one another." 
 
 The " mop-stick" produced the following re- 
 joinder — 
 
 "You tell me I have made you a liberal offer, 
 and yet you demand a great deal more — now a foot 
 beyond liberality seems to me a stride beyond com- 
 mon sense; and he who demands such a stride? 
 takes no less than a hop, step, and a jump, himself. 
 
 " I cannot call you a mop- stick, and I am quite 
 sure you are not without a head ; but while you were 
 with me, as a new broom, you never swept money 
 into my treasury in proportion to the price with 
 which you have ticketed yourself. If you should 
 again take a brush in the Haymarket, what you 
 carried off before, is nothing to the present busi- 
 ness, or rather, is an argument against your pro- 
 posal. 
 
 " That you have more fame is undeniable ; but it is 
 that country fame of which the good London people 
 know and care as little as may be. But it is past a 
 doubt that, you would have left the metropolis with 
 a currency of fame payable on demand everywhere, 
 had you kept j^our account in the Haymarket in- 
 stead of going to Covent Garden. If I, in a new 
 and hazardous speculation, accede to your lofty 
 terms, I cannot conceive how you will take all the 
 risk, nor (since at Covent Garden you kicked down
 
 198 SURREJOINDER. 
 
 a little of the milk) how I am to get all the cream 
 of the dairy. Did it never occur to you that, as some 
 of your reasons for swelling your demands were 
 grounded on the fear of future loss, if that loss did 
 not occur, you should refund something of your 
 profits in the Haymarket ? This, my good friend, 
 I fear, has never entered that head which you cer- 
 tainly have. 
 
 " Let us now go to work again ; I want you, and 
 have fairly told you so — the following is my ultima- 
 tum. Fourteen pounds per week, and a clear bene- 
 fit, as a performer ; a benefit for your assistance in 
 the business relating to the stage — to cease after 
 one season, or proceed for three, at my option, not 
 yours. As assistant stage-manager, your business 
 will be lighter than that of your predecessor, who 
 had much to do during the winter." 
 
 To this Elliston sur-rejoins : — 
 
 " It is the privilege of wit to trifle with the under- 
 standing, but it is the part of plain reason to deal with 
 it fairly. To the former I have no pretensions, but 
 to the other I have some little — quite enough to 
 enter on the field against George Colman. 
 
 " I deny that the refusal of a liberal offer is an in- 
 consistency, or your stepping further would be a 
 stride beyond common sense. May not an offer be 
 Hberal, and yet not equal to the just claims of the 
 party to whom it is made ? This is neither stride 
 nor stretch, but certainly so clear that he who run 
 may read.
 
 ISSUE. 199 
 
 *' Since, with that harlequinade for which you are 
 so famous, you have turned the mop into a broom, 
 I shall beg to take the birch in hand, and for your 
 chastisement observe, that you should have thought 
 twice before uttering so strange a declaration, as 
 country fame being neither known nor cared for by 
 the Londoners. Pray what was the substance of 
 your own address at the close of your season ? That 
 you would make application in all the principal pro- 
 vincial theatrical towns, for the best talent they 
 could produce, on the very fact of these precise 
 places being the long acknowledged nursery for 
 English actors !" 
 
 After sundry other recapitulations, Elliston con- 
 cludes his letter by accepting the terms which Col- 
 man had offered in his last : 
 
 "But," says he, "I still maintain my right of 
 choice at the end of the first season ; it is only just. 
 Let this treaty follow that of Amiens in March last, 
 and I will sign with * George ' in London ! 
 
 "One word further — on the day of our contract, 
 a bottle of Madeira and a beef-steak ; — mem., the 
 latter, like our women here, delicately dressed, and 
 extremely tender." 
 
 In the meantime, Elliston took occasion earnestly 
 to recommend Bhssett to Colman's attention. 
 
 " Be assured," says he, " you ought not to miss 
 sight of him ; he is a sterling actor. His Falsfaff, 
 Lord Duberlt/, Old Rapid, and Lope Tocho, are all
 
 200 DIMOND. 
 
 inimitable ; the former, would, I think, be highly 
 attractive," 
 
 Of this "sterling actor" and eccentric man, we 
 will beg to give some account, as he was but little 
 known during his day in the metropolis, Bath 
 having been literally the great theatre of his action. 
 
 William Wyatt Dimond and Francis Blissett 
 originally tramped into the city of Bath together, 
 which by the time they had reached, they were 
 nearly barefooted. Like Roderick Random and his 
 friend Strap, they got an occasional lift by some 
 wagon, and on a certain stock of patience, their 
 only resources, commenced the work of their future 
 fortunes. Blissett was quite an eccentric, but his 
 eccentricities were harmless, and gave an additional 
 interest to a character otherwise meritorious. When 
 Dimond, in after days, had become the director of 
 the theatre, and Blissett himself in the way of pros- 
 perity, the latter invited his manager to a little 
 entertainment at his lodgings, and in the course of 
 the evening observed — 
 
 " This day, friend, is the anniversary of our 
 entering Bath together ; it was bleak and chilly as 
 our prospects — I well remember it ; and to-day is 
 likewise cheerful as our prosperity. I'll introduce 
 you to an old acquaintance" — saying which, he 
 produced a pair of old shoes, literally worn through. 
 " See ! here they are," cried he, " the only 
 friends 1 had at the time, save yourself; they bore
 
 BLISSETT. 201 
 
 me safely here, and I shall keep them till I die. I 
 could almost wish to be buried in these shoes." 
 
 Sometime after this he took occasion to intimate 
 to his manager, in terms sufficiently positive, that 
 it was his intention of withdrawing from the com- 
 pany, unless he had an increase of salary. 
 
 " Nay^ nay, my old friend," replied Dimond ; 
 " not so, I trust. You already receive the highest 
 salary which is given in Bath — three pounds a-week ; 
 we cannot exceed it, and I am happy in knowing 
 you do not want it." 
 
 " It may be so," answered Blissett, doggedly ; 
 " but unless I am comphed with, I quit the 
 theatre !" 
 
 " You are somewhat abrupt," responded Dimond, 
 evidently nettled ; " the season is already " 
 
 " ril have it ! " interrupted Blissett, striking 
 
 the table with his hand. 
 
 "What, then, do you demand?" asked the 
 manager. 
 
 "■ Three guineas I'' exclaimed the actor, with an 
 energy irresistibly humorous. " I'll have them, or 
 I go." 
 
 "And so you shall," rejoined Dimond, not a little 
 amused, — " and in consideration of our new piece 
 last week, the increase shall begin from that time," 
 saying which, he drew three shillings from his 
 pocket, and paid them over to his peremptory 
 friend.
 
 202 HIS HUMOURS. 
 
 Blissett was a kind of amateur chapman, and had 
 a great fancy for cheapening small articles on sale, 
 of whatever description they might be. He would, 
 in fact, buy or sell anything within his reach, and 
 as not unfrequently his personal chattels became 
 objects of sudden transfer or alienation, the effect 
 was often ludicrous enough. 
 
 He would leave his abode at the early part of the 
 day in one coat, and return in another, which second 
 he had picked up in exchange during his ramble. 
 A dozen pair of knee-buckles have passed through 
 his hands, in the course of a single month ; and he 
 has even been known to part with the very brass 
 buttons off his coat, whose places have been supplied 
 by less arrogant mother-of-pearl. 
 
 On one occasion, he arrived at the theatre with- 
 out a hat, having sold his only one in the course of 
 his walk, and had not yet selected another. Every- 
 thing appertaining to him was open to a bargain, 
 except his good name, and a certain pair of old 
 shoes, which last, like " Sir Oliver's" picture, " he 
 would keep as long he had a room to hang them in." 
 Elliston himself accidentally crossed him in one of 
 these fanciful expeditions ; meeting the humorist in 
 the neighbourhood of Milsom-street, with a tea- 
 caddy under one arm, and " Dodsley's Poems," 
 together with an oil-skin umbrella, tucked under 
 the other ; these, it appears, he bad bartered, giving 
 in exchange a pair of pistols and a punch-bowl.
 
 AND ECCENTRICITIES. 203 
 
 Blissett's career had been a course of hard labour 
 and endurance. The hardships and privations he 
 underwent in Ireland, were perhaps even more 
 severe than those usually the lot of strolling players ; 
 but he lived to meet the reward of patience and 
 industry, for no actor, not even Elliston himself, 
 was a greater favourite in Bath ; and though he 
 never became rich, in the acceptation of the world, 
 yet he attained something more enviable, namely, 
 the affluence of content and the estate of public 
 esteem. 
 
 William Woodfall, who had been one of Blissett's 
 earliest friends, negotiated an engagement for him 
 at Covent Garden Theatre, about the year 1770, 
 but which Blissett deemed it prudent to decline. 
 
 In 1777, he accepted an offer at the Haymarket, 
 where he continued for above four seasons, and on 
 the 18th of May, 1803, by the earnest recommend- 
 ation of Elliston (as we have seen), Blissett, after 
 an estrangement of so many years, appeared at the 
 same theatre, in the character of Falstaff. During 
 the season, he played many of his favourite parts, 
 but once only repeated Falstaff. 
 
 He was now upwards of sixty years of age, and 
 the bustle of a metropolitan theatre, ill agreeing 
 with one so long accustomed to the quietude and 
 routine of the Bath system, he made his final bow 
 in London at the close of this single season, and 
 returned, with unfeigned satisfaction, to his original
 
 204 HIS OWN HISTORY OF 
 
 friends. In 1812, Blissett retired altogether from 
 the stage, closing his career with the unsullied cha- 
 racter of an honest man, and with the good wishes 
 of all who resembled himself. 
 
 He died at Bath in 1824. 
 
 To this slight notice of an actor, who was so emi- 
 nent a favourite in that place, where he was chiefly 
 known, we will beg leave to subjoin a letter, ad- 
 dressed by him to a leading comedian of the present 
 day. It will be read, we are assured, with much 
 interest : — 
 
 "My GOOD Friend, — You wish some historical 
 account of the Bath theatre, from which place, for 
 me, * there is but one stage more,' (in the words of 
 Bishop Juxon to Charles the Martyr,) nor shall I 
 repine, unless it be the regret that I might have 
 fulfilled my duty better. 
 
 " Who the first Bath manager was I cannot pre- 
 tend to say, but I believe 'Gentleman,' alias ' Copper 
 Captain ' Brown. Mr. Griflith, of the Norwich 
 theatre, followed. Next came Arthur, who was a 
 great comic actor, and to him succeeded Keasberry. 
 Henderson arrived under this reign, thirty years 
 ago— a clumsy Dutch figure, but with a very strong 
 understanding. He went by the name of Courtney, 
 and was a most stickling imitator of Garrick. Yet 
 with all his disadvantages, I think he read and
 
 TIIR BATH THEATRE. 205 
 
 played Hamlet better than your present king.* His 
 salary was the trifling sum of one guinea per week ; 
 so that he was wont jokingly to say to his friends, 
 he should certainly grow rich, as he had a guinea a 
 week, a benefit in the dog-days, and Keasberry to 
 teach him acting ! But his good sense soon freed 
 him from the Garrick trammels, and, like a discreet 
 painter, who had too long copied the ancients with 
 pedantry, retained at last only their beauties, to 
 which he added a fancy and manner of his own. 
 
 " Mr. Dimond came soon after this gentleman ; he 
 had acted at Drury Lane the part of Romeo, under 
 the direction of Garrick. His respectability and 
 gentle behaviour soon gained him many friends at 
 Bath, in which place he became quite as great a 
 favourite as Elliston is at present. Mr. Dimond was 
 lucky in marrying a lady with a good estate, with 
 which he purchased a part of the theatre, and there 
 is not an actor who can sit uneasy under the sweet 
 shade of his government. Blissett, {ipsissimus ,) who 
 was born at Reading, was thrust upon the world at 
 the age of thirteen. He would be an actor, and came 
 out under the management ofBobby Bates, at Shepton 
 Mallett, but was soon after shipped off by Little 
 Derrick, the then M. C. of Batii, to Smock Alley. 
 This was the period in which Mr. and Mrs. Didier, 
 Mr. Edwin, Mr. Richards, (the present Mrs. Edwin's 
 
 * Kcinblc.
 
 206 LETTER. 
 
 father,) Miss Catley, and several others, made their 
 debut in Dublin. 
 
 " Much could I say of Mossop, but he would oc- 
 cupy more time than I can just now afford. We 
 literally starved the whole season. I am quite sure, 
 that had we been put into the scales at the end of 
 it, we should not have weighed half our original 
 ounces — and we never were a sleek company at 
 best. 
 
 " I then followed the fortunes of an itinerant ma- 
 nager, the famous Fisher, who went to Russia. 
 From him I went to Edinburgh, with Ross — thence 
 to Birmingham, and at length to Bath. 
 
 " And now, with something less than an annual 
 sum of 200/., I quit the chequered scene of a player's 
 life — a woof in which, if there be but few bright 
 colours, I have found some threads of friendship 
 and attachment, which are yet strong and binding. 
 If you think my experience can yield you anything 
 useful, command me, my good friend." 
 
 Elliston's heavy professional duties at Bath, his 
 occasional acting in other theatres, and the prospect 
 of fresh labours awaiting him at the Haymarket, in
 
 UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD. 207 
 
 London, might have satisfied him, it would be 
 thought, for the present. But no such thing — the 
 comedian, hke the sentimental young lady, was 
 formed " to shine in adversity," and yearned for 
 the sweets of martyrdom. His engagements were 
 many, but their current was too smooth, too un- 
 ruffled, for his sense of the picturesque ; and having 
 just learnt of the many fruitless attempts, which had 
 been made by dramatic managers for permission to 
 import plays and players into the University of 
 Oxford, he determined at once to enter himself on 
 the hazard, and to carry with success, a point in 
 which all his predecessors had failed. 
 
 To Lord Harcourt, he applies, as usual, and, as 
 usual, the Earl responds in the most condescending 
 and friendly manner : — 
 
 " Harcourt House, Feb. 19, 1803." 
 
 " Sir, — You may have formed a higher notion of 
 my influence in the University of Oxford than I 
 possess ; for although my family has for six cen- 
 turies been settled in its neighbourhood, I received 
 no part of my education in that place. 
 
 *' Having, however, many friends resident there, 
 I may be of some assistance in the promotion of 
 your plan. I have already endeavoured to interest 
 in your favour, a leading member of the University, 
 who will be informed of vour fainilv connexions, and
 
 208 LORD HARCOURT. 
 
 of the manner in which you have heen educated, as 
 well as the correctness of your private conduct ; 
 and, if it be necessary, I will add my testimony to 
 your excellence in that profession, by which you are 
 publicly known. 
 
 " But should your application meet with success, 
 I do not see how you can carry on your project, 
 with certain other engagements which you tell me 
 you have entered into. Every man knows, or is 
 supposed to know, his own affairs best ; and al- 
 though I am well aware you can perform many 
 parts by your single talent, I cannot see how you 
 can be in two places at once, with all your abi- 
 lity. 
 
 " Harcourt. 
 
 " Mr. Elliston, Milsom-street, Bath." 
 
 In this respect, as in all his promises, the earl 
 was as good as his word ; but the importation of 
 modern stage plays into the bosom of this antique 
 seat of learning was not so easy an experiment. 
 
 The Universities have ever looked with prescriptive 
 awe on the acting drama ; and however inconsistent 
 this may be, remembering their extreme tenderness 
 in respect of many usages, which so holy and vigi- 
 lant a body might have been roused to suppress, 
 yet with them, usage has a high authority, and 
 great is the respect to the laying on of hands of 
 Time.
 
 VICE-CHANCELLOR OF OXFORD. 209 
 
 The negotiation being opened, Elliston received 
 the following notice : — 
 
 "Oxford, Pembroke College, Feb. 19, 1803. 
 
 " Sir, — The Vice-Chancellor having lately lost 
 his mother, prevented me from conversing with him 
 on the subject of your letter till yesterday. 
 
 " His reply is, that no plays will be allowed to 
 be acted in the University next summer. He told 
 me that he had received several applications on the 
 same subject previous to yours, and if it were pos- 
 sible to grant permission on this occasion, the pre- 
 ference would be given to your respectability and 
 professional talents. 
 
 " I am, Sir, your obedient servant, 
 
 "John Vinicombe." 
 
 This announcement from Pembroke appears by 
 no means to have settled the question w^ith Elliston. 
 He still follows up his object ; and in consequence 
 of a second attempt, receives the annexed gentle 
 rebuke from the Vice-Chancellor himself : — 
 
 " Worcester College, Oxford, March 5tii, 1803. 
 
 " Sir, — I am sorry you should have taken the 
 trouble of repeating your application to me, after 
 the reasons which I thought it my duty to give to 
 Mr. Vinicombe, for declining to comply with your 
 request. 
 
 p
 
 210 ANECDOTE. 
 
 " The manner in which Mr. Vinicombe spoke of 
 you, could leave me no room to doubt of the respec- 
 tability of your character. It is not, therefore, for 
 want of confidence in that, that I did then, and still 
 must, withhold ray consent to the coming of any 
 persons to this place, for the purpose of making 
 theatrical exhibitions. If I could consent to any, 
 I should not object to your apphcation ; but it is 
 my determination to consent to none. 
 
 " I am, Sir, your obedient humble servant, 
 
 And thus terminated the Oxford experiment. 
 
 The introduction of theatrical amusements into 
 our Universities, appears as forbidding as theatrical 
 speculations were once deemed hazardous in Scot- 
 land ; for we remember to have heard that, in the 
 year 1726, one Tony Aston spoke a prologue in 
 that country, written by Allan Ramsay, in which 
 he compared himself to ** Columbus," in the danger 
 of so great an enterprise. 
 
 Mr. Gore, in his fondness for the drama, had, 
 from time to time, collected much theatrical anec- 
 dote, with many biographical notices of performers 
 — the greater part, perhaps, of which, the public, 
 through other channels, are already in possession 
 of. 
 
 The following incident, however, which may not
 
 ESCOURT. 2] 1 
 
 be so generally known, we take the occasion which 
 now presents itself of relating. 
 
 Escourt was a celebrated player in the latter day 
 of the seventeenth century. When quite a boy, he 
 decamped from paternal authority, and enlisted 
 under the banners of a theatrical leader. He was 
 but fifteen years of age, when, at Worcester, he 
 acted the part of Roxana, in the play of " Alexan- 
 der the Great ;" his feminine appearance being at 
 that time a greater recommendation than his imma- 
 ture skill as an actor. 
 
 To this place he was traced by his enraged pa- 
 rent, who would evidently have commuted his 
 dramatic salary into a sound whipping, but the 
 manager's wife taking compassion on him, furnished 
 him with an entire suit of her own clothes, and thus 
 equipped, he escaped for the second time. 
 
 Arriving at Chipping Norton, he entered an inn. 
 Fear and fatigue induced him to seek an early bed, 
 to which, in a remote attic, he had not long retired, 
 when the busy landlady, abruptly entering, begged 
 that, as the house was full of travellers, " the young 
 gentlewoman" would accept a companion for the 
 night. Poor Escourt hereupon gave consent in 
 that language which is said always to imply it — 
 namely, silence — which the hostess deeming quite 
 sufficient, handed up a third personage, and hastily 
 quitted the apartment to attend on far more pro- 
 fitable customers below. 
 
 p 2
 
 212 FLIGHT IN DISGUISE. 
 
 Dread, rather than delight, occupied the young 
 runaway — dread, soon converted into utter dismay, 
 when, on stealthily raising his eyes from the bed- 
 covering, he descried a toothless, beetle-eyed an- 
 tique, " swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing 
 like so clean." The lad could have crept into a very 
 nutshell, and rolling himself into as small a com- 
 pass as possible, withdrew to the edge of the pallet j 
 still counterfeiting sleep. 
 
 After a laborious fit of coughing and ventrilo- 
 quizing, the distempered crone approached the bed, 
 and loosening by degrees portions of her attire, 
 scrambled on that division of the couch which the 
 trembling boy had so liberally allotted her. With 
 a heavy groan down she lay, whilst deeper horrors 
 than tlie tyranny of Mezemius ever devised, filled 
 the thoughts of her companion. The wheeze was 
 soon lost in more distinct accents of sleep, which, 
 though but little grateful to the ear of him who 
 watched so near, yet somewhat relieved him from 
 the terrors of detection and consequent punish- 
 ment. 
 
 But terror — pain itself — will yield to fatigue, and 
 as Damiens himself is said to have even slept upon 
 the rack, so, as the morning approached, exhausted 
 by long suffering, the younger of the twain fell also 
 into a profound slumber. 
 
 But the grey-eyed morn had scarcely winked on 
 the denizens of earth, when the couchant travellers
 
 AN INNOCENT YOUTH. 213 
 
 of the *' Rampant Lion" were roused to a sense of 
 alarm by a shriek hoarser than the raven ; and, at 
 the same moment, a sudden overthrow of a water- 
 butt and pewter vessel on the staircase, which pre- 
 sently set the whole establishment into the wildest 
 commotion. 
 
 Young Escourt, it may be well supposed, was 
 startled with no less affright, and in confused recol- 
 lection of the late events, missing his helle affiancee 
 of the over night, was about springing from his bed, 
 when renewed accents bursting through the bon- 
 dage of a well-remembered wheeze, exclaimed, 
 
 "Abomination on your house! help! help! I 
 say. You nest of rogues and varlets ! help ! help ! 
 I say !" 
 
 It was now clear, that by some strange accident 
 the poor youth had been discovered, and totally 
 unconscious of the ludicrous evidence of moral 
 turpitude fixed upon him, recollecting only his filial 
 disobedience and its probable consequences, he fell 
 on his knees just as the landlady, followed by half 
 the household, entered the apartment, avowing him- 
 self a most guilty wretch, but claiming pity and 
 protection. 
 
 The good hostess mistaking the nature both of 
 his distress and confession, as well she might, burst 
 into an immoderate fit of laughter, in which she 
 was joined by the whole posse at her heels. Fur-
 
 214 HAPPY ESCAPE. 
 
 ther explanations, however, took place ; the un- 
 conscious Ubertine was acquitted, and, provided 
 with fresh disguise, was again forwarded on his 
 flight. 
 
 [Henry Twisleton Elliston, born Jan. 14th, 1802 — godfather, 
 Hon. Cliarles James Twisleton.]
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Ellistou's tragedy, a critical notice on his quality — Hamlet — 
 The Stranger — Rolla — Orestes — Edgar — Araintor — Romeo 
 — A benefit — Humorous letter of Colnian — Journey to 
 London — A break down^ &c. — Elliston meets with his first 
 love — Misfortunes and tears — The history of poor Alice — 
 Strange recognition — Elliston acts Ricliard III. at the Hay- 
 market — " Love laughs at locksmiths" — Rupture with Col- 
 man— Domestic calamity — Elliston "at home" — The Three 
 Graces — Elliston a maitre de danse. 
 
 As the subject of these memoirs is now about to bid 
 farewell to the home of his dramatic youth, in which 
 he had been nurtured for ten years, having attained 
 the manhood both of his art and stature, — a city, 
 second only to the metropolis in histrionic science, 
 and pre-eminently distinguished as a school of 
 actors* — it may be expected that we should bear 
 some testimony to the public opinion of Elliston in 
 a few of those leading parts of tragedy to which by 
 this time he had put forth such high pretensions. 
 
 * Bath produced Siddoiis, Henderson, Edw in, and others.
 
 216 
 
 ELLISTON S TRAGEDY. 
 
 Elliston was an actor of what may be termed 
 the Romantic School. Unlike in style, either of 
 his great contemporaries, Kemble or Cooke, he 
 was yet distinguished in some of those delinea- 
 tions of tragedy, by which the names of those two 
 actors have become so justly memorable ; and what- 
 ever deficiency attached to him in respect of their 
 appropriate excellences, was in a great measure 
 supplied by that demonstration of the picturesque 
 which, when germane to the character, never fails 
 to impress the spectator with delight. 
 
 Of the commanding presence — the passionless 
 stoicism — which characterized so much the style of 
 Mr. Kemble, and of that classic bearing which, on 
 the Roman scene, rendered him incomparably greater 
 than any English actor history may have handed 
 to us since the days of Betterton, Elliston had no 
 perception. The metaphysical ponderings of Bru- 
 tus, the inspelled imaginings of Macbeth,^ were read 
 in the very form and aspect of Kemble ; but the fire 
 of Hotspur and chivalry of Henry F., bright as they 
 
 * The following is an abstract of the account, which Tom 
 Davies gives in his " Miscellanies," of various actors in this 
 part. Betterton is celebrated in the "Tatler" as being excellent 
 in Macbeth, but Gibber makes no particular mention of him in 
 that character, which he acted on the very verge of life. Mills 
 afterwards obtained it of Wilks, but he was heavy and dull ; Quin 
 was monotonous ; Mossop wanted variety ; Barry had too much 
 amenity for the terrible agonies of Macbeth; Garrick alone could 
 comprehend and execute the complicated properties of this cha- 
 racter.
 
 " <T < >IT ■r.r., " 
 
 HAMLET. 217 
 
 were in his beautiful portraiture, did not extinguish 
 the burning of his fellow light, which lost none of 
 its brilliancy by a near propinquity to that great 
 master of his art. 
 
 EUiston in both of these parts displayed a roman- 
 tic gallantry of tone and action, foregoing no lien 
 on the dignity of either, which rendered his imper- 
 sonations equal to any comparison. He was distin- 
 guished for flexibility and variableness of voice, 
 which produced powerful effects — now " the silver- 
 toned Barry," and now again the manly intonations 
 of Booth — which always being judiciously employed, 
 tended greatly to that amount of fame which attached 
 to him as a tragic actor.* 
 
 The mental abstraction which belongs to the cha- 
 racter of Hamlet, not calm and stoical, but tost and 
 turbulent, met with a happy delineation in Ellis- 
 ton's efforts — his tremulous awe, his impressive ac- 
 cents, when in the presence of his father's spirit, 
 produced on his auditory a cleaving sympathy — 
 like Betterton, " he made the ghost equally terrible 
 to the spectator as to himself." 
 
 Mr. Kemble was here too much the " Prince of 
 Denmark," — his awe too much at court, as though 
 he might have uttered, " Angels and ministers of 
 
 * " The learned Seldon," speaking of tone, pointedly asks, 
 " If a man were to cry out Murder! in the accents of making 
 love, would any one run to Iiel]) liimr"
 
 218 "hamlet. 
 
 >> 
 
 state, defend us !" — not so, the subject of our pre- 
 sent inquiry: the animal passions were naturally 
 portrayed, while at no sacrifice of essential grace ; 
 and though Elliston by no means retained for any 
 length of time, this ability in the part in question, 
 yet in its brief possession he was popularly consi- 
 dered to have had no superior. In the chastening 
 interview with the players, Mr. Kemble's style of 
 instruction and manner, rose far above the attempts 
 of his young rival ; and in the closet scene, Mr. 
 Kemble was equally his master. At one moment 
 Elliston seemed almost affected to tears — he ap- 
 peared to take too literally " si vis me flere, do- 
 lendum est, primum ipsi tibi" — the effect was 
 bad, and altogether inconsistent with the tenor of 
 the scene. 
 
 The expression of grief on the stage should 
 ever be manly — a sob, however natural, is more 
 likely to produce a smile than any sympathetic 
 emotion. 
 
 Notwithstanding Elliston's popularity in this part, 
 we incline to think Hamlet was not amongst his 
 most felicitous tragic attempts. The character of 
 Hamlet is not that of tenderness; had the "royal 
 Dane" been living, and Claudius guiltless of his 
 blood, it remains still a question whether the young 
 prince had proved himself really a lover. When he 
 finds himself even at Ophelia's grave, he merely 
 utters, "What! the fair Ophelia !" and although
 
 (( 
 
 THE STRANGER." 219 
 
 he avows that " forty thousand brothers could not, 
 with all their quantity of love, make up my sum," 
 yet the speech is evidently a splenetic outpouring 
 against Laertes, rather than the bursting of a lover's 
 bosom. 
 
 Elliston's ambition was to shew himself an ori- 
 ginal actor, which in most instances he did, to the 
 credit of his judgment and increased dramatic effect; 
 yet in the part of the Stranger, he had evidently 
 taken Mr. Kemble as his archetype ; and certainly 
 he could not have selected a better ; for next to Pen- 
 ruddock, which in Mr. Kemble's delineation was 
 positively without a fault, his Stranger was a most 
 striking portraiture. 
 
 Mr. Kemble's manner of comment on the con- 
 duct of Mrs. Haller, which he apprehends to have 
 been a scheme to practise on his feelings — his de- 
 portment, on recognising her — his description of 
 the sneers that would track him, should they again 
 appear together — his mode of tearing the paper, 
 and his speech, " I have heard much good of you," 
 &c., gave at least strong indications of our comedian 
 having seen Kemble in this part — but Elliston's 
 listening to the song, wherein Mr. Kemble only ap- 
 peared dejected, gave the spectator a closer impres- 
 sion of past happiness suddenly recalled to memory, 
 and the speechless anguish of a broken heart.* 
 
 Quintilicui lutntioris having seen actors, after performing 
 pathetic ohaiactcrs, actunlly weep for a time, on layinc aside
 
 220 " ROLLA. 
 
 jj 
 
 EUiston made also a considerable ** hit" at Bath, 
 in the part of Rolla, by taking up, in a great measure, 
 a different view of impersonation, from that adopted 
 by Mr. Kemble in the same. Nothing could be 
 more popular, at this period, than Mr. Kemble's 
 delineation of the character ; and Elliston truly felt 
 " onerosum est succedere bono principi ;" but ha- 
 zardous as it was, he succeeded to his best ambi- 
 tion. He felt that Kemble's Rolla was rather Co- 
 riolanus in a Peruvian garb than the native impulse 
 of a pure unlettered patriot — stilted but not awful 
 — the dignity of a king rather than a man. Ellis- 
 ton conceived the words, " What Peruvian ever 
 wronged a Spaniard?" not as an harangue, but a 
 bold and resolute appeal; and in the previous intel- 
 ligence to Cora, " Alonzo is taken prisoner," he ex- 
 hibited a touch of human sensibility which, whilst 
 it gave new lustre to the heroic scenes, snatched an 
 effect at the moment, which Kemble disdained to 
 elicit. His rescue of Alonzo's child, also, having a 
 more evident show of impulse in action, was per- 
 haps more striking than Mr. Kemble's manner ; but 
 the latter, in the very concluding scene, always ac- 
 complished a great triumph. 
 
 The mixed character of Orestes was one of Ellis- 
 ton's most successful delineations. His depressed 
 
 their masks. " Vidi ego ssepe histrioncs atque comoedos, cum 
 ex aliquo graviore actu personam deposuisseiit, Hcntes adliuc 
 I.
 
 C( 
 
 ROMEO." 221 
 
 state of mind at disappointed passion, in the com- 
 mencement of the play — his speech in the presence 
 of Hermione, flattered that she had sent for him — 
 
 "Ah 1 madam, is it true ? Does, then, Orestes, 
 At length attend you by your own commands ?" 
 
 were all finely impressive. 
 
 The manner in which he related the death of 
 Pyrrhus, and that wilderness of idea which precedes 
 confirmed madness, exhibited a masterpiece of the 
 Romantic School. 
 
 In Romeo, Elliston was always attractive — a suc- 
 cess multiplying his triumphs without greatly adding 
 to his fame ; as Romeo is perhaps the least intel- 
 lectual character of Shakspeare's heroes. But the 
 wild, romantic passion of the youthful Veronese, 
 and that frightful despair, the last of mortal suffer- 
 ing, were powerfully portrayed by him — the scene 
 with Friar Lawrence, wherein he hears his sentence, 
 " banishment," and particularly the speech, con- 
 cluding — 
 
 " " They may seize 
 
 On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand, 
 And steal immortal blessings from her lips," 
 
 were also most effectively sustained. 
 
 We do not find any great praise given to his im- 
 personation of Othello, although he frequently acted 
 the part. If, therefore, we are to conclude that 
 the attempt was not what might be deemed success-
 
 222 GARRICK. 
 
 ful, it is but fair to his attainments in other direc- 
 tions, to credit that there were at least some features 
 in it of considerable merit. 
 
 Elliston, at this period, clearly delighted in his art, 
 and took unwearied pains in the study of all his 
 characters, not merely in the theatre itself, but he 
 left no opportunity neglected of marking the human 
 character, under the varied chances of life, by which 
 it might be strongly acted upon. 
 
 He recollected, as the reader himself will probably 
 call to mind, that affecting incident in the life of 
 Garrick, whose friend, an elderly man, having an 
 only daughter, was one day caressing the child at 
 an open window, from which it suddenly sprang, 
 and falling into the street, was killed on the spot ; 
 the mind of the father at once deserted him. Garrick 
 frequently visited the poor destraught, and took 
 from him many impressions which afterwards so 
 strikingly characterized his representation of Lear* 
 
 Gait has said, in his " Lives of the Players," that 
 Cooke, from a severity of style, might be deemed 
 the " Tacitus of the EngUsh Stage." Taking up 
 the above hint, we may not inaptly, perhaps, desig- 
 nate Elliston as the ** Livy" of the same period. 
 The picturesque and romantic air, which he often 
 
 * A still more remarkable anecdote is transmitted to us of an 
 ancient actor, who, in the play of the ' Electra," brought on the 
 stage the urn containing the ashes of his own son, as a new ex- 
 citement to his scenic efforts.
 
 " AMINTOU." 223 
 
 threw into his impersonations, if open sometimes to 
 suspicion on the rigid grounds of good faith, was 
 generally in perfect keeping and always greatly in- 
 teresting ; whilst his love of "making speeches" 
 rendered the comparison with that oratorical histo- 
 rian still more happy. 
 
 Though far short of a great tragedian, Elliston 
 was an impressive player of tragic parts. If not 
 Cato, Lear, Macbeth, or Melantius, he was Juba, 
 Edgar, Macduff, and Amintor, without a superior. 
 In the character of Amintor, full of those incon- 
 sistencies and weaknesses, which, as in that of 
 Jaffier, not unfrequently give a peculiar interest to 
 the scene, Elliston won the praise of his auditors ; 
 and the manner and force in wiiich he delivered one 
 speech, was always a point of admiration. He 
 addresses Evadne on her remorse : — 
 
 " Do not mock me, 
 
 Though I am tame, and bred up with my wrongs, 
 Which are my foster-brothers, I may leap, 
 Like a hand-wolf, Into my native wildness, 
 And do an outrage. Prithee, do not work me!' 
 
 His Falconbridge was good ; but Mr. Charles Kemble 
 has so far excelled all actors we have on record, in 
 this particular delineation, that we venture not a 
 momentary hazard with him. 
 
 Phocion, Douglas, and Horatio, were amongst 
 EUiston's less ambitious, but at the same time.
 
 224 A BENEFIT. 
 
 highly successful efforts ; for he manifested equal 
 pains and diligence in study, however unequally 
 esteemed some of these parts are, in the acceptation 
 of the drama ; and seemed to feel the truth of that 
 excellent exhortation which concludes a number of 
 the " Observer" — namely, 
 
 "An actor is in the capacity of a steward to every 
 living muse, and of an executor to every departed 
 one. The poet digs up the ore ; he sifts it from its 
 dross, refines and purifies it for the mint ; but the 
 actor sets the stamp upon it, and makes it current 
 in the world." 
 
 We have so far spoken of EUiston only as a 
 tragedian — his comedy, by which he afterwards 
 became more generally known, and in which he 
 far more unequivocally excelled, will become the 
 inquiry of future pages. 
 
 Baffled in his many attempts at becoming part 
 proprietor in the Bath property, EUiston had now, 
 however, attained a joint management in a London 
 establishment — namely, that of the Haymarket 
 Theatre — and in March, he took leave of his old 
 friends by a benefit, which was rendered not a little 
 remarkable by a speech from the benejiciare and a 
 *' row " in the playhouse. 
 
 The manner in which EUiston, in after days, dis- 
 tinguished himself by these episodical addresses to 
 the audience, of which he was clearly so vain, that 
 he would frequently administer them without a
 
 AN " EMEUTR." 225 
 
 cause (as practitioners sometimes recommend their 
 drugs to prevent sickness,) induces us to take more 
 notice of this particular instance than, perhaps, we 
 should otherwise have done ; for he verily became, in 
 course of time, a kind of dramatic Anacharsis Clootz, 
 vindicating his own rights, one moment, in a Court 
 of Chancery, and at another, instructing his play- 
 going auditory in the formation of their judgment, 
 and telling them plainly what was wholesome for 
 their constitution, as critics and men of taste. 
 
 His address on this occasion was woven in many 
 party-coloured threads, which gave to his harangue 
 a most pleasing variety ; — of course, he had much 
 to say about " gratitude" and " early friends" — 
 then came the '^French Revolution" and his •' own 
 prospects " — while " Shakspeare and the musical 
 glasses'" completed the tissue. 
 
 It had been publicly announced, that on the occa- 
 sion of this benefit, " the pit would be thrown into 
 boxes," and " the gallery admission raised to pit 
 prices;" an expedient not without precedent, but 
 a usage highly indecorous, and which, in more 
 recent times, has been very properly discontinued. 
 
 Favoured and caressed as Elliston had ever been 
 by the Bath public, this experiment did not pass 
 without much invective, and some opposition ; for 
 no sooner did the curtain rise for the play, than there 
 was a rising also amongst the spectators, which 
 threatened, for a time, serious consequences. 
 
 Q
 
 226 QUICK. 
 
 " Throwing the pit into boxes," had very nearly 
 produced throwing the boxes into the pit ; for some 
 of the most irritated of the party were actually 
 about demolishing the furniture, and the extra tax 
 which had been extorted by the gallery Commis- 
 sioners, seemed to indicate as awful a result as the 
 impost of " ship-money " itself, or any similar act 
 of tyrannic '* benevolence." EUiston, however, 
 " made a speech" — which many might have envied, 
 and none but George Robins, excelled — by which 
 he presently won all hearts to his own service, and 
 peace was restored without one sixpence returned. 
 
 The play was the " Beaux Stratagem,"* Elliston, 
 of course, sustaining Archer, which he did with great 
 vivacity and effect. 
 
 Amongst his early dramatic friends, whom he 
 now quitted to meet no more — at least, on the 
 mimic scene — was Quick, the ori^insLl Bob Acres and 
 Tony Lumpkin, of whom says "Anthony Pasquin" — 
 
 " With his gibes and his quiddities, cranks and his wiles, 
 His croak and his halt, and his smirks and his smiles, 
 View the smart tiny Quick, giving grace to a joke, 
 With a laugh-loving eye, or a leer equivoque !" 
 
 Before leaving Bath, Elliston received fresh intel- 
 ligence from Colman. 
 
 * " This celebrated comedy was begun, finished, and acted, 
 in the space of six weeks ; but too late, with all that haste, for 
 the advantage of the author. On the third night,which was for 
 his bf-nofit, Farquhar died of a broken heart." — Gait' s Lives.
 
 HUMOROUS LETTER OF COLMAN. 227 
 
 " I have engaged," says he, " a Mr. Kelly, and 
 my covenants are by no means so agreeable as 1 
 could have wished. As those whom heaven has 
 joined, no man is to put asunder, I am compelled 
 to take him — wife and baggage. 
 
 " The lady's tongue is of that fathom, that on 
 opening her mouth on my stage, it will unavoidably 
 reach the visages of the upper gallery. It bears with 
 it, likewise, a lazy lisp, which could not fail teach- 
 ing our audience the 'Whole Art of hissing, did 
 they require to be reminded of such accomplish- 
 ments. Plain she is, at all times ; but in speaking, 
 she chews the cud, and is rather fitted for a museum 
 than a playhouse. 
 
 "It is Plutarch, I believe, who tells us that Minerva 
 threw away her flute on perceiving the grimaces she 
 made in the surface of a river. She was a sensible 
 woman ; I would to Heaven, Mrs. Kelly would throw 
 me over too. 
 
 " I have also engaged a Mr. Hatton — a three- 
 pounder, and a very useful man ; for he can cram 
 a hundred lengths into his head with the facility of 
 a land-surveyor's reel-measure. 
 
 *' I hope to greet you in town on the 24th. Come 
 to Waldron's at two o'clock, and I will read to you 
 the Prelude ; I will then give you some clew to my 
 castellum, where George Colman is to be found by 
 his friends — ' a place,' as Mrs. Millwood declares, 
 ' by art so cunningly contrived, that the piercing 
 
 q2
 
 228 JOURNEY. 
 
 eyes of jealousy may search in vain, to find an en- 
 trance.' 
 
 " Weighty Lady Buckinghamshire* has just writ- 
 ten to me for a stage-box, on our opening — for her, 
 unquestionably an opening. And now, success at- 
 tend us ! 
 
 " Haymarket against Newmarket !" 
 
 Early in May, Elliston started for London, but 
 the journey itself was a little interrupted by the 
 coach breaking down within two miles of Devizes. 
 Unfortunately it rained hard at the moment — a 
 pelting torrent — so that the inside passengers being 
 prevented walking onwards, the coach was propped 
 up, and the good people compelled to remain sta- 
 tionary, whilst the guard rode on with a pair of 
 horses, for the purpose of bringing back some ve- 
 hicle for conveying the party into the town. 
 
 This incident, which, at any other time, had 
 afforded our friend a step only to further adventure, 
 w'as now a great annoyance, as he had appointed to 
 meet Colman, at a certain hour, in London. How- 
 ever, he made the best of it, converting his own 
 mortification into a source of amusement for others 
 
 * Lady Buckingliamshire, when Mrs. Hobart, was celebrated 
 in the Duke of Richmond's private theatricals. She played the 
 Widoio Belmore, in " The Way to Keep Him," and Mrs. 
 Darner siustained the part of Mrs. Lovemorc. These ladies 
 often appeared together with great eclat. Lady B.'s Mrs. 
 Oakley was thought even to resemble that of Mrs. Pritchard.
 
 A BREAK DOWN. 229 
 
 — particularly with one old lady, who declared " it 
 was as good as a play to hear him." He talked, as 
 usual, of Ben Jonson and Moses, Julius Caesar and 
 Lord George Gordon — so that, however gloomy the 
 prospect might have been without, all was cheerful 
 and sunny within. 
 
 After waiting in this situation for above an hour, 
 the fresh carriage arrived, which proved to be no 
 other than a black, mourning-coach, followed by a 
 hearse, intended as a conveyance for the luggage. 
 Here new difficulties arose, some of the party refus- 
 ing to enter so mortally grave a vehicle — difficulties, 
 which were but little removed by the many nervous 
 stories Elliston had to tell about Colonel Despard, 
 who had just been hanged, and poor Colonel Mont- 
 gomery, who had just been murdered. But at 
 length, in they crept, and we verily believe many a 
 funeral party had been far more light-hearted, than 
 some of the present company — particularly a cer- 
 tain quack doctor, who had now completely lost his 
 courage, and whose physiognomy underwent as 
 sudden a change, as that of some of our merry 
 friends after being about fifteen minutes at sea ! 
 
 A mourning coach conveying passengers, habited 
 in all the colours of a harlequin jacket, with har- 
 lequin himself in the midst ; and a hearse following, 
 containing, amongst other things, the wardrobe of a 
 travelling comedian, with the nostrums of "Dr. 
 Infallible," to boot — must have been a strange 
 sight to the " upturned, wondering eyes," of the
 
 230 ELLISTON. A MEETING. 
 
 townspeople of Devizes. The cavalcade, however, 
 without further impediment, reached the inn, when 
 it was ascertained that, at least two hours must 
 elapse before a proper vehicle could be got in 
 readiness, for the travellers to proceed. 
 
 Part of the meantime Elliston occupied by per- 
 ambulating the town, and entering a stationer's 
 shop for the purchase of some article, his attention 
 was irresistibly arrested by the fair boutiquiere who 
 attended him. She was habited in half-mourning, 
 and followed from the back-parlour to the counter, 
 by a little prattling infant, evidently her own dar- 
 ling. Her manner was reserved, having that air of 
 depression, the result rather of affliction than the 
 indication of natural disposition. 
 
 Elliston regarded her with the curiosity of half- 
 awakened recollection, and protracting his stay 
 under some trifling pretence, endeavoured to solve 
 his perplexity. The truth presently flashed on him, 
 and he exclaimed, 
 
 " Alice ! Alice ! — is it indeed you ! Do you not 
 remember me?" 
 
 A slight, instantaneous suffusion passed over her, 
 as he uttered these words, and raising her eyes, 
 which spoke too evidently of sorrow, replied, with 
 a faint, nervous smile — " Oh, yes ! you are " 
 
 " Is it really my young, kind friend, Alice, whom 
 I see ?" interrupted Elliston — "who was so good 
 to me at Newbury, eleven years ago, when, melan- 
 choly myself, I "
 
 HIS FIRST LOVE. 231 
 
 Here, the tears of poor Alice began to flow so 
 copiously, that EUiston knew not, for a moment, 
 whether to proceed ; but seeing clearly he had 
 broached some spring of bitterness, he at once 
 frankly sought the history of her distress, and all 
 that had passed since their first meeting. 
 
 The following may be considered, in substance, 
 the narrative collected by the disjointed account 
 she now gave him : — 
 
 Alice, for a fleeting season, a happy wife, was 
 now, at twenty-seven years, a broken-hearted widow ! 
 She had married, about six years since, a lieutenant 
 in the navy — " the noblest and the kindest of men, 
 and so handsome that he was quite a prodigy !" — 
 for such were her own words. Their means were 
 but slender, but they enjoyed that felicity, which 
 gives to days the rapidity of moments, and to mo- 
 ments the value of ages. 
 
 Their first blow was the death of her own father ; 
 a calamity not lessened by the discovery that he 
 had left his family in poor circumstances, which 
 Alice lamented, far more on her mother's account 
 than her own, for blessed with the wealth of her 
 husband's love, she could not believe that want 
 could assume any other shape in this world, than 
 wanting that. 
 
 The . expedition against Copenhagen, not long 
 after, called the young sailor suddenly to his " first 
 love" — namely, his country — of whom, though 
 Alice had often nobly expressed, she should never
 
 232 MISFORTUNES AND TEARS. 
 
 feel one jealous pang, yet, when the moment of di- 
 vorcement actually had arrived, her conduct was so 
 totally unlike that Spartan magnanimity, which her 
 school- days had taught her to admire, that we fear 
 she would sadly discredit such glowing tradition, 
 were we to represent the pitiful object of despair 
 she exhibited at his farewell. 
 
 Having joined the naval armament in the Yar- 
 mouth Roads, under Sir Hyde Parker, the lieutenant 
 felt no longer " a divided duty." " Love, honour, 
 and obey," was now his country's ; and he was 
 quickly called on to prove his allegiance, in the 
 memorable day of the Danish siege. 
 
 The result is well recorded. " We fought and 
 conquered '."—The glorious upshot was the imme- 
 diate theme of the young sailor's communication to 
 the sleepless solitude of her, who was at that mo- 
 ment praying for his safety. "Victory !" was the 
 only word he announced — for victory was perhaps 
 the only sentiment the mind had, just then, room 
 for. 
 
 A second letter, not long after the former, 
 reached her. Its tone was less of havoc, much 
 more of affection ; indeed, during the whole two 
 pages, there was not a single man-of-war in commis- 
 sion. The Heutenant, in fact, spoke ardently of 
 return, and anticipated in colours, more glowing 
 than those of England's flag, the ecstacy of meet- 
 ing.
 
 POOR ALICE. 233 
 
 The day mentioned in the letter had arrived. 
 Alice, attired in the very dress her husband had 
 chosen for her as his parting present, and with a 
 countenance beaming in more than hope — confi- 
 dence — at soon beholding him, caressed her infant 
 by a thousand kisses, on the sweetest holiday she 
 had ever known. 
 
 The hour arrived — had passed — but he — he came 
 not. The coach, mentioned as his conveyance, had 
 already rolled through Maidstone, (the town near 
 which she then resided,) yet brought not her hus- 
 band . 
 
 '' He is detained," cried she ; " to-morrow I shall 
 see him — to-morrow, which shall gild my days to 
 come, by its blessed remembrance." Spite of all, 
 Alice was that night depressed, but, like the nure- 
 tree of Deccan, her heart exulted in its new exist- 
 ence on the morrow. She rehearsed again his 
 favourite song, that she might be the more perfect 
 in its performance, (as she said,) but it was, in fact, 
 to divert her musings. 
 
 Again, the coach — again, on this second day — 
 threaded the town — yet no form of him, whose 
 spirit was the locked-up hostage in her heart. She 
 would not be alarmed — she was actually /?•/(/ /i^e/iec? 
 at alarm — framing in her hurried fancy new ex- 
 cuses for his stay, the probability of which, she 
 would not trust herself to examine. 
 
 " Oh, no ! I am not alarmed," cried she, directing
 
 234 A FATAL VISIT. 
 
 her unsteady gaze towards her infant ; ** I will just 
 try that song once more ;" and try it indeed she 
 did, for at the second note she uttered, a torrent of 
 tears burst on the attempt, which defied all power 
 or artifice to control. Abruptly — almost involun- 
 tarily — she rose up, and approaching the window 
 beheld a gentleman, a friend of her husband, resi- 
 dent at Maidstone, already at her gate. She flew 
 to receive him. 
 
 " He has written to you ?" cried Alice, inqui- 
 ringly. " You have intelligence of him ? Why is 
 he not with you ?" Her visitor's manner, rather 
 than his silence, plainly indicated evil. " Tell me," 
 she almost shrieked — "Tell me why I do not see 
 my husband?" 
 
 The event may be recorded in a few words. The 
 visitor in question, had humanely undertaken this 
 mission, for the purpose of breaking an intelligence 
 to her, which the public journals had already an- 
 nounced. The lieutenant, it appears, had quitted 
 his ship, and had gone on board a cutter on some 
 pressing duty. One of those hurricanes, so fre- 
 quently fatal on the eastern coast of England, drove 
 the vessel ashore, and before assistance could be 
 procured, the greater part of the crew were lost, 
 amongst them the husband of poor Alice. The 
 state of anguish into which she was thrown by 
 this announcement may possibly be conceived, — 
 mental stupor, which, after a certain time, was
 
 WIDOWHOOD. 235 
 
 awakened to the agonizing sense of sudden widow- 
 hood. 
 
 " Woes cluster — rare are solitary woes." 
 
 The marriage of Alice having been, from the first, 
 a distempered subject to her husband's relatives, her 
 present distresses found but little favour with the 
 lieutenant's two sisters. They now induced their 
 mother to treat Ahce with such positive inhu- 
 manity, that in a short time, she was given to un- 
 derstand, as she had chosen to force herself into 
 their family, they did not feel themselves called 
 on to extend her any assistance ; and as their feel- 
 ings had already been so deeply wounded by the 
 death of their brother, they were totally incapable 
 of entering into other people's distresses. 
 
 Collecting, therefore, her effects, Alice removed, 
 with her child, under her own mother's roof, on 
 the borders of Somersetshire. Having been in- 
 formed of an opportunity for investing her crumbs 
 of fortune, in the town of Devizes, to "unprece- 
 dented advantage," and being desirous of relieving 
 her mother from the additional burden of herself 
 and child, she hastily closed with the offer pre- 
 sented to her, and purchasing the stock and good 
 will of her present shop, at the round sum the out- 
 going tenant had fixed on it, " to save," as he plea- 
 santly said, " unnecessary trouble to either party," 
 she entered on the estate of her promised Golconda ; 
 and, like the milk-maid in the fable, began to cal-
 
 236 STRANGE RECOGNITION. 
 
 culate her gains, in a provision for almost the only 
 thing she had now left to love on earth — namely, 
 her infant. 
 
 It turned out, however, poor Alice had been 
 wofully taken in. She had paid, at least, twice as 
 much for the stock as it was worth ; and as to the 
 " good will," it appeared that the business had been 
 parted with by the late pleasant retailer, owing to a 
 London trader being about to open a shop on a 
 considerable scale, at Devizes, in precisely the same 
 line of business ; which, at the time of Elliston's 
 visit, had actually taken place, having secured pretty 
 nearlv the whole custom of the town and its vici- 
 nity. 
 
 Such were the events under which Elliston's re- 
 cognition of the benevolent Alice took place — an 
 occurrence, by no means calculated to render his 
 journey so Ught-hearted an undertaking as it had 
 promised to be, in the commencement. 
 
 An instance of accidental recognition occurred in 
 North Britain in the year 1793, which was extremely 
 curious, and under far happier circumstances than 
 the one appertaining to our immediate history. Mrs 
 Cross, of Covent Garden Theatre, was, in this year, 
 acting in Glasgow, and on one occasion the Provost 
 being present, the lady had no sooner made her 
 appearance on the stage, than the agitated function- 
 ary exclaimed — 
 
 " Stop — stop the play ! I would speak with that
 
 A REUNION. 237 
 
 woman !" Great was the consternation throughout 
 the auditory at this highly dramatic emeute, and the 
 curtain being immediately lowered, the perturbed 
 Provost made his way, at once, into the actress's 
 dressing-room. After a few hurried words, he dis- 
 covered her to be his own wife, from whom he had 
 been separated for nearly twenty years. Each had 
 supposed the other dead ! — a coup de theatre, which 
 would have turned the brain of Congreve himself. 
 The magistrate, hereupon, bore off the lady, arm in 
 arm, to his own house, and the next evening she 
 took her place in front of the theatre, amongst the 
 patronesses of art, where she was quite as much a 
 heroine as when sustaining the woes of Calista her- 
 self. 
 
 The reunion between Colman and Elliston bavins ' 
 taken place, in London, over the stipulated rump- 
 steak, dressed as the reader may possibly remem- 
 ber, at the comedian's suggestion; the "Little 
 Theatre" in the Haymarket commenced its season, 
 on the 15th of May, with—" No Prelude," a dia- 
 logue written by the author-manager, and spoken 
 by Elliston and Waldron, the prompter. This pro- 
 duction, full of " pith and puissance," was extremely 
 well received. 
 
 But notwithstanding the promises, and — it is only 
 fair to say — the exertions of Colman, his company 
 was not a good one. With the exception of Mathews, 
 it was meagre and inefficient ; and even Mathews
 
 238 ELLISTON ACTS RICHARD III. 
 
 himself did but little to keep the ship off a lee 
 shore. 
 
 The season, on the termination, was but a disas- 
 trous voyage ; nor could Colman, the " Prospero," 
 with his " so potent art," restore the vessel " tight 
 and yare." 
 
 Their Majesties, however, most graciously con- 
 tinued their patronage to our subject, commanding 
 a play at the very onset of the season, in which 
 Elliston took the lead. 
 
 Richard the Third he now acted for the first time in 
 London, and frequently repeated the character, in 
 which he appeared to give much satisfaction ; but we 
 apprehend it was, at best, but an unequal performance. 
 The early scenes were sustained with much adroit- 
 ness and versatility, but on the whole, Elliston was 
 here so incomparably inferior to his great cotem- 
 porary, Cooke, that we suspect he was in no slight 
 degree indebted to the public favour, in which he 
 stood generally, for some part of the approbation he 
 enjoyed in this especial undertaking. 
 
 Colman, under the designation of " Arthur Grif- 
 finhofF," produced a new piece, entitled " Love 
 Laughs at Locksmiths," in which Elliston imper- 
 sonated Captain Beldaire — a trifling part, but which 
 he rendered an amusing feature, by his spirited 
 acting and very clever execution of a simple ballad. 
 He also spoke a " Patriotic Address," another /aii- 
 taisie of Colman's muse, written by way of epilogue
 
 RUPTURE WITH COLMAN. 239 
 
 to a play of Boaden, called " The Maid of Bristol," 
 which became, in fact, so popular as to render the 
 " Maid" in question, who was but an ordinary, ill- 
 favoured piece of goods, almost " a toast," and sus- 
 taining a dull drama, as Drelincourt and " Death !" 
 were borne on the shoulders of Mrs. Veal ! 
 
 The above suggests a little incident related in 
 some of the recollections of Miss Rafter, afterwards 
 the celebrated Mrs. Clive. 
 
 On the first night of " Love in a Riddle," a 
 pastoral by the Laureat, in which Miss R. played 
 the part of PhilUda, some persons had met in the 
 theatre for the sake of crushing the piece, and 
 they, in fine, succeeded ; but when Phillida first 
 appeared on the scene, one of the rioters was heard 
 to say — 
 
 " Zounds ! Tom, take care, or this charming 
 little devil will save all." Colman's " little devil" 
 was yet more potent. 
 
 The " Cnstellum" to which Colman alluded in his 
 last letter, and to which his pecuniary embarrass- 
 ments had, for a time, driven him, was at Sudbury, 
 near Harrow. Here, under another name, late- 
 tavit — whilst all communications, relative to the 
 theatre, were conveyed to him through a trusty 
 messenger, who made his daily journey for that 
 purpose. 
 
 Colman having felt annoyance at some proceed- 
 ing of his stage-manager, wrote to him accordingly.
 
 240 colman's letter. 
 
 expressing himself on the matter, without reserve. 
 ElUston, nettled at these reproaches, makes an 
 immediate reply, vindicating his conduct on the 
 point in question ; and in conclusion, observes — 
 
 " I must therefore tell you, your lease of me is 
 held by a small fine : the omission of your pepper- 
 corn rent disburdens you, and you will do right to 
 release yourself. I prefer this alternative to sub- 
 jecting m5^se]f a second time, to the very unplea- 
 sant feelings your expressions have given me." 
 
 To this Colman rejoins by the following : — 
 
 '^Dear Elliston, — Every man has his amour 
 propre^ and I certainly did not intend to alarm 
 yours, by the loose hints which I transmitted to 
 you. Have you installed yourself Theatrical Pon- 
 tiff, and assumed Infallibility? Is it impertinent 
 in the principal to give his opinion to the agent ? 
 If so, woe to every man who appoints a deputy ! 
 Is it customary for an agent to think himself 
 insulted whenever he receives instructions ? If so, 
 woe to every man who acknowledges a principal ! 
 
 " As a proof that you can commit a blunder, 
 even while you deem yourself most adroit, I would 
 mention that you have this morning, taken the 
 trouble to come from London to communicate my 
 patronymic in your own hand-writing, to a cunning 
 varlet, under the guise of a chaw-bacon, at my gate, 
 from whom I had most cautiously concealed it. 
 
 " Tell me if my frankness has really given you a
 
 DISSOLUTION OF PARTNERSHIP. 241 
 
 wound, and ceremony shall, at once, be applied as 
 a balsam. I will round my periods, cull my phrases, 
 and sift my words before I offer them to your acute 
 perception of offence. I will remember that you 
 are — 
 
 ' -Tremblingly alive 
 
 To each fine impulse ,' 
 
 and shall be tender accordingly. 
 
 "As to my pepper-corn rent, (pepper and your 
 thin skin make one positively writhe,) I shall pay it 
 and retain my tenure. Let boys and girls who 
 have just tied the noose, quarrel for pastime, or 
 talk of parting— 'tis a petulant idleness. Men of 
 sense and business would laugh, and cry ' Shame 
 on us !' 
 
 " P.S. When you write, give your letter to Mrs. 
 G., that she may bring it down to me on her next 
 jaunt." 
 
 Thus was the grievance healed ; another romp- 
 steak was the result, nor was the Madeira a " casus 
 omissus," our readers may be well assured. 
 
 On the 4th of April, the London Gazette had 
 announced the dissolution of partnership between 
 Elliston, his wife, and Miss Flemming, by common 
 consent. Mrs. Elliston, thereupon, opened a Danc- 
 ing Academv on her own account, under the 
 same patronage as that by which she had been 
 always distinguished ; so that her schemes taking 
 up the very genius of her appropriate art, vaulted, 
 
 K
 
 242 DOMESTIC CALAMITY. 
 
 with one elastic spring, on the pinnacle of success. 
 Miss FJemming, who found it was now no longer 
 possible to back out from her anteriority of years, 
 gave up, not only the fantastic toe, but other fan- 
 tastic imaginings, ill becoming a lady of full two 
 score ; and cultivated the more reasonable hope of 
 interesting som.e Bath valetudinarian, who might be 
 inclined to commute the airy qualities of a belle 
 epouse, for the more nutritive attributes of a steady 
 wife. 
 
 In the autumn of this year, Mrs. Elliston under- 
 went a severe shock, by an accident which befel 
 AVilliam, her eldest son. The boy had quitted the 
 nursery, on the upper floor of the house, and getting 
 astride the stair hand-rail on the same landing, 
 was precipitated from the top to the bottom. 
 The child was picked up in a senseless state, from 
 which he was happily soon restored, having " 'scaped 
 by miracle," with only a few bruises. 
 
 The agitation into which Mrs. Elliston was thrown 
 by this circumstance, prevented her fulfilling the 
 duties of her academy for some days ; and Elliston 
 being at Bath at the time, the following scene took 
 place, which possibly may be found not unamusing. 
 
 On one of these mornings of Mrs. EUiston's 
 relache, three ladies, who had not been apprised 
 of the above event, arrived as usual in Milsom 
 Street, to take their lessons. As they had come from 
 some considerable distance, Elliston resolved thev
 
 ELLISTON "at HOME." 243 
 
 should not depart disappointed, and at the sugges- 
 tion of the moment, declared " he would give the 
 lesson himself." EUiston, as it is well known, was 
 really a very graceful dancer, so that he professed no 
 more than he was able to execute, and w^as convicted, 
 therefore of far less audacity than Leander in the 
 " Mock Doctor," w^ho understood a cataplasm about 
 as well as he did Hebrew. 
 
 The humour of the adventure pleased the come- 
 dian, whilst an hour's pirouetting with three 
 sparkling young creatures (as he thought) would 
 by no means be unacceptable to his constitution. 
 It may be well conceived that, it was at the 
 expense of a few blushes on the cheeks of the 
 said damsels, that he first presented himself, an- 
 nouncing the circumstances under which he had 
 undertaken the part at so short a notice ; but with 
 happy address, putting his pupils into self-pos- 
 session, he stood before them, a kind of compound 
 of the elasticity of Deshayes, and the sublimity of 
 " Merlin .'" 
 
 In respect of the " more advanced" of these 
 damsels — a lady from Tipperary — it was clearly 
 desirable that the morning's lesson should be, at 
 least, begun, as her dancing days were nearly over. 
 Besides, punctuality with her, was a kind of reli- 
 gious ol)servance, so much so, that she was not 
 that fickle creature to be changing her age every 
 twelve months, but stuck to the fact, seeing, like a 
 
 R 2
 
 244 THE THREE GRACES. 
 
 sound logician, that what was true at one time 
 must consequently be true at all. And as to per- 
 sonal attractions, like those good people who, if 
 they cannot command success, will at least deserve 
 it, so with the same ardour did she cultivate the 
 Graces ; and, had they been as numerous as their 
 cousins, the daughters of Mnemosyne, she w'as tall 
 enough to deserve the favour of the whole family. 
 
 In pursuance of this, she had already exhausted 
 poor Miss Flemming, having nearly worn herself 
 to a thread, and was now attended to Milsom-street 
 bv her black footman, with the determination of 
 doing no less for poor Mrs. Elliston. 
 
 But a short interval, and all was in operation — 
 the little emigre was already seated at the harpsi- 
 chord, and Elliston had led out his belle aspirante 
 to the movement of a cotillon. *' Avancez — balan- 
 cez — chassez," &c., ten times repeated. '• Encore — 
 une fois — a, votre place — a merveille !" — again, ten 
 times. The second lady having no longer the fear 
 of mamma before her eves, was enamoured of her 
 new instructor ; whilst the youngest had from the 
 very first, burst into an immoderate giggle — an 
 indulgence, she had clearly made up her mind on 
 prosecuting for the remainder of the morning. She 
 commenced, at once, her last steps with an activity 
 equally unbounded, appearing to be under no less 
 an influence, than the combined attack of laughing 
 gas, and the malady of St. Vitus.
 
 iWAlTRE DE DANSE. 245 
 
 A quick minuet succeeded. All was " hail fel- 
 low !" — Dancing mad! — the little emigre played 
 like a spinning-jenny, and chattered like a water- 
 mill — all was in a whirl, like March dust. " Miss 
 Florence" became as fiery as a red Indian, and the 
 little school-girl protested she " could keep it up 
 for a week." 
 
 How great a portion of this they would really 
 have occupied, is uncertain, for time had been as 
 nimble-footed as the rest of the party, when a ser- 
 vant entering the apartment, suggested some slight 
 refreshment, with a broad hint that dinner-hour 
 was just at hand. At length, all was still — the 
 movements, like the works of a musical-box, 
 brought suddenly to a stand — and the curtain fell 
 on the Milsom-street Ballet to the entire satisfaction 
 of all present.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Mr. Young — Elliston's objection to that gentleman's engage- 
 ment — Correspondence — Colman and EUiston — Manoeuvre 
 to arrest Colman — A green parrot — Dramatist — Extra- 
 ordinary benefit at the Opera House — Fracas — Pewter 
 pots — Bailiffs outwitted — Aaron Graham, the magistrate — 
 Elliston at Drurj- Lane — Ttolla — On board the Royal yacht 
 — Elliston and Miss De Camp act before their Majesties — 
 Elliston acts the Duke Aranza in the *' Honeymoon" — 
 Great success — Mr. Gore's letter — The Young Roscius — 
 A critical letter from Lord Harcourt. 
 
 In December, 1803, Mathews made earnest appli- 
 cation to Colman, on the part of Mr. Charles 
 Young, for that gentleman's engagement at the 
 Haymarket, from the ensuing season ; a question 
 on which the proprietor felt it expedient to consult 
 ElHston. 
 
 " After your long silence," says Colman, " never 
 again prefer a charge of idleness against me — it will 
 be but a Pot and Kettle recrimination, and only dis- 
 cover the coaly complexion of each of us. Mr.
 
 MR. YOUNG. 247 
 
 Young has been mentioned to me, as an actor of 
 high merit — even by yourself. In respect of a 
 clash with you, he is willing to engage while you 
 are acting-manager, and in possession of the j&rst 
 business. You perceive, by even so much, I wish 
 him to be of our Hundred. 
 
 " Our establishment last year was one of promise 
 only, not of performance, spite all our ' perform- 
 ances.' Young, by this arrangement, would help, 
 rather than mar you, for your fence will be better 
 shewn, by having a man who would not parry so 
 clumsily with you, as many in our Salle d'Armes. 
 But if the subject be absolutely repulsive to you, I 
 shall drop it. In the mean, I will announce to 
 Mathews, that I cannot definitively reply to him 
 for some days. Restore me his letter, which I now 
 enclose to you. 
 
 " I write from my cabin, but always direct to me 
 at Jewell's. Adieu ! G. C. 
 
 " I sincerely congratulate Mrs. E. and yourself 
 on the recovery of your little boy. Doubtless, you 
 cautioned him never again to put trust in a banister. 
 But I forget — you have made up your differences, 
 and there is no more railing between you." 
 
 " We must clash," observes EUiston, in reply. 
 " Mr. Young's claims are of that order, that he 
 ought not to hold a second rank, which he must 
 do, should he engage with you, whilst I am at the 
 Haymarket — and I cannot afford to sacrifice any
 
 248 CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 position to which the public favour has advanced 
 
 me. 
 
 A few weeks previous to the opening of the 
 theatre, the part of Rigid, in a new comedy, enti- 
 tled " Guilty or not Guilty," written by Mr. T. 
 Dibdin, was forwarded to Elliston, at Bath, for study. 
 
 Here was a new grievance ! more hot water — the 
 "kettle" singing again, yet but a poor prospect of the 
 "pot" boiling for Colraan. Elliston fancied he should 
 have been first consulted on the play itself, before 
 the transmission of any part to him, and expressed 
 himself grandiloquently thereon, in a letter lengthy 
 as a Statistical Report, to which Colman rejoins : — 
 
 " You have amply made up for your silence, my 
 dear Elliston, for you shoot your ' pkmstra verborum' 
 on my poor shoulders, almost to crush me. Your 
 ink, like the water of Nile in summer, is out upon 
 me, literally ' with a vengeance.' The extraor- 
 dinary dimensions of your chandler's-shop paper 
 have tickled my fancy, as much as your filling them 
 has excited my wonderment. 
 
 " Could I forbear casting this play, with the 
 devil, in the person of its author, at my elbow ? 
 You have not only the best part in the piece, but 
 the part in itself is good — and as to the rest, like 
 my bread, it is a cast on the waters of my current 
 company, and must sink or swim. 
 
 " 1 have engaged Miss Tyrer* and Miss Howell, 
 * Now, Mrs. Liston.
 
 COLMAN AND ELLISTON. 249 
 
 whom I name in the order (I think) of their merits. 
 They will be especially useful in our vocal business. 
 Tyrer will become more than useful. All Kelly's 
 sticks may cross that river, which runs by a similar 
 sound. Mrs. Cleland is again of our company — do 
 not blame me, for I am not adamant against the 
 combined entreaties of man and woman ; for Mrs. 
 Tommy Cleland is either at pleasure. 
 
 " There is not a more notoriously idle fellow than 
 the one whom I am spurring on to write — the 'scape- 
 grace is myself. He cannot do better than ' borrow a 
 little of your' ink and whitybrown, for a start. ' To- 
 morrow and to morrow and to-morrow' I shall capi- 
 tate the first page of a parchment book, ' Act One !' 
 The effort is like a contemplated plunge in the sea 
 — the more you look at it, the less you like it — I 
 shiver in my slippers — let me fortify myself with a 
 little gin and water (' drinks') .... there ! 
 I have tasted the poisoned chalice .... again 
 . with best regards to you. 
 
 " As the present are really my Night Thoughts, I 
 may fairly again mention Young. I must confess I 
 deem you in error on this point, though yield it, I 
 do, at your request — our object ought to be * Rich 
 Compounds.' 
 
 " How came you to sprain your ancle ? Ah ! 
 Harry Dornton ! ' Late hours ! night air ! bad 
 women !' You are never so respectable as in my 
 comuanv. When you come to town — or rather to
 
 250 A MANCEUVRE. 
 
 the west end of it, you will be joyfully received by 
 your friend and compurgator. 
 
 " Miss Woodfall (daughter of my deceased friend) 
 will be of our Hundred. De Camp, I am still to 
 settle with ; but he also will certainly be with us. 
 I am sleepy — very. God bless you ! 
 
 " G. C. (read) Gin's Cold." 
 
 When Colman was first arrested, it was at the 
 suit of his friend; an event by no means remark- 
 able on that account, as the world has frequently 
 shewn us ; but the circumstance which led to his 
 immediate capture, was highly characteristic of the 
 dramatist himself. 
 
 Colman, who had for some time past, been chary 
 of his visits abroad, had placed himself, on a certain 
 fine morning, snugly within a hackney-coach, for 
 the purpose of caUing on his legal adviser, near 
 Bedford Square. He reached the house about mid- 
 day ; and desiring the driver to remain with his 
 vehicle at the door, until he had transacted his bu- 
 siness, proceeded at once up stairs. 
 
 His purpose being in due time fully discussed, 
 Colman v^'as about departing, but his solicitor, who, in 
 point of fact, was the best friend he ever had, having 
 as great an affection for the dramatist as the client, 
 detained him as his guest for the day — Colman re- 
 mained, therefore, for dinner ; and at midnight, the 
 su})per-table found him still unwilling to depart.
 
 AN AKREyX. 251 
 
 It SO happened that Mr. A , Colman's friendly 
 
 creditor, as we have named, had been accidentally 
 passing the street on that very morning, soon after 
 Colman had been set down, and had noticed the 
 coach in question at the door of the lawyer ; and 
 on passing the same spot about the chimes of mid- 
 night, observed the identical vehicle on the identical 
 spot — for Colman had altogether forgotten he had 
 even arrived in a coach at all ; obedient to whose 
 orders, the driver had remained nearly twelve hours 
 at the curbstone. 
 
 A , who was a man of quick perceptions, and 
 
 by no means a stranger to the councils of the ma- 
 nager of the Haymarket, at the house in question, 
 felt at once persuaded he had discovered his man. 
 " This must be Colman !" cried he — " there is but 
 one man in London who would keep a hackney- 
 coach waiting twelve hours, when at twelve paces 
 distant, he might beckon twice the number to his 
 service — here, must he Colman!" For "jarvey," 
 this was a good day's work. The hire was of course 
 paid, besides some five shillings fraudulent per cent- 
 age, which Colman, after supper, was not in a state 
 to dispute. 
 
 The man had also in prospect a fat bribe on the 
 next day, for the discovery of the manager's retreat, 
 which he received in due course from the wilv Mr. 
 A , and poor Colman surrendered. 
 
 Some months previous to the foregoing event,
 
 252 A GREEN PARROT. 
 
 Colman had been living at Fulham, immediately 
 contiguous to a cottage then tenanted by Mathews. 
 A was at that time in search of him, and Col- 
 man being well aware of this, was in the habit of 
 stealthily entering Mathews' house by the back- 
 door, and thus had opportunities of passing many 
 agreeable evenings with his friend. 
 
 Mathews, who was as fond of fun, as school-boys 
 of plum pudding, had a remarkably fine parrot, 
 which was quick at picking up words as any actor 
 in the Haymarket company ; and in as short a time 
 as might be, the green pet was instructed in the 
 
 exclamation — "Be off! be off! A 's coming! 
 
 A 's coming !" 
 
 On a certain evening, therefore, Colman having 
 raised the latch of Mathews' back door, and being 
 about entering the yard, in which the parrot had 
 been purposely placed, his ears were suddenly 
 startled by the bird's new lesson — " Be off! be off! 
 
 A 's coming! — A 'scoming!" — ahintwhich, 
 
 it may be well believed, he instantly obeyed. 
 
 Puzzled by the possibility of A being so 
 
 near, but at the same time not displeased at the 
 hint, Colman, on the following eve applied himself 
 to the postern-gate, for the purpose of ascertaining 
 the true state of affairs, when the stridulous assault 
 was repeated — "Be off! be off! I say ! — A 's 
 
 commg !' 
 
 Utterlv bewildered, and with renewed mortifica-
 
 '' DRAMATIST." 253 
 
 tion, the affrighted dramatist was once more taking 
 to his heels, when the actor, deeming he had carried 
 the joke quite far enough, popped his head from 
 behind the wall, and in a voice, half parrot and half 
 Mathews, screamed out — "Come back — come back ! 
 A 's in the water-butt ! — A 's in the water- 
 butt !" 
 
 The sequel may be well imagined — the friends 
 passed their night merrily together — an event which 
 Mathews fully anticipated, never doubting the 
 thorough good humour of his companion. 
 
 The season of 1804 commenced at the time fixed 
 by the licence, with the " Mountaineers ;" and on 
 the 26th of May, Dibdin's new comedy was pro- 
 duced. 
 
 Elhston was the hero ; — his smart, animated act- 
 ing, contributed greatly to the success of the drama, 
 though it had not sufficient stamina to become " a 
 stock piece." Colman's newly-raised troops, which 
 he styled his " Rural Company," were not highly 
 attractive, and it was therefore deemed expedient to 
 supply a little " town-made goods" in the person of 
 Bannister — " warranted to wear well." 
 
 Elliston now performed several new characters, 
 particularly Vapid in the " Dramatist," in which he 
 was so eminently successful, that the comedy be- 
 came at once a favourite, and permanently con- 
 tinued so. Vapid -wsis decidedly his best " buffa" 
 part. Elliston again assisted the efforts of " Arthur
 
 254 EXTRAORDINARY BENEFIT. 
 
 GrifFenhofF," by undertaking a mediocre character, 
 in as negative a farce, entitled '* Gay Deceivers." 
 
 His popularity had now so increased, that on the 
 announcement of his benefit, the dimensions of the 
 " Little Theatre" were found unequal to the accom- 
 modation of his " troops of friends." Like Bacon, 
 he had grown too large for his dwelling, and calling 
 therefore a council of his advisers, it was determined 
 the Opera House should be secured for the occa- 
 sion. Taylor, the lessee, gave his permission — 
 Colman acquiesced — and Elliston's benefit was re- 
 announced for the 10th of September, at the King's 
 Theatre, under the immediate sanction of his Ma- 
 jesty. 
 
 The performances were " Pizarro," and *' Love 
 Laughs at Locksmiths." At an early hour a crowd 
 assembled about the theatre, which, by the time the 
 doors were about opening, had so thickened, that 
 neither constables nor guards could prevent a pres- 
 sure, which threatened consequences as fatal as those 
 at the "Haymarket," in 1794.* 
 
 As the clock was striking five — " concussse pa- 
 tuere fores !" — the doors were fairly, or rather un- 
 fairly, carried off their hinges. To the very letter, 
 
 * On the occasion of their Majesties visiting the Haymarket 
 Theatre in the above year, (1794,) the rush into the pit was so 
 great, that many persons were thrown down, and being trampled 
 on by others, fifteen were unfortunately crushed to death, and 
 twenty dreadfully mangled.
 
 THE OPERA HOUSE. 255 
 
 it was a " Laugh at Locksmiths'' — the people poured 
 into the theatre at every aperture, like water into a 
 wreck, and in a few minutes there was an overflow 
 in pit and boxes, which found its level at no less 
 an elevation than the ceiling. The boxes which had 
 been " taken" in the morning, were taken after a 
 different fashion in the afternoon — none of the 
 rightful parties being able to approach their ap- 
 pointed seats. 
 
 The house w^as literally blockaded. But a small 
 portion only could have paid their money, though 
 many had left pledges to the amount, in the shape 
 of hats, shoes, shawls, and skirts of clothing. Some 
 were seen climbing from the pit into fancied refuge 
 of the boxes, whilst not a few were bodily forced 
 again from the parapets into the steaming pit. 
 Action and reaction were equal, after the mathema- 
 tician's very heart. " Above ! below !" was equal 
 discord; for it is not to be supposed the "gods" 
 were idle. No; there was a row amongst the deities, 
 by Jove ! The Titans also were at warm work, at 
 the very gates of Olympus — the sons of Coelus and 
 Terra demanding what they called " a settlement," 
 by a statute of their own framing, whilst those who 
 had already gained it, were in vain applying for 
 " out-door relief." Celestials and infernals — pop- 
 injays and paupers — were mingled "pell-mell" in 
 one common confusion. " Chaos w^as come again!" 
 
 Many now^ scrambled over the orchestra chevaux-
 
 256 PEWTER rOTS. 
 
 de-frise to the stage, at the further outlay of skirts, 
 both woollen and linen ; and sundry were the spikes, 
 on which still hung the ignoble trophies of lace- 
 rated garments, which were never intended to meet 
 the eye of any but the wearer. 
 
 At length, the chamade being sounded, and the 
 disturbance somewhat quelled, Elhston stepped 
 forward, as plaintiff in this losing cause; though God 
 knows, his jury was sufficiently packed for any 
 verdict he might desire. As Richard the Second, 
 at Smithfield, (in the words of Hume,) "he ad- 
 vanced towards the multitude, and accosted them 
 with an affable but intrepid countenance ;" told 
 them the eyes of all Europe were, at that moment, 
 upon them ! — reminded them of the frightful days 
 of the year — 80, and blessed his Majesty on the 
 throne ! From which culminate state of imagery, he 
 dropped into the " Martinus Scriblerus" vein, con« 
 eluding by saying that, " convinced as he was, every 
 person honouring him with their presence, meant 
 to pay, he begged leave to observe that, the defi- 
 ciencies would be received on the following morn- 
 ing at his house. No. 6, Great Russell Street, Co- 
 vent Garden." 
 
 But the " Bathos" was not yet complete. Some 
 of bis fast friends being determined to catch all they 
 could, at the spur of the moment, actually procured 
 sundry pewter porter pots, and threading their way 
 tlirough the multitudes in pit and gallery, collected
 
 A CROWDED STAGE. 257 
 
 Dayments in this manner — silver and copper — pots 
 of half and half — a "lame and impotent conclu- 
 sion" we may indeed call it, for it was fitted only 
 " to chronicle small beer." 
 
 But though unsatisfactory as respected the come- 
 dian, it was a strong drink to some of these officious 
 pot companions ; for more than one of them (as 
 wicked as Autolycus himself) were so tempted by the 
 draught, as to decamp with not only the silver and 
 copper, but the pewter to boot, leaving to EUiston 
 all the odium of so tap-room an experiment, but 
 not that liquidation to which he was entitled. 
 
 With great difficulty the play proceeded — " Pi- 
 zarro," as we have said. Part of the audience oc- 
 cupying those inches on the stage, to which the 
 Peruvian's " brave associates," vainly struggled to 
 advance, Rolla's address was actually delivered to 
 an admiring circle of ladies and gentlemen from the 
 vicinity of Knightsbridge, Marylebone, and Blooms- 
 bury Square. 
 
 So unconscious were some of the party of their 
 peculiar situation, and so utterly destroyed was, at 
 last, the scenic illusion, that on Mrs. Litchfield 
 (who played Elvira) dropping, by accident, her 
 mantle, while rising from the Spaniard's couch, a 
 bystanding young lady, with the promptest kind- 
 ness in the world, stepped forward, and picking up 
 the spangled vestment, begged, with a gracious 
 curtsy, she might have the pleasure of replacing it; 
 
 s
 
 258 BAILIFFS OUTWITTED. 
 
 nor was she at all aware of this grotesque piece of 
 maladroit, until brought to her senses, by one of the 
 loudest shouts which had transpired in the theatre, 
 on this memorable night. EUiston realized by this 
 benefit full 600Z. 
 
 A trifling incident occurred, about the closing 
 week at the " Little Theatre," so strikingly homo- 
 gene with our subject, that we cannot forbear the 
 present notice. 
 
 A certain comedian who had been playing here 
 during the season, and had made some impression 
 in a part which had fallen to his duty, was haunted 
 by those distressing Blue Devils, yclept bailiffs; and 
 though he had successfully baffled the attack for 
 several nights, yet he was not without pretty strong 
 conviction that, he would be speedily laid up. In 
 fact, the epidemic was very much about just at this 
 period. It was, however, important to all parties 
 that the actor should fulfil his engagements at the 
 theatre. 
 
 To elude the bailiffs, therefore, who were con- 
 stantly besetting the doors, like earth -stoppers, the 
 following expedient was put in motion. The actor's 
 name was changed in the bills, whilst he, dressing 
 his characters rather at variance with his usual man- 
 ner, and being an admirable mimic, assuming also a 
 strange voice, went on the stage, as usual ; but under 
 the designation of " a gentleman, his first appear- 
 ance."
 
 AARON GRAHAM. 259 
 
 Thus, in every single part, was he constantly sus- 
 taining two characters — the one in the drama, and 
 the other, that of a country debutant — which he ac- 
 complished with entire success. The bailiffs were 
 convinced their man had given them the slip, and 
 after a time, like Charles Stuart's pursuers, they 
 passed quietly off, whilst the king of the joke 
 sat grinning aloft, at an elevated window in the 
 building. 
 
 In the course of this season, Mr. Aaron Graham, 
 chief police magistrate and one of the committee of 
 management at Drury Lane Theatre, renewed an 
 application to Elliston, which he had previously 
 opened by letter, for his services at that establish- 
 ment. 
 
 The fortunes of Drury were greatly depressed, 
 and the recent failure of a comedy, " The Heart of 
 Oak," as it was called, had left scarcely a shot in 
 the locker. Elliston, however, did not so nimbly 
 obey the magistrate's writ as was expected, and 
 Justice Graham entered up judgment against him 
 in another epistle full of invectives. 
 
 The fact was, Elliston had certain secondary pur- 
 suits which were greatly assisting his income, and 
 rendered him indifferent to the proposal in question. 
 He was giving, at this period, private instruction in 
 reading and reciting the English classics, and had 
 as much employment of this description as he could 
 
 s 2
 
 260 ELLISTON AT DRURY LANE. 
 
 conveniently despatch, in addition to his other pro- 
 fessional duties. 
 
 These engagements afforded him also a pleasing 
 variety, by no means unexceptionable to his consti- 
 tution; his pupils could scarcely fail of being fond of 
 their master, while he himself was a kind of mignon 
 in the family circle; and if sometimes he felt a self- 
 accusation in having slightly cajoled the husband, 
 he found, not unfrequently, a conscientious satis- 
 faction in having rendered the wife unquestionably 
 happy. 
 
 Graham, however, still kept close at his heels ; 
 and as there really appeared, from what we have 
 just noticed, some little danger of our hero falling 
 into the magistrate's hands, under less seemly cir- 
 cumstances than a professional alliance, it is as well, 
 perhaps, that he at length listened to the Drury 
 Lane overture ; closing with the proposal now made 
 to him, for a three-years' engagement, at twenty 
 pounds per week, and a benefit at the most favour- 
 able period of the season. 
 
 On the 20th September, 1804, Elliston opened 
 the campaign at Drury Lane, by acting Rolla, and 
 was flatteringly received on his new ground. On 
 the 25th, he played Doricourt, and on the 27th, 
 having repeated Rolla, he started, on leave of ab- 
 sence, for Weymouth, where again, at the express 
 command of the king, he was appointed to superin- 
 tend a fete and perform a few nights at the theatre.
 
 THE ROYAL YACHT. 261 
 
 The fete took place on the 29th, on board the 
 royal yacht, and was given in honour of the birth- 
 day of the Duchess of Wirtemberg. As their Ma- 
 jesties entered the vessel, Elliston and Miss de 
 Camp,* in the characters of a sailor and his wife, 
 delivered a metrical address. 
 
 Patriotic rhapsodies were, at this period — the re- 
 newal of the French war — much in vogue, on our 
 theatres. They were well enough for the special 
 purpose, but the greater part of them, as poetic 
 compositions, miserable examples. 
 
 We quote some extracts from the one in ques- 
 tion, merely on the grounds of the distinguished 
 occasion. 
 
 ( The sailor breaks from his companions, exclaiming — ) 
 
 " I tell you I will speak — so stand aside, 
 And let a sailor who has long defied 
 His country's foes, for once approach his king, 
 The humble tribute of respect to bring. 
 
 If thus your People feel, what tongue can tell 
 The rapturous joy which must the bosom swell 
 Of Her, who distant in a foreign land. 
 Far from a Father and his fostering hand, 
 Who, at this moment, whilst ' her Health I' goes round 
 And the deck echoes to the festive sound. 
 In fond imagination views the scene, 
 And sighs to think what barriers intervene 
 To stop the thanks which hang upon her tongue. 
 Intent on him from whom her being sprung. 
 
 Afterwards, Mrs. Charles Kemble.
 
 262 THE HONEYMOON. 
 
 (Sailor's loife interrupts the Tar.) 
 
 " My worthy mate, have you forgot the name 
 Of old St. Michael, of goose-killing fame ; 
 How, every year, on this auspicious day, 
 Our vows to him M'ith ready teeth we pay ; 
 When cackling animals by instinct feel 
 The sharp incision of the eager steel ? 
 
 Then trust me, Sire, henceforth when tempests roar, 
 And the winds whistle through my cottage door — 
 While in my solitary bed I'm laid, 
 And fears for Tom my anxious soul invade. 
 The thought that 'tis for you my sailor braves 
 The battle's danger, and the stormy waves, 
 Shall make my heart with patriot ardour burn, 
 And hope anticipate his glad return." 
 
 There was more — much more of this ; and when 
 we assure our readers the extracts we have made, 
 are the " quaUty" passages of the Poetic Address, 
 they will feel fully satisfied that nothing less than 
 the honour of repeating them in the presence of the 
 good old king, could recompense Elliston and his 
 accomplished companion, for charging their imagi- 
 nation wuth such material. 
 
 On the 5th of October, Elliston returned to 
 Drury Lane, when he acted Archer. Charles, in the 
 " School for Scandal ;" Don Felix, Orlando, Young 
 Bevil,m\\\Q " Conscious Lovers ;" Wilding, Octa- 
 vian, Benedict, Faulkland, Hamlet, Richard the Third, 
 Belcour, and Ranger, he also played in quick suc- 
 cession , and on the 31st January, he appeared in
 
 DUKE ARANZA. 203 
 
 tlie part of the Duke Aranza, the first representation 
 of " The Honeymoon." 
 
 This highly popular drama had been long 
 slighted — rejected, indeed, by the management of 
 Drury Lane. The manuscript which had been 
 thrown amongst the dusty piles of the condemned 
 cell, fell by mere chance a second time, under the 
 notice of the turnkey, and as a kind of desperate 
 alternative, (there being no "novelty inpreparation,") 
 the play, with due ceremony, was led out for execu- 
 tion. It was, however, strongly cast ; and after the 
 tirst rehearsal, there was an evident change of opi- 
 nion amonst the actors ; for although the main in- 
 cidents of this comedy are far from original, yet 
 there was such a jucund diversity of character — 
 such an agreeable succession of well arranged ac- 
 tion, and so happy an adaptation of the vigorous 
 diction of the " old masters," that all doubts were 
 ultimately removed as to its verdict with the 
 pubhc. 
 
 And well indeed might all apprehensions have 
 vanished, for the result was triumphant. It would 
 be of little purpose to speak of any part or division 
 in the acting of either ElUston or Miss Duncan — 
 where and what to choose would be the difficulty — 
 any special notice or selection would be, in point 
 of fact, a declaration of the whole, for there was no 
 moment in which the spectator had been unequally 
 delighted. Every actor in the piece was well
 
 264 
 
 GREAT SUCCESS. 
 
 affected to his particular allotment, and no cha- 
 racters were ever better performed than all the 
 casts upon this occasion. 
 
 Poor Tobin, the author of the play, lived not to 
 witness the triumph of his muse. He died, unfor- 
 tunately, at Cork, a few months only before this 
 first representation. 
 
 " The Honeymoon" was acted twenty-eight times 
 in the season — twice by command of their Majesties 
 — and ran eleven consecutive nights — a course 
 which would undoubtedly have been extended, but 
 for that sudden meteoric appearance in the dramatic 
 horizon, which now drew after it the inquiring eyes 
 of all observers — namely, " The Young Roscius." 
 
 So rich and varied was the histrionic excellence 
 which Elliston displayed in this part, Aranza, that 
 had his quality been hitherto equivocal, or alto- 
 gether unaccredited, this event would at once have 
 placed him " ac prope socco," and the favourite 
 delegate of the Comic Muse.* 
 
 Elliston receives the following letter from his 
 attached friend, Mr. Gore, — 
 
 " Well, my cock mate, I congratulate you as 
 many times as I can pack them between this and 
 Christmas, on your laurels. Fame is not quite so 
 
 * The principal cast of characters in the " Honeymoon'' was 
 as follows: — Duke Aranza, Elliston; Rolando, Bannister; 
 Lanipedo, Mathews ; Jacques, Collins; Juliana, Miss Duncan ; 
 Volanlc, Miss Mellon ; Hostess, Mrs, Sparks.
 
 MR. gore's letter. 265 
 
 nimble-footed as scandal, and yet your fresh re- 
 nown has reached us long ago. But this is not the 
 first satisfaction you have given on the scene of the 
 ' Honeymoon.' Mrs. EUiston declares you ac- 
 quitted yourself ten years ago in this interesting 
 situation quite as well, though the world didn't 
 know it. 
 
 " Holman has been playing here four nights to 
 excellent houses — Jaffier, Macbeth, Benedict, and 
 Earl of Essex. On the stage, he looks as hand- 
 some as ever, though too much en bon point, for 
 that easy elegance, by which he was once distin- 
 guished. 
 
 " I have heard something of your little Roscius 
 — this step from the playground to the playhouse 
 I cannot approve. I observe the lady who was to 
 have performed with him is gone to Ireland — Mrs. 
 Litchfield. Pray who is to take her place ? — 
 surely not Mrs. Siddons ? The character for his 
 debut is well chosen, Dorilas in ' Merope.' 
 
 " We have, by report, here a second Siddons in 
 Miss Smith. She interests all greatly, and some 
 are thoroughly fascinated by her. From myself 
 I can say nothing — I have not seen her." 
 
 EUiston's appearance at Drury Lane was a sub- 
 ject of warm congratulation by his friend and 
 patron. Lord Harcourt, from whom, some weeks 
 subsequently, he received the following : —
 
 266 
 
 LORD HARCOURT. 
 
 " Harcouit House. 
 
 " Sir, — A party of my friends, and equally your 
 admirers, have solicited my interest to mduce you 
 to indulge them with a reading, on some evening, 
 at Miss Berry's, North Audley Street, previous to 
 your departure from London. I trust I may be 
 able to make one in that circle, but, for the present, 
 a return of erysipelas on my forehead, requiring 
 starch plasters^ renders it impossible for me to stir 
 abroad. As you are accustomed to the sight of 
 spectres, goblins, and animated simulacra, if you will 
 call on me about any mid-day, I will exhibit to you 
 my own frightful features — you may have courage to 
 look on them. Whether at this advanced season of 
 the year, and at a moment when the public mind is 
 greatly agitated by concerns of national importance, 
 it would be prudent in you to take a benefit, you, 
 perhaps, would be a far better judge than myself. 
 This I can say, that shoidd I not be prevented by 
 my attendance on her Majesty, I will certainly not 
 only go myself to the play, in the event of your 
 benefit, but will promote the occasion in every way 
 I may be able. 
 
 " Of gentlemanly acting, I have often spoken to 
 you — the love of applause has betrayed many an 
 actor into tricks, he has been utterly ashamed of 
 afterwards. Wilkes, 1 believe, never fell into this 
 error. O'Brien, I am sure, never did, nor have 
 I ever witnessed this Irailty in you — never ' to
 
 CRITICAL LETTER. 2G7 
 
 make the unskilful laugh, make the judicious 
 grieve.' 
 
 *' Our stage is still barbarous in respect of" cos- 
 tume. A short waist, a modish head-dress, are often 
 coupled in the old plays, with a Grecian robe and a 
 Gothic ruff. I have seen Woodward and Dodd 
 wear white satin heels to their shoes ; and Lewis, 
 too, in such a dress as could only be fitting a 
 mountebank in a fair. Mr. O'Brien made this also 
 an object of his best study. 
 
 " I saw the ' Guardian' the other night. Mr. 
 Murray and Miss Wallis, in their respective cha- 
 racters, were absolute perfection, but the Yoimg 
 Clackit, though represented by a performer of real 
 merits, was marred by being ill-dressed. 
 
 " I wish you could see Mr. Fawcett in ' A Cure 
 for the Heart-Ache :' his representation of the rustic 
 is nature herself. Garrick never exhibited a closer 
 portrait. " Your humble servant, 
 
 " Harcourt." 
 
 The benefit took place on the 26th of April, and 
 was tolerably good, the earl and party occupying a 
 box. EUiston, on this occasion, produced a piece 
 entitled, " The Venetian Outlaw," dramatized by 
 himself, from Lewis's Romance, "The Bravo of 
 Venice." The production was successful, and was 
 repeated sundry times before the termination of the 
 season. 
 
 [Charlch Robert Elliston, born .Mli Nov. 1804. Godfather, 
 .Tamos Slado. Ksq.]
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Colraan disposes of half his interest in the Haymarket Theatre — 
 Winston — Failures at that establishment — EUiston's yraca* 
 with Mathews — Statement of the case by the actors — 
 " Three and the Deuce" — Outbreak at the Haymarket — 
 Insurrection of the Tailors — Liston's first appearance — 
 EUiston plays Sir Harry Wildair — An awkward criticism — 
 Humorous outrage on Dowton — His revenge — Separation 
 of Colman and EUiston — Warner Phipps — His admonitory 
 letter— Mr. Perry — London Clubs— " The Humbug"— 
 Forms of matriculation — EUiston at Dublin — Meets with a 
 brother runaway. 
 
 Colman 's negotiation with Messrs. Morris, Win- 
 ston,* and Tahourdine, for the sale of one moiety 
 of the Haymarket property, and the result of a pur- 
 chase by those gentlemen, greatly disconcerted the 
 subject of these Memoirs. 
 
 * Mr. Winston died on the Oth of July last, at his house in 
 Charles Street, Covent Garden. From this gentleman, the 
 writer of the present memoirs received the greater part of the 
 documents, letters, &c., appertaining to the life of EUiston, and 
 also much theatrical matter incidental to the actor's time. Mr. 
 Winston was remarkable for his accurate information on dra- 
 matic affairs and histrionic biography, connected with the last
 
 HAYMARKET FAILURES. 269 
 
 Again had EUiston been baffled in his views of 
 partnership — Bath, Liverpool, the Haymarket ! — 
 thrice had he been thwarted in his besetting ambi- 
 tion ; and he now met Cohnan, at the commence- 
 ment of his third and last season on the Haymarket 
 boards, with no feeUngs of cordiaUty, and scarcely 
 the sentiment of good will. 
 
 The cause of the above sale was the heavy loss 
 on the two experimental seasons, particularly the 
 last, in which Colman had made an effort to rival 
 his gigantic neighbour the Opera-house, encounter- 
 ing the monster on its own grounds, and attempt- 
 ing to wield those mighty engines fitted only to the 
 grasp of his opponent. 
 
 With the courage of David, but without his judg- 
 ment, Colman beheld the Goliah still unhurt ; and 
 having exhausted his resources in a vain attempt 
 at the splendour and pageantry J ballet, was now 
 compelled to take steps of a far different fashion, 
 and put up with the more homely condition of 
 " ordinary time" and common sense. 
 
 " The Enchanted Island," which he had lately 
 produced, was an illusion in opposite effects to those 
 he had anticipated — that the money went like magic, 
 
 lialf centurj', which, to the lovers of the stage, rendered his 
 society highly agreeable. He was one of the most active and 
 serviceable friends Elliston ever possessed. 
 
 In 1835, Mr. Morris became sole proprietor of tlie Hay- 
 market Theatre by purchase of all the shares.
 
 270 " " 
 
 FRACAS. 
 
 there is no denying, for the manager expended on 
 this ill-judged experiment no less than 1600/., of 
 which his " Enchanted Island" did not recover to 
 him one shilling. 
 
 Elliston was likewise deprived of his position as 
 stage-manager, that office being now given to Win- 
 ston ; but he still retained its emoluments, which, 
 with his pay as actor, amounted, at the close of the 
 season, (1805,) to 559Z. 
 
 On the 18th of July, a petite comedie, written by 
 Cherry, under the title of " The Village ; or, The 
 World's Epitome," was produced at this theatre. 
 
 Considerable opposition attended the progress of 
 the piece ; and in the second act, Elliston, under 
 the old impulse, stepped forward, begging earnestly 
 that the audience would hear it to the close, which 
 request he actually impressed on his bended knee ; 
 an appeal powerful as that of Lord Brougham him- 
 self, who no doubt had treasured up the effect, at 
 the concluding sentence of his celebrated speech 
 on Reform. The petition was granted — but the 
 " World's Epitome," unlike " the whole bill," did 
 not pass into a law, for it was damned on the first 
 reading, and the curtain fell amidst the yells and 
 hootings of an indignant audience. 
 
 The froissement, however, was not confined to the 
 body of spectators, for a difference taking place 
 between Mathews and Elliston, in the coulisses, the 
 former accusing our hero of some neglect, Elliston
 
 ELLISTON AND MATHEWS. 271 
 
 responded in that peculiar language which never 
 fails " to stir men's blood," and a blow from his 
 irritated antagonist was the prompt rejoinder. 
 
 At the commencement of the farce, Elliston, 
 under great excitement, made a rambling appeal to 
 the audience, but here also he appeared to get the 
 worst of it, although he had withdrawn the play, at 
 the sentence of the house, which had so emphati- 
 cally pronounced, there should be no two bites at a 
 Cherry. 
 
 On the following day, a letter by Robert William 
 appeared in the public prints. 
 
 " Hayinarket Theatre, July 20, 1805. 
 
 " Sir, — Some misrepresentations having taken 
 place respecting an occurrence at this theatre, last 
 night, in which I was a party, I beg leave to state 
 it correctly. 
 
 "It is true that a momentary altercation did 
 arise between Mr. Mathews and myself, which was 
 attended with some warmth on both sides, but it is 
 not true that 1 ' was knocked down twice,' nor 
 indeed that I was knocked down at all. Nor is it 
 true that, I was placed in any situation humiliating 
 to the feelings of a man, or derogatory to the cha- 
 racter of a gentleman. 
 
 " What the circumstances were, I will not in- 
 trude on the public. I only explain what they were 
 not. It is enough for me to say that, there is every 
 probability of Mr. Mathews and myself becoming
 
 272 STATEMENT OF THE CASE. 
 
 friendly with each other ; and were it not so, there 
 would be no one more willing than myself, to ac- 
 knowledge his zeal at all times, for the interests of 
 his profession and the welfare of the establishment 
 to which he might belong. 
 
 " It has been alleged that I am extremely offi- 
 cious in addressing the audience, on many occasions. 
 If to my office, as stage-manager, the term officious 
 be applied, I do plead guilty to the performance of 
 my duty, but I do not confess to any less worthy 
 signification of the word. I trouble the audience 
 with observations only when I may deem it neces- 
 sary, and always endeavour to do so with respect. 
 
 " I am, Sir, your obedient servant, 
 
 " R. W. Elliston." 
 
 " Having been bystanders during the difference 
 which occurred between Mr. Elliston and Mr. 
 Mathews, at the Haymarket Theatre, on Friday 
 night last, we feel it incumbent on us to declare 
 that, the statement of Mr. Elliston having been 
 knocked down on that occasion, is totally void of 
 truth ; and that no circumstances took place, which 
 were in any respect dishonourable to that gentle- 
 man, or, indeed, to either of them. 
 
 " Robert Palmer. 
 
 " Charles Taylor. 
 
 " John Palmer. 
 
 " W. T. Hatton. 
 
 " F. G. Waldron, (Prompter.)"
 
 "three and the deuce." 273 
 
 Thus ended the affair in the theatre itself, but 
 innumerable were the squibs let off in the public 
 journals, from the ashes of this discord. Newspaper 
 letters on private grievances, are fair game to the 
 idle public, who beat about for amusement ; and 
 although Elliston had satisfactorily proved he had 
 not been " knocked down by Mathews," yet he 
 laid himself open to so many sly shots, from quills 
 in ambuscade, that it required his whole armour of 
 equanimity to preserve him from being positively 
 riddled. 
 
 Elliston's recent triumph in the part of Duke 
 Aranza, at Drury Lane, was now succeeded by an 
 event at the Haymarket, only less brilliant from 
 the nature of the drama in which he appeared — a 
 musical entertainment, entitled " Three and the 
 Deuce." 
 
 This piece had been produced at the same theatre 
 ten years previous to the present ; the principal 
 part or parts, having been written expressly for the 
 display of Mr. Bannister's versatility of genius ; 
 an experiment, however, which did not meet with a 
 favourable reception. 
 
 Elliston, who had heretofore accomplished some 
 triumphs not dissimilar to the present — namely, a 
 decided . success on Bannister's own ground — was 
 by no means deterred from the trial, by the records 
 of the theatrical decade. The fantastic triune imper- 
 
 T
 
 274 INSURRECTION. 
 
 soaation suited admirably his fanc5^ whilst emula- 
 tion kept up a state of irritability, which could only 
 be allayed by playing the character without delay. 
 The versatility of powers (if we may venture so lofty 
 a term) necessary to success in the part of " The 
 Singles'' might very reasonably have attracted 
 public favour to this " announcement in the bills ;" 
 for Elliston was both a pleasing singer and an ele- 
 gant dancer, while his savoir faire of the mock heroic 
 and perception of broad farce, all conspired to the 
 fair promise. 
 
 The piece was acted for his own benefit, and 
 the trial was another decided hit ; like Diana, the 
 actor was equally divine under his three phases ; 
 and the petite comedie was, from this time, assigned 
 to him, by legal conveyance of popular approbation, 
 his own freehold. 
 
 In the course of this season, another outbreak 
 took place in the Little Theatre, which, com- 
 mencing in deep tragedy, concluded very properly 
 in downright farce. 
 
 Dowton had chosen for his benefit Foote's bur- 
 lesque piece, entitled " The Tailors," or, "A Tra- 
 gedy for Warm Weather," in which the fraternity 
 of the thimble, were not treated with the respect 
 which their importance in all ages appears to have 
 enjoyed ; and they now resolved, like the Knights 
 of the Shoulder Knot at Bath, some years before,
 
 (( 
 
 THE TAILORS." 275 
 
 (on the representation of High Life below Stairs,") 
 to vindicate the dignity of their order, and at the 
 same time to shew a spirit. 
 
 A pallid battalion of tailors occupied (as well 
 they might) the dress boxes, another operative line 
 threaded the pit, whilst not a few were prepared 
 for backing the suit in the galleries. Dowton had 
 advertised " The Tailors," but they had resolved on 
 " Measure for Measure." Being well assured that 
 the first blow is half the battle, Dowton, on his 
 appearance in the part of Francisco, was assailed by 
 no less a missile than a pair of tremendous shears, 
 which would at once have cut the thread of his 
 existence, had the act been an echo to the will. 
 
 This pretty strong demonstration of hostility, 
 caused the immediate interference of the constables, 
 and in three minutes, the uproar was at the best. 
 The tailors, it is true, were three to one ; but recol- 
 lecting how many go to a man, it is not surprising 
 they were presently overmatched. Some of the 
 ringleaders, or, rather foremen in the house, were 
 handed over to the public office, where Mr. Aaron 
 Graham, like Priuli, was at that moment sitting. 
 
 Here good fortune appeared, in some degree, to 
 attend the tailors ; for our friend Aaron being, as 
 we have already had occasion to notice, in the 
 interests of Drury LaneTheatre, was too well pleased 
 at any mortification which might attend another 
 booth in the fair ; and with the exception, there- 
 
 t2
 
 276 LISTON. 
 
 fore, of" the desperate little mechanic convicted of 
 sheer malice against Dowton, the whole party were 
 dismissed — or, we should rather have said, were 
 sent about their business. 
 
 Thus terminated this thimble emeute. The tailors 
 claimed the victory ; under which prestige they felt 
 entire satisfaction, and quitting the play-house, were 
 content for the future to appear on no other boards 
 than their own. 
 
 On the 15th of September, of the same season, 
 Listen made his first appearance in London, at this 
 theatre, in the character of Sheep-face, in the " Vil- 
 lage Lawyer." His peculiar talent was at once 
 acknowledged, and secured him his patent for life 
 in public favour. As of Tarleton, (whom, in fact, 
 he must somewhat have resembled in style,) we can 
 truly say, — 
 
 " cujus vox, vultiis, actio possit 
 
 Ex Heraclito reddere Democritum." 
 
 Hazlitt has pointedly said, " Listen is an actor 
 hardly belonging to the present age. Had he lived 
 in the time of CoUey Gibber, what a splendid 
 niche he would have given him in his Apology !" 
 
 On the 5th of October, a revival of Farquhar's 
 comedy " The Constant Couple" was advertised 
 for that evening's representation, at Drury Lane 
 Theatre. 
 
 Late in the afternoon, handbills had been circu-
 
 SIR HARRY WILDAIR. 277 
 
 lated, stating, that in consequence of the sudden 
 illness of" Mr. Elliston, who was to have personated 
 Sir Harry Wildair, the comedy would unavoidably 
 be deferred ; " She Stoops to Conquer" was the 
 substitute. 
 
 The " Constant Couple" not having been acted 
 for some years previous to this event, and public 
 curiosity being considerably excited in respect of 
 the present cast of its hero, the theatre was nume- 
 rously attended. As to the handbills, they of course 
 had met the eye of but a small portion of the " Bri- 
 tish public," and the greater part of the audience, 
 under a sense of disappointment, felt inclined to 
 " take it out" (as the money-lenders express it) in 
 some other article, and had a row for their money. 
 Due satisfaction being obtained in this manner, 
 Goldsmith was entered " vice" Farquhar, and the 
 substitution was permitted to proceed. 
 
 But on the following day one of those awkward 
 contretemps occurred, of which we blush to confess 
 we have met with more examples than the present, 
 in the course of our theatrical reading. 
 
 He is but a dull swain — a poor, pitiful lover, we 
 verily believe, who cannot anticipate the whimsy 
 of his mistress, before the little caprice has being 
 within her — one of those instances is it, in which 
 effects are allowed " to lead causes." And he is 
 but a bungling conjuror — a clumsy, heavy-fingered 
 jack-a-leut, who cannot tell you the very ace, knave,
 
 278 AN AWKWARD CRITIQUE. 
 
 or queen, dancing in your thoughts, even before you 
 have made up your mind on the colour of your 
 card. But what is permitted to the lover, or looked 
 for in the conjuror, may perhaps become a ques- 
 tionable quality in reasonable beings, who are ex- 
 pected to work by the square and rule, and not like 
 those, who in their mistake of courage, attempt to 
 display it by setting truth at defiance. 
 
 Not to detain the reader longer in our display of 
 metaphor ; on the subsequent day, as we have said, 
 to this provisional comedy at Drury Lane, the fol- 
 lowing critique ! appeared in a journal, called " The 
 British Neptune :" — 
 
 " Theatre Royal Drury Lane. Last night, Far- 
 quhar's sprightly comedy, ' The Constant Couple,' 
 was most barbarously murdered at this theatre. 
 The lively knight was by Elliston reduced to a dull 
 piece of affectation — it was Tom Errand in Beau 
 Clincher'' s clothes. Clincher was altogether lost in 
 the hands of Bannister — it approached Farquhar as 
 nearly as the frog resembled the ox in the fable. 
 
 " Miss Mellon was not thoroughly unpleasant in 
 her representation of Angelica; but criticism has 
 not language severe enough to deprecate the imper- 
 tinence of Barrymore, presuming to put himself 
 forward in the part of Colonel Standard. We were 
 scarcely less offended with Dowton's attempt at 
 Alderman Smuggler — it was only, not absolutely the 
 worst thing we ever saw."
 
 (( 
 
 THE BRITISH NEPTUNE." 279 
 
 Such was tlie " mirror" in which the Drury Lane 
 company — ladies and gentlemen — beheld their un- 
 happy features at their toilet, on the following moi-n- 
 ing — Sunday. On their swollen heads, black eyes, 
 and lacerated noses, they gazed in silent stupe- 
 faction. They had clearly been cruelly belaboured 
 by elves — the victims of pawwawing — in their sleep, 
 (for Saturday nights are the Sabbaths of witches,) 
 and acknowledged the providence of having escaped 
 with life itself. 
 
 They however determined, like the petulant 
 beauty, to be revenged upon their looking-glass ; 
 and with all the violence of the fair, Elliston, Bar- 
 rymore, Dowton, and Bannister, commenced a pro- 
 secution against the old " Neptune," which would 
 inevitably have brought him from his coral palace, 
 on the dry floor of the Court of King's Bench, but 
 for the mercy of the very mortals themselves whom 
 he had so deeply injured. The prosecution was 
 stayed — a compromise was entered into — the pro- 
 prietors of the paper paying of course all expenses, 
 and a supplemental fifty pounds to the Drury Lane 
 Theatrical Fund. 
 
 Whilst on the subject of " outrages" we must beg 
 leave to narrate an act of surpassing audacity, to 
 the cost of poor Dowton. 
 
 Li the old Drury Lane Theatre, many of the 
 dressing-rooms were on the level of the landing
 
 280 HUMOROUS OUTRAGE. 
 
 beneath the stage. During the representation of 
 some piece, wherein Dow ton had to be lowered by 
 means of a trap through the stage, his face being 
 turned towards the audience, EUiston and De Camp, 
 who were concealed below, had provided themselves 
 with small ratan canes, and as their brother actor, 
 who was playing a serious part, was slowly descend- 
 ing to solemn music, they applied their sticks 
 sharply and rapidly to the thinly-clad calves of his 
 legs. 
 
 Poor Dowton, whose duty it was to look as dig- 
 nified and intrenchant as a ghost, smarting under 
 the pain, could scarcely refrain the expression of it 
 by a positive screech, whilst he curvetted with his 
 heels, like a horse in Ducrow's arena. Choking 
 with rage, he was at length wholly let down, and 
 being now completely out of sight of the audience, 
 he looked earnestly round to discover the base per- 
 petrators of the violence. Elliston and his com- 
 panion had, of course, absconded — it was decamp 
 with each of them ; but at this moment Charles 
 Holland, dressed to the very finish of fashion, 
 worthy of Cibber himself, was crossing from one of 
 the rooms. The enraged actor, mistaking his man, 
 and believing, by Holland's imperturbability of man- 
 ner, he was in /act the real offender, seized a mop 
 at that moment immersed in most unseemly water, 
 and thrusting it in his face, utterly destroyed wig, 
 ruffles, point lace, and every particular of his elabo- 
 rate attire.
 
 dowton's revenge. 281 
 
 In vain Holland protested his innocence, and im- 
 plored for mercy — his cries only whetted the appe- 
 tite of the other's revenge, and again and again, the 
 saturated mop was at work over his finery. 
 
 Somewhat appeased at last, Dowton quitted his 
 victim ; but in the meantime, the prompter's bell 
 had announced the commencement of the piece, in 
 which Holland was to have appeared. What was 
 to be done ? The drama was proceeding — Holland 
 already called to the stage ! all was confusion thrice 
 confounded. An apology for " the sudden indispo- 
 sition of Mr. Holland " was made, and the public 
 informed that De Camp had kindly undertaken to go 
 on for the part .'" 
 
 In April (1806) Elliston applied for permission of 
 the Haymarket authorities to advertise Colman's 
 pleasant little comedy, "Blue Devils," for his benefit 
 at Drury Lane, to which he received the following 
 direct answer : — 
 
 " The proprietors of the Haymarket Theatre pre- 
 sent their compliments to Mr. Elliston, and acquaint 
 him that past circumstances prevent their acceding 
 to the request, Mr. Elliston has so unexpectedly 
 done them the honour of expressing." 
 
 This note was in Colman's own hand-writing. 
 Such was the acetous fermentation of that sweet 
 friendship, which had been so lately sealed in pledges 
 of choice Madeira, and witnessed in the little
 
 282 WARNER PHIPPS. 
 
 "rump-parliament" at Waldron's. "At lovers' 
 perjuries, they say, Jove laughs," but theatrical 
 friendships are a joke much beyond them. An 
 April day has greater certainty, and a flash of light- 
 ning as much durability — ■ 
 
 " They quarrel 'bout a pin or feather, 
 And wonder how they came together." 
 
 It was at this period of his life, that EUiston be- 
 came first acquainted with a gentleman, who proved 
 one of his truest and most valuable friends, during 
 his professional career — Mr. Warner Phipps, actuary 
 of the Albion Assurance Company — a man of sound 
 understanding, acute judgment, and rare sincerity. 
 To Mr. Phipps, Elliston was indebted for the best 
 advice in his repeated difficulties, and for pecuniary 
 aids, which never were denied when the object 
 appeared reasonable in itself, and creditable to his 
 good name. 
 
 In the summer of this year, our hero was engaged 
 principally in Dublin, to which place his friend 
 transmitted any London intelligence, which he 
 deemed might be useful or gratifying. Amongst 
 his earliest letters was the following : — 
 
 " Neither the fame you have acquired, nor the 
 wealth you ought to be accumulating, should satisfy 
 your own conscience, as certainly they cannot ac- 
 quit you to your family, for that disregard which 
 you shew to society, as a member of it. Do not
 
 ADMONITORY LETTER. 283 
 
 deceive yourself by fancying you are merely de- 
 spising appearances, by violating the proprieties of 
 life. True — a man may live too servilely to the 
 world's opinion, but it follows not, that he should 
 contemn the conventions and the decencies of the 
 commonwealth. I will not offend you by descend- 
 ing to particulars. I know I am speaking to a man 
 of discernment — I hope also to one of fortitude. 
 
 " If I have as yet not said enough, I should still 
 fall short, though I were to write a volume. 
 
 '■' I shall at once, therefore, dismiss this part of 
 my letter. 
 
 " You may know, perhaps, in what manner the 
 Haymarket has shuffled on since your estrange- 
 ment, Fawcett does not take kindly to your co- 
 medy, and Rae positively burlesques your tragedy. 
 The former, in his real department, has unquestion- 
 ably great power, but Vapid, Megrim, Bob Handy, 
 and many others he has lately meddled with, re- 
 quire the touches of another pencil. Rae is not, 
 perhaps, without effects, but they are chiefly of per- 
 son. His form is good, his countenance impressive, 
 and his voice of considerable compass ; but his de- 
 portment is loose, his eye dumb, and his tones with- 
 out variety or modulation. I can say nothing of 
 his understanding, for I have not been in his com- 
 pany. As to his Octavian, I never witnessed a more 
 inflated piece of Jack Puddingism in my days. 
 
 " I am convinced it should not be your object to
 
 284 MR. PERRY. 
 
 play in London, both during winter and summer. 
 In the latter season, take your Drury fame into the 
 country — you will make more money, preserve 
 your health, and delight your fancy by variety of 
 scene. 
 
 " I enclose you a pasquinade, which I understand 
 was uttered aloud from the boxes, the other night, 
 and which appeared in a morning print of yester- 
 day. What it w^ants in wit is made up in truth : — 
 
 " ' Mr. Rae— Mr. Rae — 
 Ah ! prithee — go away — 
 You are a sorry lad, 
 And you act so very bad • 
 That you'll surely drive me mad. 
 If you stay— Mr. Rae!'" 
 
 An attempt was now made by a certain clique 
 of the leading spirits of Drury Lane, in conjunction 
 with sundry town wits, (and amongst them, Theo- 
 dore Hook, then a young man,) for a revival of 
 some of the London clubs, which had lately fallen 
 into abeyance. EUiston was the very Monk of the 
 " Restoration." 
 
 Their immediate object was a resuscitation of the 
 " Humbug Club," which had originally been pro- 
 jected by Mr. Perry, proprietor of the " Morning 
 Chronicle," and from whom the new party received 
 many of the old forms and ceremonies. 
 
 Mr. Perry, in fact, " gave the people a constitu- 
 tion," at the head of which he was nominally placed.
 
 " HUMBUG CLUB." 285 
 
 Col man, who, from foregone conclusions, " was un- 
 able to appear," was yet, like Ariel, a most potent 
 agent, invisible, and duly executed the good bidding 
 of Perry, the Prospero, on the enchanted soil of the 
 Oxford Coffee House, where the roystering crew 
 were fraternized. 
 
 *' The Humbug" — that is, the " old original" — 
 had been assembled on the first month of several 
 years, by a proclamation, issued by Mr. Perry, who 
 was designated " Humbug alio Rex," and counter- 
 signed by his secretary, "Screech." These procla- 
 mations were exceedingly humorous, and may be 
 read on the files of the " Chronicle" of the period. 
 
 Mr. Pryse Gordon, in his " Personal Memoirs," 
 gives the following notice of this association : — 
 
 "When a new member was proposed, he was 
 admitted blindfolded, with much ceremony. He 
 was then conducted by a member to the bottom of 
 a large apartment, whence he mounted a dozen of 
 almost perpendicular steps, being warned, that if he 
 slipped, he would inevitably break his neck. When 
 the candidate had ascended the verv summit of the 
 tottering fabric, the bandage was suddenly snatched 
 from his eyes, and he found himself standing on a 
 platform of about a foot square, elevated some ten 
 feet above the inquisitors. Around the table below, 
 were sitting the president, his secretary, (Screech,) 
 and twelve judges, all masked, with beards low as 
 their knees, and black gowns. In the centre of the
 
 280 MATRICULATION. 
 
 table was a caldron of spirits of wine, which threw 
 a most infernal glare on the whole assembly." Cer- 
 tain questions w'ere then put to the bewildered can- 
 didate, which if, in the judgment of the court, he 
 answered satisfactorily, and respectfully bowled three 
 times in the act of descending, he was duly declared 
 a member of the body. 
 
 But as none of these things were possible, no can- 
 didate ever succeeded in passing his examination. 
 However, as all is fish which comes to the devil's 
 net, the infernal president usually extended a grace 
 to the failing votary, and he was ultimately matri- 
 culated. 
 
 Bannister, who had been a member of the " old 
 original," was joyfully received into the association 
 of the Oxford Coffee House. He w^as here fre- 
 quently president, w^hen Johnstone fulfilled the 
 duties of " ^creec/i." 
 
 The following examination of a candidate before 
 these two " Jacks in office," took place, as witnessed 
 by the hero of our Memoir. The usual question 
 being put — 
 
 " Pray, sir, were you present at your birth?" 
 
 Reply — " No ; I was a changeling before I was 
 born." 
 
 " Pray, sir, what is the stock of wisdom you pur- 
 pose investing in this society ?" 
 
 " I come here to get wisdom." 
 
 " True ; you are of that class w^hich experience 
 sometimes renders wise."
 
 liLLlSTON AT DUBLIN, 287 
 
 As to the termination of these weekly meetings, 
 that was alter the manner of most societies, dull or 
 spiritual, homely or polite — namely, the best liquor 
 which could be produced. Like death, this levelled 
 all distinctions — the dull were elevated and the 
 fanciful depressed — one common tint pervaded the 
 whole canvass, and Punch and Egalite, the last 
 usurpers. 
 
 But notwithstanding the efforts of this " gallant 
 crew," and all their appliances to boot, the new 
 "Humbug" lasted but for a season — the "Resto- 
 ration," in fact, was but of short duration ; and a 
 Revolution came, which swept from state and being, 
 this last of the Humbugs.* The Oxford Coffee 
 House affair failed, as most revivals have been 
 found to do. When once a dog has had his day, 
 the best voltaic battery will but make him wag his 
 tail. 
 
 In the course of Elliston's brief visit to Dublin, 
 he was surprised, one morning, by a visit from a 
 dashing young fellow, who, unceremoniously enter- 
 
 * About the end of the last century, many of these clubs 
 were in existence. At the British Coffee House, Cockspur- 
 street, was " The Anonymous," to which Perry, and his co-pro- 
 prietor, Gray, belonged. " Many eminent men," says Mr. 
 Pryse Gordon, " were members of this fantastic society, which 
 lasted till more than half of the club were dead. Professor 
 Porson, Dr. Barney, Dr. Raine, J. Kemble, Howardiiie, (the 
 poet,) 3Ionf{ Lewis, Capt, Morris, and occasionally, the Duke of 
 Norfolk."
 
 288 
 
 A iMEETlNG. 
 
 ing his room, grasped him by the hand with the 
 tenderness of a vice, invoking on him many days 
 of joy and good fortune. Startled by this amicable 
 assault, Elliston in vain cudgelled his brains, to 
 bring his friend into court and recollection, and was, 
 in fact, as much perplexed, as at the unexpected 
 meeting with poor Alice, three years before. 
 
 Far more amused than mortified at the come- 
 dian's dilemma, the stranger, in all the exultation 
 of high spirits and rosy prosperity, bantered him 
 for awhile on his frail pledges of friendship, playing 
 off, at the same time, a thousand houffouneries , which, 
 if accounted by his self-applause, would have thrown 
 Carlini or Liston into the shade. Exploding, at 
 length, into a roar of laughter, which verily shook 
 the little quadrangular chamber in which they had 
 met — 
 
 " Why, don't you know me ? Donald ?" cried he 
 — "Donald, at Saint Paul's ? — Don't you recollect, 
 Donald — pug Donald ? Robert !" 
 
 The veil immediately dropped from before the 
 eyes of our hero, who at once recalled to memory 
 his truant schoolfellow, " pug Donald," beyond all 
 doubt, and the many occasions on which each be- 
 ing soundly whipped for their common fault, the 
 birch of Dr. Roberts might well be supposed to 
 have " twined their hearts in one." 
 
 About the time Robert William took flight from 
 St. Paul's to Bath, his schoolmate, Donald, made
 
 A BROTIIEIi RUNAWAY. 289 
 
 an equally abrupt excursion to the sea coast — one 
 for the stage, the other on board ship. 
 
 Donald had secreted himself, like a rat, in the 
 hold of a coaster, which having put to sea, he crept 
 from his hiding-place, begging, in piteous accents, the 
 mercy of the master, and that he might be received 
 as a cabin-boy. His prayer was granted — in fact, 
 it was too late for refusal — and in this situation he 
 remained for full three years. 
 
 At the age of eighteen, he was made mate of a 
 vessel sailing from North Britain, and there being a 
 press on the river just at this time, Donald was 
 illegally seized by a man-of-war's gang, and put on 
 board .a tender, whence he was shipped for the coast 
 of Africa. Being a good seaman, he was rated able, 
 and his exemplary conduct being noticed by the 
 first lieutenant, he was speedily appointed quarter- 
 master. In a brush with a French frigate, Donald 
 behaved with so much gallantry, that he was placed 
 on the quarter-deck as midshipman. 
 
 He had now been gazetted lieutenant three 
 months, and having been a week in Dublin, had 
 discovered, in knocking about the town, the com- 
 panion of his early days, his partner in many a 
 stolen afternoon, and a large shareholder in their 
 joint-stock of flagellation. 
 
 Elliston was immediately made known to such of 
 Donald's family, who were at that time resident in 
 Dublin. He passed several gala days in the society 
 
 u
 
 290 A WATCH-HOUSE. 
 
 of" his friend ; and their imaginations being so vividly 
 recalled to the scenes of youth, they conducted 
 themselves, in some instances, so much like school- 
 boys, that they were once more joint tenants of 
 the same narrow apartment, but that — the watch- 
 house. 
 
 Donald of course went to see his friend act, and 
 well, indeed, might he have been delighted, for this 
 occasion was, in fact, the very first on which he had 
 ever entered the doors of a playhouse.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Death of Dr. Elliston — EUiston's letter to his wife — Strange 
 reports — " The Curfew" — Margravine of Anspacli — Pri- 
 vate Theatricals — Critique on the genius of Mr, Young — 
 Elliston and his landlady at Liverpool — A cozy evening — Hob 
 and Knob — "Star" and Star — Country theatres — Whim- 
 sical occurrences and expedients — " The Castle Spectre" — 
 An aged company — An actor mystified — Elliston in his ele- 
 ment — Humorous adventure witli a French prisoner. 
 
 The timely success which had attended the produc- 
 tion of " The Honeymoon," induced the directors 
 of Drury Lane theatre to apply again to their piles 
 of neglected MSS., and, like other coquettes, to 
 turn their second thoughts towards some of those 
 offers, they had too unceremoniously slighted in past 
 seasons. 
 
 Rejected comedies, mouldy by despair, and we 
 may truly say, torn by rough usage, were ogled 
 from their obscurity ; and as the frail managers con- 
 templated the doleful ditty — 
 
 " Any one of these, which I slighted before, 
 Will do very well for me," 
 
 they fortunately fixed on a second of the Tol)in f;i- 
 
 u 2
 
 292 " THE CURFEW. 
 
 mily, and the "Curfew" became, at once, the reign- 
 ing favourite. 
 
 This drama having been forthwith put into re- 
 hearsal, was advertised for representation for the 
 14th of February (1807) ; two days previous to 
 which, it was announced as indefinitely postponed, 
 owing to the sudden absence of Mr. Elliston, who 
 was to have performed the principal character. 
 
 The Master of Sidney College (Dr. Elliston) had 
 been for some weeks in declining health, and his 
 illness having now become alarming, his nephew 
 received intelligence which induced him at once to 
 proceed to Cambridge. 
 
 Elliston found his uncle rapidly sinking, and with 
 no hope of recovery. He was received with great 
 affection by his venerable relative, who, in pardon- 
 ing his offences, had no slight category to remit ; 
 whilst the exhortation he gave him to honourable 
 conduct, testified the sincerity of his forgiveness. 
 
 The Doctor did not survive this interview many 
 days. He died full of honour — in the respect of 
 all men who had value for integrity and well-directed 
 talents. 
 
 Elliston, in a letter to his wife, says — 
 
 " My uncle — my best friend — expired this morn- 
 ing, and God will bless him ! These are moments 
 to awaken the coldest spirit to expressions of fer- 
 vent gratitude, and to a full sense of departed good- 
 ness — they are too common — and little respect is
 
 DEATH OF DR. ELLISTON. 293 
 
 therefore clue to feelings of so ordinary a nature as 
 mine ; but from the bottom of my heart I pray for 
 him, and believe he will be happy. 
 
 " Two days before my uncle died, he put a pas- 
 sage from Dr. Johnson into my hands, which out 
 of veneration to both I transcribe to you : — 
 
 "'Many things necessary are omitted, because 
 we vainly imagine they may be always performed ; 
 and what cannot be done without pain will for ever 
 be delayed, if the time for doing it be left unsettled. 
 No corruption is great but by long negligence, which 
 can scarcely prevail in a mind regularly and fre- 
 quently awakened, by periodical remorse. He that 
 thus breaks his life into parts, will find in himself 
 a desire to distinguish every stage of his existence 
 by some improvement, and delight himself with the 
 approach of the day of recollection, as of the time 
 which is to begin a new series of virtue and feli- 
 city.' " 
 
 The Doctor* directed by will 600Z, to be divided 
 equally between his nephews, R. W. Elliston and 
 the son of Professor Martyn. To each of his grand- 
 children, of which there were twenty, he left 100/., 
 to be paid with accumulation, as they severally at- 
 tained their twenty-first year. As residuary lega- 
 
 * Dr. William Elliston, Master of Sidney College, Cambridge^ 
 and Rector of Keyston, Huntingdonshire — in the gift of Earl 
 Fitzwilliani — died llth Feb. 18U7, in his 75th year.
 
 294 STRANGE REPORTS. 
 
 tees, EUiston and his cousin Martyn received 1700Z. 
 each. 
 
 Out of the late occurrence, some of those wild 
 reports, which, like the rank, fat weed, find root in 
 the thinnest soil, were presently spread through the 
 dramatic circles of the metropolis ; — first, that Ellis- 
 ton had been bequeathed 20,000/., and an estate in 
 Huntingdonshire, on condition of his quitting the 
 stage ; secondly, that he had repudiated the Muses, 
 and embraced the Fathers — Thalia for St. Chrysos- 
 tom — the Green-room for the Cloister ; and a third 
 rumour, that he was about to found a dramatic col- 
 lege, of which he was to be nominated provost, 
 with power, under a charter, for admitting licen- 
 tiates, and conferring histrionic degrees ! Certainly 
 he returned to London bearing on his brow the very 
 stamp of an epoch — his very step was eventful, and 
 he bore around him an atmosphere of fate. 
 
 On the 19th, however, the misty conglomeration 
 of surmises vanished from the public mind, and 
 Tobin's " Curfew" was produced, EUiston having 
 resumed his duties at Drury Lane, by sustaining 
 the principal part in that drama. The " Curfew" 
 was repeated for fifteen consecutive nights, and on 
 a few additional occasions in the season. 
 
 Triumphs are met not with in coveys — the plu- 
 mage which distinguished the "Honeymoon," did 
 not clothe this second flight of the poet ; but the 
 " Curfew" was at least successful, and brought 
 money to the treasury.
 
 MARGRAVINE OF ANSPACH. 295 
 
 A similar fate attended Gay's " Polly," which he 
 produced on the great success of his " Beggars' 
 Opera" — a common result of second attempts. " If 
 the original Polly," says Hazlitt, " had not had 
 more winning ways with her, she would hardly have 
 had so many countesses for representatives." 
 
 For his henefit, EUiston played Vapid, Vapour, 
 and Don Juan — the receipts heing four hundred and 
 seventy-six pounds ! 
 
 Elliston being known to the Margravine of Ans- 
 pach, having figured at one or two of her private 
 dramatical entertainments, apphed to her, on the 
 part of a friend, about to publish a Theatrical Tour, 
 for permission to introduce a notice of her tasteful 
 Salle Dramatique, at Brandenberg House, into the 
 work — to which her highness replies — 
 
 " Sir, — In answer to y' request, I inform you 
 that there is likewise a Theatre in my Wood here, 
 of a Construction so peculiarly pretty, that it would 
 perhaps be y'' most interesting Description in yr 
 friend's Tour. I shall write to my Housekeeper at 
 B. House, to let him view the Theatre there ; but I 
 wish him not to print anything ab* me or my Estab- 
 lishments, without first letting me see what he in- 
 tends writ^' 
 
 " I have been much assailed by printed False- 
 hoods — the Newspapers appear to say what they 
 please, and pack Stories as some people do the
 
 296 PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 
 
 Cards, for the Pleasure of cheating, without any 
 
 prospect of Gain. 
 
 " Elizabeth." 
 
 " Bonhain, n' Newbury, Berks." 
 
 The Margravine's private theatricals excited quite 
 a sensation at this period, and a taste in some 
 fashionable coteries, for this kind of amusement. 
 
 On several of these occasions, EUiston was the 
 very Coryphseus of the rout — particularly on one 
 event, wherein there was an equal portion of the 
 antic with the attic — and where there was certainly 
 no deficiency of amusement, for the laugh which 
 wit might have failed to excite, absurdity was pretty 
 sure to elicit. 
 
 Sir John Carr, who had lately been knighted by 
 the Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, took a patronising 
 lead in this instance, and appeared so highly grati- 
 fied both with himself and everything connected 
 with the evening, that Hook, who was present, de- 
 clared the play could be performed but for one 
 knight only. 
 
 *' Ah ! we shall never see such another," replied 
 Sir John, sans le savoir. 
 
 On the 16th of March, Elliston signed articles of 
 engagement with Mr. T. Sheridan, and other pro- 
 prietors of Drury Lane theatre, for five years, at 
 28/. per week. 
 
 In the summer, Elliston being at Liverpool, he
 
 CRITIQUE. 297 
 
 received the following letter from his friend, Mr. 
 Warner Phipps, which we insert, as experience has 
 sufficiently proved the accuracy of his judgment, 
 and the fulfilment of his anticipations : it respects 
 the merits of Mr. Young : — 
 
 " My dear Elliston, — You know the perpetual 
 state of occupation in which I live, and I need not, 
 therefore, apologize for not writing to you earlier. 
 You have now nine Albion shares — the last seven 
 have cost 55/. each, transfer stamps included. 
 
 " Mr. Rundall paid for three of these . . . £165 
 *' And Mr. Jones for the remaining four . . 220 
 
 £385 
 
 " I have lost no opportunity of seeing Mr. Young. 
 It would be offensive to friendship, were I to pander 
 to any vanity you may have, by underrating a man 
 whom I look on, in one branch of his profession, to 
 be a most formidable rival to you. 
 
 " In tragedy, Mr. Young has made a very strong, 
 and I think, a well-deserved impression on the 
 public mind. He has fairly won the favour he en- 
 joys. His Hamlet contains beauties of a very high 
 order, and his acting in the Stranger is powerfully, 
 irresistibly impressive. As a tragic actor, he cannot 
 but succeed ; but in light comedy, it is as clear he 
 must inevitably fail. His Don Felix is a very 
 volume of failures — and his acting as much out of 
 character, as an undertaker's scarf on a bridal attire.
 
 298 GENIUS OF YOUNG. 
 
 "Nature has thrown such a solemnity about his 
 form and aspect, that ThaUa will neither yield to 
 his entreaties nor be forced into his embraces — so 
 much for the stage ; but unless I am much mis- 
 taken, there is still a vein of fun running through 
 his constitution, which to his friends at home, is 
 rich and yielding. I do not doubt his perceptions 
 of comedy — they may be as fine as of that branch 
 in which he certainly excels ; but he can never be a 
 comedian. 
 
 *' He has a good figure, but not an heroic form. 
 His voice, by art, I apprehend, has become of the 
 good quality we find it. He has a kind of chanting 
 intonation, which, however it may first strike the ear, 
 is soon grateful to it ; I fancy it has been acquired in 
 diligent attempts to overcome defect of articulation. 
 
 " Mr. Young frequently sheds over his text a bril- 
 liant lustre — there is a bold honesty in his manner 
 w^hich persuades he is right — you lelieve him in all 
 he says and does. In tenderness he is deficient — 
 he can vindicate female honour, but he cannot con- 
 dole with the sufferer — he can championize the 
 dignity of blood, but he cannot mingle tears with 
 
 tears. 
 
 " Graham and Tom Sheridan have been watching 
 him nightly, and I have no doubt the Drury Lane 
 merchants are speculating on this new commodity. 
 Sheridan saw him last night in Hamlet, and went 
 behind the scenes at the conclusion of the play.
 
 ADVICE OF PHIPPS. 299 
 
 "The Haymarket has produced so good a speci- 
 men in yourself, that I am not surprised at the 
 credit given to its young actors.* 
 
 " I went, two days ago, with Mr. Rundall, to look 
 at the house he proposed for you in Stratford Place. 
 The terms are certainly not high, but I hesitate in 
 respect of the situation. You are the best judge 
 whether so great a distance from the theatre would 
 not be fatiguing and expensive to you, and whether 
 your views also, with respect to Mrs. EUiston, 
 would be promoted by a residence on this spot. I 
 think there would be a discretion in your not taking 
 the exact ground with families of rank and title. 
 The very people who might become patrons of 
 yourself and wdfe, would look coldly, disdainfully 
 on you, as next-door neighbours. 
 
 " The great world may be pleased in being fol- 
 lowed, but will not forgive being encroached on ; 
 in plain English, you have no business in Stratford 
 Place : every house, I believe, in this street, is occu- 
 pied by rank or wealth ; and though no law forbids 
 Mr. EUiston taking up his abode here, yet his good 
 sense should prevent it. 
 
 " Remember Lord Erskine's advice on vour Lin- 
 coln's-inn-tields project, and take that to be a pretty 
 correct view of this similar proposition. As an 
 actor and a gentleman, you are entitled to respect, 
 
 * Mr. Young's first appearance in London was at tlie Hay- 
 market, June 22, 1807.
 
 300 LIVERPOOL. 
 
 but as an aristocrat or a man of fashion, you would 
 be laughed at. The Duke of St. Alban's, your next 
 door neighbour, might gratify your vanity for a day, 
 but if you have any feeling, he would be a thorn in 
 your side for many. 
 
 " Garrick, with all his fame, sought and courted 
 as he was, did not presume to place himself in im- 
 mediate contact with nobility, though his fortune 
 was equal to a handsome residence, which he, in 
 fact, had in the Adelphi Terrace ; and Kemble does 
 not venture beyond the bourne of Bloomsbury. 
 
 I would suggest Bedford Place to you — the 
 houses are spacious and convenient — admirably 
 suited to Mrs. Elliston and her academy. ** But 
 for God's sake, do not let any duke overhear the 
 fiddle of a dancing school, or your neighbour the 
 countess, observe the actor stepping into a hackney- 
 coach. The very principle of the ridiculous is in 
 things being out of place. 
 
 " Believe me, sincerely yours, 
 
 Being at Liverpool, EUiston could scarcely have 
 forgotten his two accommodating friends, the host
 
 THE LANDLADY. 301 
 
 and hostess of the " Star." Such defection indeed 
 would have been the basest ingratitude, for he had re- 
 ceived on the last Christmas a "very duck of a turkey'' 
 (as his cook had expressed it) from this good easy 
 pair, accompanied by a practical joke at the hands 
 of the laughter-loving landlady, who had also en- 
 closed him a black bottle, superscribed " Dantzic," 
 which on being opened proved to be the translucent 
 produce of the Liver — pool. 
 
 Elliston had arrived in this city at about the 
 usual hour of the family dinner within the bar, 
 and having deposited his luggage in the neigbour- 
 hood, presented himself suddenly, as the well re- 
 membered party were seated at table. The lady, 
 who was operatively engaged on a broiled whiting 
 at the very moment, no sooner had fixed her eyes 
 on the apparition before her, than she uttered a 
 piercing scream, when her terrified husband, un- 
 conscious of the real cause, and believing but in 
 the possibility of one alone — namely, a fish-bone 
 in the pharynx, jumped from his chair, and began 
 to belabour the broad back of his helpless spouse, 
 as though he were gratifying some other feeling 
 than the mere desire of giving relief. 
 
 Two screams being, however, explained, (for with 
 a woman a scream is the indiscriminate index of pain 
 or pleasure, as " No" is sometimes preferred to 
 express assent,) Elliston was received with raptures 
 by his hostess, to which he was made welcome bv
 
 302 A COZY EVENING. 
 
 Tow-wouse himself, with the same sense of hospi- 
 tality, as to the first cut of the shoulder of mutton. 
 
 But certain impressions had now seized our hero, 
 which had the effect of taking away his appetite 
 without satisfying his hunger. 
 
 Time works in various ways. The Lady, who 
 four years since, as our readers may rememher, 
 had " promised to be fat," was now discovered no 
 less than her word ; she had, in fact, increased (or 
 as we beheve the term is, " spread") to a most un- 
 symmetrical extent, so that she who had hitherto 
 been only her good man's better half, was now be- 
 come in the predial sense, a positive " prize." 
 
 Elliston, however, had far too much generosity to 
 betray his peine d'esprit, but, like an experienced 
 actor, " played the agreeable" so well, that nothing 
 was wanting to gratify the vanity of his fair compa- 
 nion, which in point of fact had kept excellent pace 
 with the rapid increase of her person. Nay, it is a 
 doubt whether she were not more gratified than in 
 past days ; for, fearing he might be guilty of cold- 
 ness, Elliston, in all probability, a httle overacted 
 his part, illustrating that scene of Fielding, (or if 
 not Fielding, so very like him,) in which a certain 
 lady observes — 
 
 " Your love, I fear, is not sincere ;" to which 
 replies her suitor, — 
 
 " Ah, Madam ! if you did but know how incom- 
 parably the imitation surpasses the reality, you
 
 " HOB AND KNOB." 303 
 
 would never desire the insipidity of a true lover 
 again." 
 
 The " Star" menage was much as usual. Tow- 
 wouse, who was a landlord far more addicted to the 
 chalk than the sponge, soon moved off towards the 
 " Tap," having first placed two tumblers, the spirit- 
 stand, and a kettle of boiling water, at the disposal 
 of this " comfortable" mistress and her visitor. 
 
 Elliston having expressed his thanks over and 
 over again, for the Christmas turkey, and laughed 
 as frequently at the bottle of transparent " Dantzic," 
 felt he could really return no longer to that subject, 
 and now looked about for some fresh matter of 
 belle parolle, for which at other times he would 
 have needed no prompting. The liquor was cer- 
 tainly a good refuge, which, each moment he sipped, 
 suggested some lively sally. The hit at backgammon 
 was not forgotten — again was he at the cheerful 
 hoard, when the lady suddenly exclaiming, " The 
 stakes as usual !" he was seized with that sort of 
 sensation which is generally produced by a hard 
 crust, or perhaps a pebble, coming in contact with 
 an angry tooth. 
 
 If once he had played for kisses, he fain now 
 would have played for " love" — he was at least 
 determined to play like a man of honour. To it 
 they went, rattled were the dice, repeated was the 
 sly equivoque, and though his arm could describe 
 but a sorry segment of Juno's zone, yet he pressed
 
 304 " star" and star. 
 
 the apron-strings of his fair antagonist, and paid 
 his debts in the old coin, though, Heaven help him, 
 with the same good-will he would have satisfied 
 damages in the Sheriff's Court ! 
 
 There was, however, no coquetting with the 
 " Dantzic" — all there was pure devotion ; and when, 
 on mingling the third rummer, our animated guest 
 apostrophized the bottle, '* Shrunk to this little 
 measure !" his eye twinkled again in its own pe- 
 culiar humour, as it fell on the expansive equator 
 which girded the merry planet at his side. 
 
 But by degrees this ^arconwme underwent consi- 
 derable condensation — a certain offuscation crept 
 over the imagination of our hero, and his spherical 
 friend having fallen into a comfortable doze, EUiston, 
 who was ever grand and sententious when under the 
 Thyrsus of " the god," rose from his chair, and 
 summoning the landlord into the room, commenced, 
 in a true Areopagite style, to read him so tremen- 
 dous a lecture on the duties of hospitality, that, long 
 before he had finished, poor Tow-ivouse was per- 
 fectly convinced, Elliston had been the most mis- 
 used guest that had ever entered his house. 
 
 Fain would we drop a curtain on the shame of 
 our hero — a shame to which only chanticleer recalled 
 him, when he opened his half-sobered eyes eight 
 hours afterwards, in a back parlour, overlooking 
 the stable-yard of the " Star" at Liverpool. 
 
 Elliston's theatrical reception at Liverpool was
 
 COUNTRY THEATRES. 305 
 
 flattering, and he played his round of characters 
 in far better spirit than might have been expected, 
 on those boards, which he had so recently desired 
 to tread as proprietor. But EUiston's was not a 
 temper to be affected with malaise ; on the contrary, 
 discomfited in one project, he was only hurried on 
 to another, and defeat to him was the very assay of 
 his energies. 
 
 Having concluded his short engagement at this 
 city, he made a sort of detour on his return to 
 London, taking Buxton in his circuit, at which 
 place he acted for a few nights. 
 
 The theatre here, was one of those wretched little 
 buildings, resembling nearly the " Globe" of Jon- 
 son's day, " open to the sky," — wherein the modern 
 idler has too frequently been found to cull his own 
 pastime from the misery of others, and glorify his 
 self-esteem by the greater humility he witnesses. 
 Sport is it to him which is death to them ; and irre- 
 sistibly ridiculous as are sometimes the hard shifts 
 of the poor players, he should remember that the 
 price of his momentary laugh, may be a pang by no 
 means as fleeting from the hearts of others ; and the 
 hollow pleasure he has reaped to-day, had been 
 sown in the long privations of those, whose claims 
 on Providence w^re perhaps equal to his own. 
 
 The spirit of the ridiculous, however, is a moral 
 combustible, which, like gunpowder, will force the 
 seals of its prison ; and so long as the splinters 
 
 X
 
 30() 
 
 WHIMSICAL EXPEDIENTS, 
 
 wound not, we must be content that it explode. Of 
 its component parts, there are no richer beds than 
 country theatricals, though we presume not to 
 offer the following by any means as an extraordi- 
 nary example. 
 
 Miserable was the theatre, and the actors " Iro 
 pauperiores." The capabihties of the former, con- 
 sisted of two scenes, which, like Master Solomon's 
 waistcoat, had been turned for many occasions, and 
 from their state of near obliteration had arrived at 
 such a point of utility as to pass for anything. This 
 will remind us of the Welsh sheriff, (of whom the 
 facetious Tom Brown speaks,) who converted an 
 old cloak, first into a coat, then into a waistcoat, 
 and lastly into a pair of small clothes. 
 
 A few stage " foot-lamps" illumed the whole 
 house, throwing a dim irreligious light upon the 
 fresco brick wall, which supported both the roof of 
 the building and the back of the spectator. ' The 
 pit floor was composed of a line of hurdles, which 
 kept the feet of the groundlings at some distance 
 from that only overflow which good fortune ever 
 permitted, but which, owing to the low position of 
 the building, never failed in the rainy season. The 
 scant wardrobe, to the last thread and button, was, 
 it is true, employed in every piece, but which, 
 being a contribution of all costumes under the sun, 
 was at least, in some character, (like the child's 
 sham watch), right once during the evening.
 
 (( 
 
 CASTLE SPECTRE !" 307 
 
 The company was numerically small, unless the 
 numericals had reference to their sum of years, for, 
 with the exception of two urchins, who had but one 
 hat between them, there was not an actor or actress 
 much under seventy years of age. 
 
 The entertainment on the night of Elliston's 
 arrival at Buxton was the " Castle Spectre." 
 
 In the course of this play, it will be recollected, 
 Earl Percy is detained prisoner in Lord Osmond's 
 tower, whose movements are overwatched by Muley 
 and Sail), two of Osmond's black slaves. Whilst 
 these Africans are playing at dice in front of the 
 stage, and the Earl feigning sleep on his couch, 
 fishermen without the walls of the castle sing a 
 chorus, which gives the Earl a cue for his escape ; 
 this he accomplishes by climbing a window, unseen 
 by the blacks, and dropping into the boat, sup- 
 posed to be floating under the casement. On this 
 night, however, the said scene was thus acted, or 
 rather, the progress of it thus inauspiciously inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 In the first place, the _.two slaves were repre- 
 sented by one actor — " doubled," as it is called, 
 (two and double, however, are much the same 
 thing,) and the dialogue he carried on with him- 
 self, supposing the presence of the second person — 
 
 " Hark ! music ! " — here the first strain of the 
 distant chorus is understood, but as there was not 
 one in the company who could express a note but 
 
 x2
 
 308 A CRASH. 
 
 himself, the actor turned his head over his shoul- 
 ders and slyly chanted it, Pe7xy still feigning sleep. 
 The black continues — 
 
 " I'll see what it is !" — he now, by means of a 
 table, ascended to the casement, and thrusting his 
 head and shoulders through the same, a fiddle from 
 behind was handed up to him, on which, out of 
 sight of the audience, he worked his elbows, singing 
 and playing — 
 
 " Sleep you or wake you, lady bright, 
 Sing Megen oh ! oh ! Megen Ee I" 
 
 Concealing, then, his instrument, and withdrawing 
 his head, he turned to the audience — 
 
 " Surely I know that voice. Still my prisoner 
 sleeps. I'll listen again." 
 
 Once again, head and shoulders through the win- 
 dow, the fiddle raised to his hands, on he went — 
 
 " To spring below then never dread, 
 Our arms to catch you shall be spread ; 
 A boat now waits to set you free, 
 Sing Megen oh ! oh ! Megen Ee ! " 
 
 But, alas ! just at this moment, when in act of a 
 second time pulling in his body from the narrow 
 aperture, the exertion necessary to the operation, 
 together with the fragile state of the antique scenery, 
 produced a most awful crash — the whole side of 
 Osmond's castle wall, with Muley sticking in the 
 window-frame, like a rat caught by his neck, fell
 
 A PEEP "behind." 309 
 
 inwards on the stage, disclosing at one view an 
 heterogeneous state of things beyond, beggaring all 
 powers of description. 
 
 Hogarth's " Strollers Dressing in a Barn," is not 
 more fantastically conceived — pipkins and helmets, 
 wigs and smallclothes, paint and petticoats, bread 
 and cheese, and thunder and lightning — ladies and 
 gentlemen, full dressed, half dressed, undressed, in 
 all the various stages of hurried interchange of 
 joint-stock attire — love and discord, fondling and 
 fighting — chalk, tallow, poison, Cupids, and brick- 
 bats — hips, beards, bosoms, bottles, glue -pots, 
 and broken-headed drums — garlands, gallipots, 
 ghosts, moonbeams, play-books, and brimstone ! 
 " It was an Art-Union" which no recent days 
 have been able to parallel ; but the consternation 
 was that of an earthquake ! As to the " double" 
 black, still in his state of pillory, and who yet 
 lay sprawling on the stage, we might indeed re- 
 peat — 
 
 " Now fear, his hand its skill to try, 
 Amid the chords bewilder'd laid. 
 And back recoil'd, he knew not why, 
 E'en at the sound himself had made." 
 
 But such is the horizon in wiiich the London 
 " stars" are occasionally to be witnessed, and theatri- 
 cal astronomers will calculate their return, with 
 Newtonian accuracy, to the same quarter. 
 
 On the night following the above disaster, EUiston
 
 310 A DILEMMA. 
 
 played at the same theatre his favourite Aranza. 
 Extraordinary efforts were of course made to render 
 the play worthy the patronage expected — in fact, a 
 honeymoon had become a rare phenomenon in the 
 place, and favours were not wanting on the present 
 occasion. 
 
 The house had an overflow, though a dry night ; 
 and matters went for a time swimmingly, as it is 
 called — there was neither break down in scenery 
 nor acting. Juliana (in the costume of Fatima !) 
 was, it is true, as imperfect in her part as person ; 
 yet, had she retained the very words of her author, 
 she would scarcely have been more distinct, for she 
 had lost every tooth in her head, which rendered 
 articulation so obscure, that default of precise words 
 was of little detriment to the scene, so long as she 
 filled up a stated time and shewed a spirit. 
 
 All went on amazingly well, until the scene with 
 the Mock Duke, in the fourth act. Here Jaques is 
 discovered sitting in a large arm-chair, which, to 
 give it dignity, had been covered over with an old 
 curtain hanging. On rising from his seat, the hilt 
 of the Mock Duke'^s sword, most inopportunely was 
 entangled in one of the sundry holes of the loose 
 coverlid, which, on the actor's walking towards the 
 front of the stage, 
 
 " Like a wounded snake, dragg'd its slow length along." 
 This certainly provoked something more than a
 
 AN AGED COMPANY. 311 
 
 smile ; but it so happened, that the chair in ques- 
 tion, had been borrowed for the occasion, from a 
 neighbouring inn, and being originally fashioned for 
 the incidental purposes of a sick chamber, its 
 available conversion, was so palpably disclosed to 
 the whole body of spectators, that the roar pro- 
 duced was far more resembling thunder than any 
 paltry imitation ever before witnessed in a theatre. 
 The people absolutely screamed with merriment — 
 in fact, they laughed for a whole week afterwards. 
 
 Of the acting company at Buxton, the greater 
 part, as we have observed, though low in gold, 
 were at least rich in those " silver hairs which pur- 
 chase good opinion ;" and amongst them, a Mr. 
 Ladbroke, who had fallen into the infirmity, not 
 altogether through years, of forgetting the words of 
 parts he was constantly in the habit of playing. 
 
 Of this, there are many instances on record. 
 When Tom Walker was performing Macheath for 
 the seventieth time, he was a little imperfect, which 
 Rich observing, said, — 
 
 " Hallo ! Mister ! your memory ought to be pretty 
 good by this time !" 
 
 " And so it is," replied Walker, " but zounds, 
 it cannot last for ever !'* 
 
 Mr. Ladbroke, however, was generally perfect at 
 rehearsals, but his mystifications at night arose 
 probably from this cause — his r6le was always the
 
 312 AN OFFUSCATED ACTOR. 
 
 old men : and these, whether Sir A. Absolute, Don 
 Lopez, Foresight, or Adam Winterton, he acted in 
 the same suit of clothes, so that when he gazed on 
 his own figure, ready dressed for any particular one 
 of these, all Bell's Edition crowded to the threshold 
 of his memory, which not unnaturally led to some 
 confusion in the interior. Thus, for instance, 
 would he proceed, on making his bow as Sir Peter 
 Teazle. 
 
 "When an old bachelor marries a young wife . . . 
 Ah ! you pretty rogue, you shall outshine the 
 queen's box on an opera night . . . His Pagod, 
 his Poluphlosboio, his Monsieur Musphonos, and his 
 devil knows what ... It was but yesterday he fas- 
 tened my wig to the back of my chair, and when I 
 went to make a bow, I popped my bald head in 
 Mrs. Frizzle's face — " so that here we had a com- 
 pound of Sir Peter Teazle, Sir Francis Gripe, Peri- 
 v'inkle, and Old Hardcastle ; all delightful when 
 taken " neat," but as little relished in the admix- 
 ture, as old Burgundy, whisky punch, dry sherry, 
 and Staffordshire ale, in aliquot parts, for an after- 
 noon's draught. 
 
 On his third night, ElUston played Archer in the 
 " Beaux Stratagem ;"* a stratagem we doubt not, far 
 
 * Farquhar was not only a dramatist of great wit, but a com- 
 panion of infinite humour. Wilks relates, tFiat when Farquhar 
 was in Trinity College, Dublin, he sent to a friend to borrow 
 Burnet's " History of the Reformation," but his friend rejilied
 
 ELLISTON IN HIS ELEMENT. 313 
 
 inferior to that by which the comedy was got over. 
 He concluded with " Tag'^ — the rag and bobtail 
 -were ready to answer for themselves. 
 
 During this short sojourn, Elliston made a visit 
 to the celebrated Poole's Cavern. Here he fell in 
 with an elderly gentleman and his two daughters, 
 one a little riante Bacchante, and the other of a 
 graver cast, bearing about the same character to 
 each other, as a Novel to a Romance. 
 
 Elliston made himself at once agreeable. Being in 
 excellent spirits, he exerted his inventive powers in 
 teUing historical facts ; narrating a whole volume of 
 legendary exploits of the daring outlaw, (Poole,) 
 which threw into the shade all the " Gesta Roman- 
 orum" and monkish superstitions ever recorded. 
 
 " That," said he, addressing the younger of the 
 Minerva Press, and at the same time pointing to 
 one of the many fantastic forms of lime-stone 
 within the cavern — " that is the petrifaction of the 
 renowned ' Lady of the Land,' who remained a 
 dragoness because no one had the hardihood to 
 kiss her lips and disenchant her." But not even 
 here had Nature anything so sublime as himself — 
 
 he never lent any book out of his chamber, but if he would come 
 there, he might make use of it as long as he pleased. Some 
 time after, the owner of the book sent to borrow Farquhar's bel- 
 lows — the dramatist returned as answer, he never lent his bellows 
 out of his chamber, but if his neighbour would please to come 
 there, he miglit make use of them as long as he pleased.
 
 314 ADVENTURE. 
 
 a point on which he employed all the sugar and nut- 
 meg of his eloquence. The same lady venturing, 
 some time afterwards, to ask him to whom they 
 w^ere obliged, and laughingly to demand what he 
 was — 
 
 " To tell the plain truth, madam," replied our 
 hero, " I am a usurer. I lay out my happiness to 
 exorbitant interest, for, in contributing to your plea- 
 sure, which I flatter myself I do, I receive at least 
 one hundred per cent. !" 
 
 Things went trippingly on in this manner for 
 some time, when deliberately, and with no small 
 exhibition of humour, the old gentleman, with a 
 countenance vitreous and polished as the surround- 
 ing spa, drew from his pocket a Buxton play-bill, 
 and exultingly pointing to the same, cried out, — 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! here we have you again to-night — but 
 we cannot see too much of you, Elliston /" — a plai- 
 santerie, at which our actor himself had the good 
 sense to laugh immoderately. 
 
 Elliston had driven over to Poole's Cavern with 
 a friend, in a gig, and in the course of his extended 
 jaunt, was strolling on foot leisurely up one of the 
 hills, (his companion having the reins of the horse,) 
 when a figure approached him from the hedge-side, 
 the most wretched, the most emaciated of beings 
 he had ever beheld. 
 
 The man was evidently dying of hunger and 
 exhaustion. The object which presented himself
 
 A FRENCH PRISONER. 315 
 
 was a poor Frenchman, who, having escaped from 
 one of the prisons, had wandered about a country 
 of which he knew nothing, for four days and nights, 
 with no money, no means of assuaging the cravings 
 of nature, but rather avoiding every one, notwith- 
 standing his destitution, from the dread that the 
 succour he might seek would presently be converted, 
 into severer penalties than he had yet experienced. 
 • Commiserating the poor creature as he did, EUis- 
 ton knew not how to proceed, or into what serious 
 dilemma he might bring himself, by sheltering an 
 escaped prisoner of war. He at least determined 
 not to abuse the rights of confidence — in other 
 words, to maintain strictly the rales of dramatic 
 justice, and entitle himself to the applause of his 
 own conscience. 
 
 Desiring the poor Frenchman to lie snug in the 
 field from which he had just crawled, (like the great 
 Monmouth, with a few peas only in his pocket,) 
 EUiston and his friend drove back to a neighbouring 
 village, where purchasing a couple of loaves, a little 
 bacon, and a bottle of wine, he returned to the spot 
 where the famishing foreigner lay concealed. 
 
 The wretched creature (who, in his days of plu- 
 mage, would scarcely have been a match for ''Captain 
 Weazel,'') having long since given himself up for 
 lost, now began to blubber in tears of gratitude, 
 and express his battements du cwur in as much pan- 
 tomime as his weakness would permit.
 
 316 MELODRAMATIC EFFECT. 
 
 The evening was fast closing in, but the weather 
 warm and lovely, and Elliston, teeming with melo- 
 dramatic fervour, hurried the trembling refugee to 
 a low copse below the brow of a contiguous dell, 
 and boxing him snugly in a heap of furze, com- 
 pletely obscured from the public eye, spread before 
 him the restoratives he had just obtained. 
 
 The little Frenchman's head peeping from his 
 prickly nest — the bread and bacon — the bottle of 
 " neat wine," and the true stage importance in 
 which, no doubt, Elliston had fully invested him- 
 self, must have represented a most characteristic 
 picture. EUiston, of course, delivered a speech or 
 two, more apposite to the occasion than intelligible 
 to his listener; and dropping, at the same time, a small 
 sum of money into the lap of the nidulated man of 
 war, commended him to the caprice of Fortune, 
 who sometimes, when in a pleasant mood, exerts 
 herself in extraordinary means, for the benefit of 
 the most insignificant of her votaries.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Elliston's meditations in Dove Dale — Arrives at an inn — Iloh 
 and knob with the landlord — A terrible adventure — Increasing 
 horror — Our hero in great disgrace — His neighbour's wife — 
 Mr. Thomas Hill — Miss Pope retires from the stage — A letter 
 of Mrs. Clive — A royal command — Miss Pope's terror at 
 playing 3Trs. Heidelberg before the king — Her letter to 
 Lord Harcourt — Mrs. Jordan — Elliston's letter to his wife — 
 Glasgow — Elliston's adventure with a Scotch gentleman — 
 Strollers — Anecdotes respecting them. 
 
 Having still considerable leisure at his disposal, 
 EUiston felt no inclination for an immediate return 
 to London. The weather continued unusually fine, 
 and autumn had descended on the romantic district 
 of Derbyshire in that fulness of grace, which equally 
 distinguishes this season of the year, by the rich- 
 ness of aspect as by the abundance of its bounty. 
 
 It was just at this time, also, that Elliston had 
 received a letter from his wife, written in that truly 
 affectionate and sensible tone, which the present 
 moment was so well calculated to assist, in the 
 generosity of its purpose. Full of affection, but not
 
 318 MEDITATIONS IN DOVE DALE. 
 
 unmixed by well-directed reproof, Elliston read 
 over sundry times its unanswerable contents, till a 
 temper of sentimentality crept over him, not un- 
 usual to such constitutions as his, which they who 
 are subject to them, would be fain persuaded are of 
 a very intrinsic nature. 
 
 A pseudonymous self-examination took posses- 
 sion of him ; and as he wandered this morning 
 along the declivous paths of Dove Dale, he pon- 
 dered awhile on the home-truths that had just been 
 presented to him ; and having arraigned some of 
 those infirmities, to which we have had occasion 
 frequently to allude, with the impartiality of Rous- 
 seau himself, and rhapsodized aloud to no incon- 
 siderable effect, he came to the conclusion that he 
 was about one of the most worthless fellows in his 
 Majesty's dominions. 
 
 Having done so much — he considered that he 
 had done quite enough. Confession is certainly one 
 half of amendment ; and as this half he had so 
 liberally satisfied, the remaining took no part at all 
 in this act of sentiment, but, like a man who had 
 compounded with his creditors, he opened a fresh 
 ledger and felt himself at once at liberty to run in 
 debt, at the first convenient opportunity. 
 
 Elliston arrived on the following day at Derby ; 
 and the odour of yesterday being still powerful 
 upon him, he avoided what is called the head inn ; 
 and after a short reconnoitre, entered a smaller
 
 SCENE AT AN INN. 319 
 
 house of entertainment on the verge of the town, 
 where he determined to take up his quarters for the 
 night. Here he soon ingratiated himself with his 
 landlord — a habit he delighted to indulge in ; and 
 having despatched a hasty repast, invited his new- 
 found friend to partake the bottle which had been 
 just set before him. 
 
 The said landlord was nearly as bulky as the tun 
 of Heidelberg ; and as it would require conse- 
 quently about as much to fill him, Elliston con- 
 ceived he might have made too unremunerating an 
 engagement; but as this personage was really a merry 
 fellow^ and a bit of a wag, Elliston did not despair 
 of his own capacity, at least, in a bibulous ac- 
 ceptation. 
 
 He soon discovered, how^ever, the poor man had 
 more wives than he knew what to do with ; for 
 althougli, not to perplex the reader, he had but one, 
 yet was she one too many, so that the present mo- 
 ment was in fact, the first he had had for many a 
 day, for the manifestation of that thorough good 
 humour so natural to him. 
 
 Though in the presence of his landlord, Elliston 
 soon found he had calculated without his host ; for 
 the good man's volubility was of that extent, that 
 he fairly chattered our hero dumb, who had as much 
 chance with him in the race, as sound with light. 
 But as our traveller could not consent entirely to 
 renounce the hero, he at least took the lead in the
 
 320 HOB AND KNOB. 
 
 bottle — a part which his landlord, for many reasons, 
 was not displeased in resigning to him, for the 
 liquor, though passing under the denomination 
 noticed at the door, " Neat Wines," was, in fact, 
 a compound greatly in circulation at this period of 
 the war — namely, a composition of gin, treacle, 
 blacking, and tobacco, or, in politer words, " old 
 crusted port." 
 
 On producing a second and even a third bottle of 
 this delectable electuary, the landlord was not un- 
 naturally beguiled into the joint praise of the quali- 
 ties of his cordial and the judgment of his guest ; 
 declaring that the squire on the hill never drank any 
 other when he met the judges of assize, and exult- 
 ingly displaying not only the bee's-wing, but the 
 very bees themselves, who, in community with 
 sundry smaller flies, had been carefully corked in 
 at the bottling of this remarkable vintage. 
 
 But society will sw^eeten the coarsest fare ; and 
 as our traveller was, in truth, greatly diverted with 
 his new acquaintance, the sitting was still prolonged, 
 when the shrill notes of the landlady suddenly 
 recalled her husband to fresh duties, in the arrival 
 of other customers at the " Red Cow." 
 
 Tom Brown says, the best argument for sobriety, 
 is bad wine ; but left to himself and the greater 
 part of the third bottle of the old crusted port, 
 Elliston took refuge in his sentimentality of yester- 
 day ; and drawing his wife's letter from his pocket.
 
 TERRIBLE ADVENTURE. 321 
 
 moistened sentence after sentence with the remain- 
 ing bumpers, so that, at length, heart, head, and 
 stomach being in one common state of insurrection, 
 he retired — widely from his custom — to an early 
 bed. 
 
 And now, spirit of time-honoured RadclifFe — 
 shade of " wonder-working Lewis," descend upon 
 our humble efforts in the " new scenes and changes" 
 of our homely history, which we fear must else be 
 most unworthily recorded. 
 
 A deep sleep was the immediate consequence of 
 the "drugged posset" so liberally indulged in by 
 our graceless wanderer, when, about the chime of 
 midnight, as nearly as he could guess, he was 
 awakened by a sharp click at the lock of his apart- 
 ment, followed immediately by a long-drawn creak 
 of hinge, which left but little doubt in respect of 
 some intruder. 
 
 The moon was shining fully on the casement, 
 which was directly opposite the foot of his bed ; but 
 a large folding screen had been placed nearly mid- 
 way of the room, for the purpose, no doubt, of 
 obscuring the morning sun, for the apartment was 
 entirely destitute of hangings ; and between this 
 screen and the window was the door. The creakinir 
 from behind was presently repeated, at those abrupt 
 intervals, denoting the stealthy action of approach. 
 Elliston listened — sleep had sobered him, and some 
 little fear, perhaps, added quickness to his faculties. 
 
 Y
 
 322 INCREASING HORROR. 
 
 He listened, and distinctly heard the whispering of 
 two persons, whose shadow the moon's fulness 
 threw strongly on the side wall. Still in breathless 
 attention, Elliston remained motionless ; the wdiis- 
 pering was resumed, and he now caught the very 
 words w^hich were passing. 
 
 *' Afraid ! What folly ! He's asleep, I tell you ; 
 go_go!" 
 
 " I cannot !" was the reply. 
 Elliston felt convinced the second voice was that 
 of a Avoman, and being at once impressed their ob- 
 ject was no less than to cut his throat, (for no one 
 contemplates simple robbery in the dead of night, 
 without this adagio accompaniment,) he was hesi- 
 tating whether his pacific course were the wisest 
 he could pursue, when again he heard — 
 
 " He sleeps ! I tell you again, he sleeps ! Why, 
 he drank two bottles, they say. Come — come, 'tis 
 soon done !" 
 
 "Oh, I cannot!" again responded the female; 
 " I should die if he were to awake." 
 
 " And I shall die, whether or no," sighed the 
 terrified comedian. 
 
 " Come — come !" still urged the man from be- 
 hind ; " why, he snores — hark !" at which moment, 
 Elliston raised his eyes from the bed-clothes, and 
 saw clearly the figures of the speakers. They were 
 in the instantaneous act of stepping forward, when, 
 by an involuntary impulse, Elliston sprang from
 
 OUR HERO IN DISGRACE. 323 
 
 his bed, and rushing to the spot, clasped, with a 
 mingled shout of terror and triumph, the waist of 
 the advancing female, who, uttering a shriek which 
 might have awakened the occupiers of a cemetery, 
 fell on her knees before him. 
 
 The clattering bouleversement thus suddenly pro- 
 duced (for other articles had been overthrown besides 
 the lady), and the clamour of the parties engaged, 
 at once raised the whole establishment of the " Red 
 Cow." 
 
 Elliston, with no other attire, than that which 
 usage has deemed sufficient to the tenant of a pair 
 of sheets, was still holding in convulsive exultation, 
 his fainting victim, when the fat landlord, who, by 
 the size of his stomach, might be said to carry all 
 before him, scarcely in a producible state, (" with 
 his rib by his side," whose voluminous nightcap 
 almost buried her vixen visage,) tumbled into the 
 apartment. 
 
 Here let the contretemps be elucidated — here let 
 that strong circumstantial evidence be disentangled, 
 by which, in the absence of proof positive, it is set 
 down that we may legally convict innocent parties 
 of most abominable offences. 
 
 The event which had so inopportunely broken up 
 the tete-a-tete of Elliston and his landlord over their 
 crusted port, on the previous afternoon, was the 
 arrival of a commercial traveller and his lady, whose 
 purpose it was to remain that night at the inn. 
 
 Y 2
 
 324 HIS neighbour's wife. 
 
 These new guests, who had been previously ap- 
 prised of their dormitory, having well supped, at 
 the hour of midnight, were about to retire. Un- 
 fortunately, however, the room occupied by Ellis- 
 ton, was one through which it was necessary to pro- 
 ceed, before reaching the other in question, and 
 he having retired, as we have already noticed, at 
 an early hour, was consequently at this time in bed. 
 
 The unforeseen dismay which now assailed the 
 commercial gentleman's good lady, whose nerves 
 at all times were subject to great excitation, at pass- 
 ing through an apartment in which there was a man 
 positively abed, had given rise to the whole of this 
 common-law evidence of criminal intent, which 
 could leave no doubt on the minds of any highly 
 respectable jury, and which had so unwittingly ex- 
 posed our hero in a situation in which we blush 
 ever to have discovered him. 
 
 But having now hurried him back again to his 
 disordered couch, in which we trust he will bury 
 his shameless countenance from the light of day, 
 and carried the half expiring lady in safety to the 
 inner sanctuary, we will drop the curtain on the 
 scene altogether ; in the hope that either shame will 
 induce him for ever after to avoid her sight, or that 
 he will prepare himself, by the crowing of the cock, 
 with one of those fine speeches, by which he has 
 ever been so distinguished, in making the amende 
 honorable.
 
 MR. THOMAS HILL. 325 
 
 Scarcely had Elliston resumed his duties at Drury 
 Lane, when he involved himself in a war of words 
 with the proprietors of his ancient ally, " The 
 Mirror," but more particularly with all the world's 
 acquaintance, the late Tom Hill. 
 
 ''The Mirror" (if we maybe pardoned a com- 
 mon-place joke) had presumed to cast reflections on 
 EUiston's tragedy, which the self-esteem of the ag- 
 grieved party, of course, set down as scandalum mag- 
 natum. In fact, this journal had travelled a little 
 out of the direct path of criticism, by indulging in 
 a few tart personalities affecting the actor. As Dry- 
 den's criticism, it was no longer " the majesty of a 
 queen, but as Rymer's, the ferocity of a tyrant."* 
 
 Among other things, it had stated, that Elliston 
 had of late acquired a habit of stretching his mouth 
 from ear to ear, resembling one of those Dutch toys, 
 denominated nut-crackers, and it had also gone so 
 far, as to question our hero's terms of intimacy with 
 the Latin tongue, by the imputation of a false 
 quantity in the word " marital," &c. &c. In respect 
 of the former, all the nuts, of course, fell to the 
 share of the public, who mightily enjoyed the absurd 
 sensitiveness of the man who could " quarrel with 
 
 * An expression of Malone. 
 
 [Albina Jane Marty n Elliston, born lOtli of March, 1808, in 
 Stratford Place: godmothers, Albina Countess of Bucking- 
 hamsliiro and I^udy Jane Aston.]
 
 32G MISS POPE. 
 
 another for cracking nuts only because he himself 
 had hazel eyes" — and in respect of the latter, the 
 ** marital" quantity, the actor might have been con- 
 tent to take his correction, in good part, from the 
 critics, as in the marital quality, he had lately been 
 so signally chastened by his exemplary wife. 
 
 We will not here trouble our readers with any 
 part of the epistolary matter on either side — suffice 
 it to say, as may well be imagined, the player got 
 the worst of it, by the simple fact of being laughed 
 at for his pains ; whilst he afforded the literary 
 loomsman, Thomas Hill, a stock of the raw tattle 
 material, which, with an industry so peculiar to 
 him, he manufactured into a very marketable com- 
 modity, and was moreover himself raised, for the 
 first time, on the pedestal of a hero.* 
 
 On the 26th of May (1808), the admired Miss 
 Pope made her farewell curtsey on Drury Lane 
 stage, after a service of fifty-two years, during 
 
 * Mr. Thomas Hill was born at Lancaster on the 2ud of May, 
 1760, and died, at his chambers in the Adelphi, on the 20th of 
 December, 1840. As several biographical notices of this gentle- 
 man have so lately appeared in the public prints, it will be un- 
 necessary to append any in this place. The uncertainty as to 
 the period of his birth, and his still " immortal youth" had 
 been a long hackneyed joke amongst his immediate friends, so 
 that, like the bard of England, he might be said to have been 
 " not of an age, but for all time."
 
 HER RETIREMENT. 327 
 
 which, with the single interruption of the season 
 1775, owing to some difference with Garrick, she 
 had never acted at any other theatre. For her final 
 benefit she selected the part of my Lady Duherly, in 
 Colman's comedy of " The Heir at Law ;" the re- 
 ceipts of the house being 482/. 
 
 In 1756, Garrick produced a piece entitled " Lil- 
 liput," which was acted by children, with the ex- 
 ception, certainly, of Gulliver himself, which was 
 performed by the full-grown Mr. Bransby, a gentle- 
 man whose athletic form was well calculated to 
 produce a striking contrast to the inhabitants of 
 " Mildendo." 
 
 Mr. Pope, the father of our heroine, who kept a 
 hair-dresser's shop, adjoining the "Ben Jonson's 
 Head," in Little Russell Street, was barber in ordi- 
 nary to the theatre ; — he had introduced his daughter 
 Jane, then twelve years of age, to the notice of Mr. 
 Garrick, who was so pleased by the few specimens 
 she gave of dramatic ability, that he immediately 
 assigned to the little demoiselle the part of Lady 
 Flimnap, and, moreover, entrusted her with a spark- 
 ling epilogue written for the occasion. 
 
 Three years after, when only fifteen. Miss Pope 
 was announced for Corinna, in " The Confederacy," 
 as " a young gentlewoman, her lirst appearance." 
 Her reception was highly encouraging, and her 
 acting well nigh merited that abundant applause, 
 which the generosity of the public so liberally be-
 
 328 MRS. CLIVE. 
 
 stowed. She had very early attracted the attention 
 of that celebrated actress, Mrs. Clive, whose friend- 
 ship and regard speedily followed, and with whom 
 she lived on the most intimate terms until that 
 lady's death, which took place in 1785.* 
 
 On the morning after our debutante's appearance 
 in the part of Corinna, she received the following 
 from her esteemed companion and adviser : — 
 
 " My dear young Friend, — I saw you last night. 
 You acted with great and deserved approbation ; 
 but should you to-morrow night exceed your first 
 endeavour, be not disappointed should you meet 
 with less encouragement. Remember, all, last 
 night, were friends ready-made — to-morrow, you are 
 to commence forming new ones amongst strangers, 
 who, though I sincerely hope will ultimately become 
 as warm as those from whom you have just parted, 
 yet they will see you and approve you, before they 
 offer you a direct testimony of their favour. 
 
 "Be not disheartened, for I should regret that 
 such merits as yours were not put to the test at 
 
 * Miss Pope was executrix and residuary legatee under the 
 will of Mrs. Clive, Mr. Raftor (Mrs. Olive's brother) having a 
 life interest in the property. Mrs. Clive passed her latter days 
 at Little Strawberry Hill, near the villa of Horace Walpole. 
 
 Gibber wrote his comedy o.f the "Refusal," at Strawberry 
 Hill, then a small place, which he hired of Lord Bradford's 
 coachman.
 
 LETTER TO MISS POPE. 329 
 
 once ; but be not disheartened, nor fancy the com- 
 parative coldness with which you will be met, pro- 
 ceeds from ill-will, but that it is rather attention to 
 your acting, with the view of testifying the truth of 
 all that your friends have said of you. Many a 
 young actor has been destroyed by this precise 
 ordeal, because, having previously ran away with the 
 idea that their friends alone had any judgment in 
 the matter, have fancied the reception they had sub- 
 sequently met with from strangers, had been the 
 effect of malice and ill-nature. 
 
 " With this caution, I trust that in a month you 
 will be safely landed on the shores of public favour 
 — I am sure if you do justice to your merits, you 
 will, and this act of justice is near at hand. My 
 little assistance shall not be wanting in any way 
 which may be serviceable to you ; and I shall con- 
 trive to be at Drury Lane when you repeat the cha- 
 racter. 
 
 " Believe me, my dear young friend, I wish you 
 every success, and a long life to enjoy it. I am 
 too old to be jealous of you, therefore may be 
 trusted were I liable to such frailty ; but I am not 
 without vanity, and it is the vanity of an ardent de- 
 sire that all I have foretold of you may come to 
 pass. 
 
 " God bless you, my dear child." 
 
 
 c^cf^
 
 330 A ROYAL COMMAND. 
 
 Success and well-earned applause were the result 
 of Miss Pope's second appearance. Mrs. Clive 
 seemed rendered happy for the remainder of her 
 days, a great part of which, it may be well ima- 
 gined, was devoted to the instruction of the youth- 
 ful actress, who repaid her with that gratitude of 
 heart, which we will not invidiously say is no 
 current coin in the trade of an actor, but is in 
 rare circulation under any denomination of society. 
 
 Miss Pope, as it is well known, became ultimately 
 all that her friend had predicted — a most accomplished 
 artist. In the latter part of her career, she had 
 been importuned by her managers to play Mrs. 
 Heidelberg, a part which she had never studied in her 
 earlier days, and felt now totally unequal to attempt. 
 
 It happened that at this time (1802), Lord Har- 
 court, who had always been amongst the foremost 
 of Miss Pope's admirers, despatched to her the fol- 
 lowing note : — 
 
 " Lord Harcourt has just received the king's 
 command to notify to Miss Pope, that his Majesty 
 has directed the ' Clandestine Marriage' for Thursday 
 next ; and has also, by his Majesty's order, informed 
 Mr. Kemble that it is his pleasure, Miss Pope 
 should play the character of Mrs. Heidelberg on 
 that occasion." 
 
 This was enclosed in the following from his lord- 
 ship.
 
 LORD IIARCOURT. 331 
 
 " Madam, — To a woman of your discernment, 
 the contents of the enclosed note will be highly flat- 
 tering, though, at the same time, possibly embar- 
 rassing. 
 
 " The case is this. Last night, at the Queen's 
 house, where your theatrical talents are frequently 
 mentioned, a wish was expressed that you should 
 play Mrs. Heidelberg before their Majesties on 
 Thursday next ; to which I observed to the king, 
 that however honoured and happy you must ever 
 be in obeying his Majesty's pleasure, yet I beheved 
 that you had never yet studied the part, and 
 doubted the possibility of your being ready in it by 
 the time. The king seemed to assent ; but I have 
 just now received a letter from the Princess Eliza- 
 beth, in which her R. H. says, — 
 
 " * I have received the king's command to inform 
 you, that if you can contrive that Miss Pope shall 
 play Mrs. Heidelberg on Thursday, he would be de- 
 lighted ; and Lord Harcourt may tell her from me, 
 observed the king, that she is the only person who 
 can act it, since we have lost Mrs. Clive.' 
 
 " Harcourt." 
 
 To which communication Miss Pope replies : — 
 
 " My Lord, — You well know my grateful senti- 
 ments in respect of their Majesties. No subject 
 has ever loved and honoured them more than my- 
 self ; and this, alas ! in my declining day, is the
 
 332 MISS pope's dismay. 
 
 only instance in which I have been unable to the 
 great delight of obeying them. The undertaking 
 would be a tragedy, and not a comedy, for, believe 
 me, I should die in the attempt — my dear lord, it 
 would kill me. My powers are scarcely equal to it 
 for any time ; but for Thursday ! I tremble at the 
 very contemplation of it. 
 
 " The managers have frequently of late urged me 
 to this, with time for study ; but I have taken it 
 into my poor head, that the critics would be soured 
 against me, and I might lose the little fame I have 
 obtained — perhaps, in some measure, the good opi- 
 nion of their Majesties. I tremble again at what I 
 have written — I know I should not have said so 
 much — my duty tells me, I should not ; but should 
 their Majesties graciously be pleased to see me play 
 the part at any other time, I will make instant pre- 
 paration to obey them. 
 
 ** My memory, to say nothing of my other humble 
 qualities, is not so lively as when I was eighteen ; 
 and, my lord, I am an old woman now. If his Ma- 
 jesty would make me a peeress, I could not do it. 
 Oh ! my dear, dear lord, send me a pardon under 
 the great seal, or I shall never leave home again. 
 
 " I have the honour to be, your lordship's most 
 humble servant. 
 
 ^Jf/^ijJ^/^
 
 MRS. HEIDELBERG. 330 
 
 On the Gth of May (1802) the effort was made, 
 and Miss Pope played the part before their Majes- 
 ties. She succeeded to the undivided opinion of 
 the whole house — " never had the character been 
 acted with better effects," said one of the journals 
 of the day, " not even by the regretted Mrs. Clive."* 
 
 Lord Harcourt called, the following morning, on 
 Miss Pope, to congratulate her on having so highly 
 delighted the king, observing he had never seen his 
 Majesty in better spirits. " Knew she could do it 
 — knew she could do it," repeated the monarch fre- 
 quently, during the representation of the comedy. 
 
 King, the original Lord Ogleby, quitted the stage 
 on the 24th of the same month, and the " Clandes- 
 tine Marriage" remained on the shelf for a consider- 
 able time from this period. 
 
 The suggestions of Mr. Phipps in respect of Ellis- 
 ton's new abode, appear to have had but little weight 
 with him, for he had now entered on the house in 
 Stratford-place, which he fitted up not extra va- 
 
 » Anthony Pasquin says truly, though not in very elevated 
 verse : — 
 
 " When Pleasure and Ease had seduced to their arms 
 Convivial Clive, and the stage lost her charms, 
 The jest-loving muse was alarmed at the story, 
 And, fearing a rapid decline of her glory, 
 Deputed Jane Pope, as successor of Clive, 
 To keep sunny laughter and fancy alive."
 
 334 MRS. JORDAN. 
 
 gantly, for, in fact, it never was thoroughly fur- 
 nished ; but the vanity of the comedian was thus 
 far flattered, in calling so spacious a residence his 
 own, and placing Mrs. EUiston in a position, which 
 he still pertinaciously believed, would advance her 
 professional interest with the fashionable world. 
 
 These advantages, if such they might be called, 
 fell fortunately to the share of a woman of correct 
 feeling and due discrimination ; and though it still 
 remained a question whether Stratford-place were 
 the fittest spot for the object of a dancing academy, 
 yet the deportment and conduct of Mrs. Elliston 
 acquired to her new friends, whilst no one could be 
 more secure than herself in retaining those she had 
 already numbered. 
 
 EUiston's benefit in this season was a very bril- 
 liant occasion. He had chosen " Much Ado About 
 Nothing," with the popular afterpiece "Tekeh." 
 
 On this night he was more than usually happy 
 in the part of Benedict, and Mrs. Jordan equally 
 excelled herself in Beatrice. They each acted in 
 their best style, and scarcely ever had an audience 
 been more delighted — so much rank and fashion 
 had rarely before attended a benefit. Mrs. Jordan 
 was complimented by an elegant ode, which ap- 
 peared two days afterwards in the Morning Post. 
 
 At the close of the Drury Lane season, Elliston 
 proceeded on an engagement to Dublin, where he
 
 elliston's letter. 336 
 
 found his attraction by no means equal to his ex- 
 pectations. In a letter to his wife, he says, — 
 
 " I was tossed about for twenty-six hours. On 
 leaving the coach at Shrewsbury, being anxious im- 
 mediately to proceed, I ordered a chaise, but was 
 told they had no horses at the first post-house — at 
 the second and third, I received similar answers. I 
 was greatly distressed, for it was a point with me to 
 reach Oswestry without delay. 
 
 "You will be amused at my expedient. Summon- 
 ing a diplomatic look into my countenance, I de- 
 manded instantly to be conducted to the mayor, 
 declaring that I had despatches for the Duke of 
 Richmond, and that if horses were not immediately 
 supplied, the affair would come at once under the 
 consideration of the secretary of state. 
 
 " ' Shew me to the mayor !' said I. 
 
 " * He is in bed, sir,' was the reply — * seriously 
 ill.' 
 
 " * Then I shall be sure to find him at home — my 
 business is as much of life and death as his own. 
 Shew me to the mayor, or supply the horses.' 
 
 ** My manner and words had the desired effect — 
 horses were provided, and within twenty minutes, I 
 was off again. 
 
 " I have one assurance to give you, at which I 
 know you will be pleased. Since leaving London, I 
 have led, in all respects, a most correct life — had you 
 been at my elbow, I could not have behaved better
 
 336 SECOND LETTER. 
 
 — but I am now and then sadly hipped, and am not 
 ashamed to confess, a little ' home sick.' " 
 
 Elliston's next letter was from Edinburgh. 
 
 " Last Monday," says he, " I played at Liverpool, 
 Panglos and Don Juan ; Tuesday, the Venetian Out- 
 law and the Singles ; Wednesday, Leon, with ' Of 
 Age To-morrow ;' Thursday, at Preston, the Singles 
 and Silvester Daggerwood. I then travelled two 
 hundred miles, and acted on Saturday, in Edinburgh, 
 Octavian, with ' Of Age To-morrow.' I have here 
 made ample amends for my failure at Dublin (fori can 
 call it no less) — my reception was quite an hurrah ! 
 
 "I have already remitted 610Z. to my bankers, 
 and have still this place, Glasgow and Manchester, 
 to pillage. But who can tell how long this tide of 
 popularity will last — this aura popularis — whether 
 tide or gale, mutation is the nature of both. 
 
 " If God preserve my life, and give me fortitude 
 to pursue the purpose of my hopes, our happiest 
 days are yet to come, though I myself may pass into 
 comparative obscurity. My present exertions shall 
 sow the seed of future fortune, under whose ample 
 boughs you shall some day recline. Believe me I 
 feel at greater distance from home than four hundred 
 miles, when I think of you and my family. 
 
 " I do not pretend to give you any description of 
 this romantic city — it would far exceed my limits ; 
 but I must not omit mentioning that I have been
 
 GLASGOW. 337 
 
 introduced to some of the Scotch professors, who 
 have distinguished me hy great kindness. The lite- 
 rary class of Edinburgh constitutes its aristocracy 
 — there is no better society, nor should there be. 
 This is highly honourable to the Scotch character. 
 
 " I suppose all are in great spirits in London at 
 the news from Portugal — ' Vimiera !' and the des- 
 patches of Sir Arthur Wellesley. We shall have 
 a long drama yet in that country." 
 
 When Elliston was at Glasgow, in the course of 
 this northern trip, he dined on one occasion in the 
 public room of an inn, in which there was an elderly 
 Scotch gentleman, who had already taken his mid- 
 day meal, and was quietly enjoying his tumbler of 
 whisky-toddy. 
 
 His exterior was not prepossessing. He wore a 
 short sandy wig, which the temperature of many 
 seasons, and the animal caloric of the wearer, had 
 so puckered up, that it came scarce midway of his 
 pole, w^hicli was about as red as a brick-bat. He 
 had lost an eye, and by a singular incidence, every 
 alternate tooth, so that his capacious jaws resembled 
 a kind of tusky portcullis, which led to the citadel of 
 his stomach. His cravat was narrow and loose, for 
 his neck was of amazing dimensions. But the 
 stranger soon discovered better qualities than a 
 comely exterior, for he was thoroughly good-na- 
 tured, and extremely communicative. 
 
 In Elliston, he had met with no uncongenial 
 
 z
 
 338 TETE A TETE. 
 
 spirit — they soon entered into familiar conversation ; 
 and having brought their rummers to one common 
 table, were tout franc " as thick as thieves." 
 
 Here they sat together, hob and knob, for a con- 
 siderable time. Since his arrival in the north, 
 EUiston had served a steady apprenticeship to the 
 mountain dew, and might fairly be considered nearly 
 out of his time ; but in this, he found equally his 
 inferiority to his present companion as to his host 
 of the " Red Cow," for he had already finished a 
 pint, (a Scotch pint, be it remembered,) and was 
 still hard at work. At length, after a hearty burst 
 of merriment on the part of the stranger, he threw 
 himself back into his chair, and deliberately draw- 
 ing forth his watch, said, 
 
 *' And so, you're a stage-actor, you tell me. Per- 
 haps ye're acquainted with Harry Johnston?" To 
 this EUiston having made assent, his companion 
 proceeded — 
 
 ** Weel, weel ; and now, Sir, I've to tell you one 
 thing more. I have passed twa pleasant hours 
 — vary pleasant hours in your society ; within 
 twanty minutes, d'ye mind, from this time, I shall 
 be sa drunk, that I wi'na be able to utter one word, 
 and I just think it right to tak the present oppor- 
 tunity, while I'm noo intelUgible, of telling ye who 
 I am. My name is Scafield, and I live five gude 
 miles awa' from Glasgow, and I shall walk ev'ry 
 foot on't, this vary night, and I'll just come and see
 
 A SCOTCH GENTLEMAN. 339 
 
 if you're as brave a lad as Harry Johnston, to-mor- 
 row night ; for I'll come and see ye act, and my 
 family shall see ye act too." 
 
 Having made this speech, Mr. Scafield again 
 betook himself to the whisky. He was verily as 
 good as his word ; within twenty minutes, he was 
 no more ; for in a last effort to keep up the fire, otr" 
 went the wig, and he rolled from his chair, " taking 
 the measure of an unmade grave." Elliston here 
 called aloud for the waiter ; but to his surprise, 
 Sandy seemed to take but little notice of the pros- 
 trate North Briton, only remarking, 
 
 " Eh ! as sure as deeth, its na' but Mr. Scafield 
 — he'll walk hame to night, I warrant ye; but you'd 
 better let him bide — he's used to it, and we're all 
 used to it here." 
 
 On the following night, Elliston acted Belcour. 
 His friend Scafield was in this instance, also, as 
 good as his word. There he was in the theatre, 
 amongst the earliest comers — his polished sconce, 
 like a half-peeled orange — there he was, — and about 
 him, two fine strapping lasses, his daughters, and 
 the gude wife, Mrs. Scafield, to boot. 
 
 Elliston had no opportunity of again meeting his 
 eccentric companion, as he quitted Glasgow within 
 three days from this occurrence. 
 
 Not to mention the days when kings themselves 
 condescended to turn playwrights — when Charles. 
 
 z 2
 
 340 STROLLERS. 
 
 the Second altered an incident in the plot of Dry- 
 den's " Aurungzebe," it is enough that, at this 
 period of our history, by the liberal patronage of 
 George the Third, theatricals were in a flourishing 
 state, and particularly in the provinces — not merely 
 in those considerable cities and towns, to which we 
 have had occasion to allude, but in obscurer country 
 places, many of which, either in barn or booth, 
 contrived to have their circuit-going comedians, 
 while in London it was still the fashion " to go to 
 the play ;'" so that at this time, the words of the 
 critic in the days of Garrick and Macklin, were 
 in equal force — namely, that England had four 
 estates, the King, the Lords, the Commons, and 
 the Players. 
 
 Of strollers, there is a curious anecdote, relating 
 to the remote period of 1587, not generally known. 
 
 When the Spanish Armada was hovering on the 
 coast, a company of vagrant actors were performing 
 a piece called " Sampson," in a booth, at Penryn ; 
 and the enemy having silently landed a body of 
 men, were making their way, at night, to burn the 
 town ; when fortunately, at that instant, the players 
 having let Sampson loose on the Philistines, the 
 sound of drums, trumpets, and shouts created such 
 a tremendous hubbub, that the Spaniards fancied 
 the whole town, with Beelzebub at their back, were 
 pouring down upon them, and immediately turning 
 tail, scampered off to their ships.
 
 ANECDOTES. 341 
 
 This anecdote, will doubtless remind the reader 
 of the amusing incident in "Tom Jones," where 
 the drum of the puppet showman so terrified poor 
 Partridge, that he fancied the Chevalier, Jenny- 
 Cameron, and all the rebels were at hand, and that 
 his dying hour was come. 
 
 In 1733, an itinerant company of comedians pro- 
 ceeded even to the island of Jamaica, and actually 
 realized a large sum of money by acting, They 
 received 370 pistoles, the first night of " The Beg- 
 gar's Opera," but within the space of two months, 
 they had buried their Polhj, Mrs. Slammakin, Filch, 
 and two others of the gang. 
 
 The gentlemen of the island, for some time, took 
 their turns upon the stage, to keep at least the 
 diversion alive ; but this did not last long, for within 
 two months more, there were but one old man, a 
 boy and a woman of the original company, sur- 
 viving. The party had died either by the distemper 
 of the country, or the effects of rum punch, a beve- 
 rage so frequently fatal to new comers. 
 
 The shattered remains of the crew, with upwards 
 of 2000 pistoles in bank, embarked for Carolina, 
 to join another company at Charlestown ; but 
 they also perished, having been cast away on the 
 voyage ! 
 
 Had Jeremy Collier lived in these days, he 
 scarcely could have failed noticing this, as an in-
 
 342 ANECDOTES. 
 
 stance of the just wrath of heaven at the sinfulness 
 of stage plays.* 
 
 * Collier's anger, however, appears to have been directed 
 against the abuses of the stage, for he does allow that the wit 
 of man cannot invent more efficacious means of encouraging 
 virtue and depressing vice, than the drama.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Elliston climacteric — Bonne fortune — Hazard — A " City 
 Madam" — Amatory retribution — A trip to Sevenoaks — Con- 
 tretemps — Lucky escape — Anonymous correspondents — Oli- 
 servations tiiereon — " Invisiblina I' — Poetry and marvels — 
 Prose and mystery — Bacchanalian indiscretions — The Jubi- 
 lee — A fete in Stratford Place — " Romeo " Coates — Anec- 
 dote of Pope — Elliston's <Miimself!" — Covent Garden 
 Tlieatre — O. P. riots — Mr. Kerable. 
 
 Elliston may now be considered to have attained 
 that cuhnination of public favour, which the con- 
 figuration of the stars had predicted, at his birth. 
 
 The year 1809 had advanced Napoleon and the 
 Comedian to the ascendant of their glory. Wagram 
 and Drury were interwoven ! The forms of the two 
 actors stood out in bold relief from the crowded 
 canvass of events, and either felt he had no longer 
 a rival, except in the contemplation of the other. 
 
 Destiny seemed enamoured of the parallel ; wilder 
 and more hazardous were their projects yet to come, 
 but success had attained its zenith, and though
 
 344 BONNE FORTUNE. 
 
 more fiery in progress, the day was still wasting, 
 and the moments numbered. 
 
 It may be well suspected by those, whose tastes 
 have led them to a close acquaintance with what is 
 called "life," that EUiston, by nature well-favoured, 
 skilled in the art of pleasing, with passions, which 
 like wine, are termed "generous," and with the 
 attraction of a sparkling notoriety, was open to 
 some of those perils so inseparable from a state of 
 polite community. 
 
 Under the gaudy guise of " bo7ine fortune,'' the 
 Siren conceals her snaky tresses — youth, blood, 
 imagination, vanity, and " money in the purse," are 
 alike equally assailed, and when we recollect how 
 vulnerable was our hero, (if he may be still per- 
 mitted to retain the title,) collectively and severally 
 in these particulars, it will be as little doubted what 
 was the issue of the conflict. 
 
 EUiston, who was really fond of his wife, and 
 when in her company preferred her to any other 
 woman on earth, might have been startled, perhaps, 
 at hearing he was not a good husband. 
 
 Constantly in the habit of listening to his own 
 praises, and never subject to direct reproaches, he 
 amused his conscience with a convenient credulity, 
 whilst he indulged his inclinations with the more 
 substantial fare of their hearty gratification. That 
 affection which he really possessed, was but an 
 involuntary virtue, which he never dreamt of pro-
 
 LE JEU, LE VIN ET LES FEMMES. 345 
 
 tecting by either fortitude or restraint ; and so long 
 as he cajoled himself that, when palled by the 
 traffic of unrighteous pleasure, he returned to his 
 own home with the chastened feeling of its intrinsic 
 repose, and made confession of the same, he had 
 shewn the best proof of domestic obligations, and 
 given the best redemption of his conjugal pledge. 
 
 The ingenious Mr. Fielding has said, speaking of 
 domestic infidelities, " How little does a wife sus- 
 pect the small share which such an affair has with 
 the heart !" but surely we need not trouble our 
 readers with the refutation of so fatuous a senti- 
 ment. The offering of the heart is surely tainted 
 by a dereliction of duty ; and it is but the tenacity 
 of nature a little outliving the corruption of the 
 will. 
 
 The fact is, Elliston had now become a thorough 
 man of pleasure. Le jeu, le vin, et les femmes either 
 occupied him in turns, or not unfrequently made 
 one common cause. For the spendthrift is a man 
 who shoots in a preserve, where the glut of game 
 destroys the pleasure of his sport. His own vain- 
 glorious resolutions — the exhortations of his uncle, 
 and that memorable passage of Dr. Johnson, which 
 his dying relative had ])ut into his hands, and which, 
 out of respect to both, our graceless subject had 
 transcribed from Cambridge, to his wife, were all 
 equally forgotten — were lost at play, were buried in 
 the bowl, or more basely dishonoured in the blan-
 
 346 " LIFE. 
 
 >> 
 
 dishments of his mistresses. He had little reflection 
 but what arose from the wretched chagrin of the 
 hazard table ; and to satiety alone was owing any 
 temporary show of decorum. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that from the watchful 
 alarms of a devoted wife, or from the quick appre- 
 hensions of an intelligent woman, these were things 
 which could hope for any concealment. Mrs. El- 
 liston felt them keenly, but met them wisely ; she 
 possessed not the garment of Nessus ; she well 
 knew if the strongest tie were broken, little could 
 be expected from inferior restraint — strife and ob- 
 jurgation but gratify the passion of complaint, but 
 make no point in the recuperation of the lost — her 
 reproaches were only those she "could not spare 
 him" — the depression at her heart, and the cloud of 
 sadness which sat weightily on her brow. 
 
 The form of play*" by which Elliston was chiefly 
 infatuated was hazard, and this he would follow at 
 any brief opportunity, which his more ostensible 
 engagements afforded him. At no period of the 
 day did it come amiss ; and the pecuniary supplies 
 which he had received under his uncle's will, added 
 but fresh fuel to the element, rendering "abundance 
 the means of want." At play, as in war, he who 
 
 * It has been curiously observed, by a biographer of Mos- 
 sop, that, abstracted from the sin of gaming and the vices con- 
 comitant on th(! bottle, he was otherwise a most respectable man.
 
 ASSOCIATES. 347 
 
 draws the sword, commits himself at once to all the 
 havoc of the field. 
 
 But this pursuit, varied only by indulgences 
 equally demoralizing, had no power yet over his 
 constitutional energy, or diverted his mind from 
 new schemes of professional speculation. The 
 heated and protracted pastime of the previous night, 
 borrowed not a moment from his more creditable 
 occupations of the morrow. Punctual at his ap- 
 pointments, in full possession of his subject, and 
 directing the routine of business, his bodily consti- 
 tution long sustained him in these multifarious 
 draughts upon its resources, which if singly and 
 well directed might have raised him the brightest 
 ornament of dramatic art, either operative, literary, 
 or intellectual. 
 
 It was, alas ! but a few years afterwards that his 
 legal adviser had occasion to remark, "Elliston, you 
 come to me fresh drunk at night and stale drunk 
 in the morning, and expect me to talk with you on 
 matters of business ; depend upon it sobriety is as 
 good a policy as honesty." But as Mr. D'Israeli 
 observes, " the errors of men are as instructive as 
 their virtues," we may claim permission to proceed. 
 
 Amongst the number of Elliston 's gambling asso- 
 ciates, was a gentleman of the medical profession, 
 residing in the city. To this individual Elliston had 
 lost, from time to time, considerable sums of money;
 
 348 A CITY MADAM. 
 
 and under strong suspicion of foul play in his ad- 
 versary. But we would by no means extend any 
 misjudged pity to him who is a prey to sharpers, 
 for his fate is too frequently only that of a less 
 skilful knave within the fangs of a greater ; and 
 although not the slightest miputation of unfairness 
 was ever attached to the subject of these Memoirs, 
 yet he must be content to share no better sympathy 
 in his distresses, than that with which we are accus- 
 tomed to regard the overthrow of black-legs them- 
 selves. 
 
 In spite of these occurrences, " frequent losses 
 and no reverse," EUiston was still an ami de maison 
 of his city acquaintance, who, whether bleeding his 
 victims at home or his patients abroad, was equally 
 turning all occupations to the same profitable 
 account, and with just an equal respect to principle. 
 He was a man, in fact, who looked on the interven- 
 tion of honour in the journey of life, as he would on 
 a timber felled across a pathway, which his nimble- 
 ness soon vaulted over, but left it still a barrier 
 against his less agile fellow travellers. 
 
 The truth is, the general practitioner had an ex- 
 ceedingly pretty wife, who though scarcely meriting 
 a milder fate than that which awaited her in such 
 an union, was nevertheless the subject of the basest 
 perfidy ; for the husband having speedily squan- 
 dered the " pretty little fortune" his own Caroline 
 had brought by marriage, she was now either totally 
 neglected, or valued only as the convenient instru-
 
 AMATORY RETRIBUTION. 349 
 
 ment to more extensive plunder. The lady, how- 
 ever, was not one of those weak-minded persons 
 who take these kind of matters greatly to heart, for, 
 like a sensible woman, she far more valued the 
 admiration of many to the affection of one ; and as 
 this precisely suited the sporting practitioner's 
 " book," he was inclined to believe his matrimonial 
 scrip might some day or other turn out no idle in- 
 vestment. 
 
 This lady was well calculated to engage the blase 
 imagination of the comedian, while he himself, 
 ever ready with that sequacious sophistry by which 
 principle is more outraged than by open defiance, 
 looked on his amatory intercourse in this direction 
 as an act of self-justice, and any dividend of the 
 wife's favour, as a kind of set off to the husband's 
 obligations ; or perhaps boldly justified his own in- 
 vestment of the citadel, by the governor's abandon- 
 ment of the fortifications. 
 
 " For he e'enwhile the " Honeymoon' did last, 
 
 Found certain hours at home extremely stupid ; 
 Hymen, no doubt had leaden pointings cast 
 Upon the arrows of young Master Cupid." 
 
 In fact Elliston carried on the affair pretty w^ell 
 his own way. Hitherto had there been no sur- 
 prises — none of those dramatic shifts and hazards 
 which constitute the very essence of the old co- 
 medy -, for he w'as neither secreted in a sack nor 
 thrust into a chimnev.
 
 350 A TRIP TO SEVENOAKS. 
 
 We remember somewhere to have heard of a 
 Spanish lover who was popped into a pigsty by his 
 mistress, on the sudden arrival of her husband. The 
 pigs, not liking their companion, began to make a 
 very natural noise, on which the lover commenced 
 also grunting with surprising power of mimicry. 
 The husband, hereupon, in great terror, approached 
 the sty, crying out, " In the name of the Virgin, what 
 art thou ?" On which the lover replied, " I am only 
 a. poor pig, sir, as I have a soul to be saved !" 
 At which the husband, thinking it was the devil in 
 ambush, ran out of the house for a priest, and thus 
 gave the youth an opportunity for escape. 
 
 An incident occurred in the course of the above 
 intimacy, ludicrous enough, if we could but divest it 
 somewhat of its less impudicious nature, which we 
 will only notice en passant. Elliston, on one of 
 these " wine and walnut re-unions,'' had proposed 
 to this lady an excursion to the delightful town of 
 Sevenoaks, and as her husband was not to be ad- 
 mitted into the secret, (for though assuredly he was 
 one '' not wanting what is stolen," yet in a court 
 of law, like them all, he would doubtless appear 
 ** the most affectionate and attached of husbands,") 
 the expedition was to be conducted by some dex- 
 terity on both sides. 
 
 The three days' absence of the medical gentleman 
 at Doncaster, might have rendered the lady's escape 
 safe enough, as far as he was concerned, but it was
 
 THE VERY DAY. 351 
 
 deemed expedient to take some precautions in re- 
 spect of good-natured friends and casual acquaint- 
 ances, with which most neighbourhoods swarm; who 
 might perhaps conceive it a bounden duty to re- 
 move any blissful ignorance from before the eyes of 
 a husband, and help him Hberally to the tree of 
 knowledge, and all the consequences of the fruit 
 degout. 
 
 It was therefore arranged that the lady should 
 equip herself in a suit of mourning, assisted by the 
 most positive of all female disguise — a widow's 
 cap. Thus attired, she was to ghde stealthily from 
 home, when, at an appointed spot, the comedian 
 was to receive her into a hackney coach, whence 
 they were to proceed across the water, and subse- 
 quently start by post-chaise for the salubrious re- 
 treat of Sevenoaks. 
 
 " Expectata dies aderat." — The morning dawned ; 
 and the lady prepared herself for the part she was 
 called on to enact, with that self-possession, as al- 
 most to have induced belief the character were no 
 longer fictitious. In perfect safety this " lone 
 woman" traversed the street of her own abode, and, 
 after threading sundry by-ways, arrived, within a 
 few minutes, at the appointed corner, where the 
 enterprising actor was in readiness to receive 
 her. 
 
 Here they entered a hackney-coach, but taking 
 unwisely the direction of Ludgate Hill, their pio-
 
 352 A CONTRETEMPS. 
 
 gress was, for a considerable time, impeded by the 
 multitude of vehicles which are always encountered 
 on this spot. During this suspense, sundry per- 
 sons, well known to our exemplary wife and widow, 
 passed and re-passed, whilst the lady's security was 
 undoubtedly owing to the nature of her disguise, 
 and her own imperturbability of manner. 
 
 Having traversed Blackfriars Bridge, this worthy 
 couple reached the spot where the post-chaise was 
 in waiting, and Elliston, with a grace and easy au- 
 dacity, which would have become Ranger himself, 
 tendered his services to the transrhedation of his 
 companion. 
 
 At this moment, a gawky lad, in a tawdry livery, 
 laden with cheese, grocery, and other articles of 
 household consumption, who had been loitering at a 
 shop-window near the spot, now suddenly rushed 
 forward, and casting himself before the widow, in 
 the most grotesque posture of alarm, began to 
 blubber out, in disjointed accents of distress, 
 
 " Wooh ! wooh ! ha! ha! — wooh! ha! poor 
 master ! poor master ! ha ! ha 1 ha !" 
 
 The self-possession even of that lady who forms 
 our present subject, was not proof against this 
 abrupt outpouring of human agony ; whilst Elliston 
 looked on, for the moment, if not with equal confu- 
 sion, at least with as much indecision of purpose. 
 But the lad still kept up his generous grief in un- 
 abated roaring, and as the spot on which the scene
 
 A SCENE ! 353 
 
 occurred was sufficiently public, lie soon brought 
 about him a niost ample auditory. 
 
 It turned out that the youth, who had some time 
 since served in the capacity of doctor's boy, to the 
 general practitioner in the city, had been discharged 
 on suspicion of having stolen the foetus of a hedge- 
 hog, preserved in spirits, and deposited till then in 
 his master's laboratory ; and being thus une\ 
 pectedly impressed with the untimely dissolution of 
 his late employer, he had burst into those demon- 
 strations of grief, which had now become positively 
 a howl. 
 
 Another gasp or two might have brought him a 
 little to himself, but on wheeling round, and per- 
 ceiving the commissariate wreck of tea, sugar, 
 cheese, and pickles, scattered at his feet, the sluices 
 of his agony were again forced, resembling far more 
 the ululation of a bull-calf than the sympathetic 
 tones of a heart-stricken page. 
 
 The nature of all this was soon apparent to one 
 so deep in the equivoque of comedies as our hero. 
 He immediately took up the clew thus thrown into 
 his hands, and having rescued the widow from 
 the sticky fingers of the hysteric lad, and deposited 
 her within the yellow post-chaise, he led the youth, 
 with true " Ellistonian" solemnity, apart from the 
 crowd, and entering into a circumstantial account 
 of the calenture which had so unexpectedly removed 
 the object of his lamentations from the troubles of 
 
 A A
 
 354 A LUCKY ESCAPE. 
 
 this world, and described with accuracy the vault 
 ill Allhallows Church, where his good master's re- 
 mains were deposited, together with the couplet to 
 be engraven on the monumental stone, he left him 
 in lawful possession of half-a-guinea, to recal his 
 spirits and refit his stores. And now stepping into 
 the vehicle, with the same solemnity of mien in 
 which he had conducted the previous business, 
 the fugitives were once again on their adventurous 
 way. 
 
 The lady was soon restored to that ineffable com- 
 placency, out of which, before this day, she had 
 never been surprised ; and having, with admirable 
 dexterity, as she sat, relieved the sweet oval of her 
 countenance from those vile weeds, and liberated 
 her abundant tresses, black as the raven, (and, per- 
 adventure, as full of omen,) from which the glow of 
 animation, and the gleam of triumph, " looked out 
 and smiled ;" and having commuted the dense 
 fall of Norwich crape, beneath which, quick suspi- 
 ration so long had laboured, for the light and 
 fantastic thread of Brussels, our Bread Street 
 " Berenice" shone out again in all her pristine love- 
 liness. 
 
 Matters being thus restored, EUiston and the 
 apothecary's wife arrived at Bromley. 
 
 It is Hume, we believe, who hands us the doc- 
 trine, that the errors which we are now com- 
 pelled to fix on our frail hero, are only such, that
 
 A HAPPY PAIR. 350 
 
 when known are but trifies, and when concealed are 
 of no offence at all. 
 
 Our fugitives were precisely of the same school — 
 and as the virtuous pair bowled down the rich vales 
 of Kent, the comedian did justice to the jioet as 
 he repeated after him — 
 
 " I envy not that bliss, if he or she 
 Think fit to live in perfect chastity- 
 Pure let them be, and free from taint or vice, 
 I, for a few slight spots, am not so nice. 
 Not ev'ry man's obliged to sell his store, 
 And give up all his substance to the poor ; 
 Such as are perfect may, I can't deny, 
 But, by your leaves, Divines, so am not I." 
 
 *' Exquisite!" responded the lady. 
 
 And now we beg to give up any further pursuit 
 either of the parties or the narrative, of which we 
 should, in all probability, have made not the 
 slightest notice, but for the little episodical inci- 
 dent just recorded. 
 
 Should we have wearied our readers with folly, 
 we will at least not outrage them by vice, for his- 
 torical justice is not to be vindicated by mere truth 
 alone, which, under certain phases, may be as un- 
 seemly as falsehood itself; nor should it ever be 
 content to purchase an aventure exquise at the 
 expense of a moral lesson. 
 
 There is a certain species of attack to which it is 
 
 A A '2
 
 356 ANONYMOUS 
 
 very obvious men whose avocations bring them 
 immediately before the public, are more open than 
 those of a private station, and to which of all others, 
 the pursuits of an actor offer the greatest temptation 
 — we mean that of anonymous communications. 
 
 The actor, is one whose accessible ground in life 
 and popular engagements, render him strikingly 
 liable to these kind of offences, as the perpetrators 
 of them are, for the most part, actuated by no 
 deeper design than the gratification of an idle 
 excitement, which the elevated position of, for 
 instance, a state functionary or servant of the 
 crown, affords not such direct means of gratifying. 
 
 For these, epistolary guerillas have much addi- 
 tional zest in the feeling of caste approximation 
 with their objects, and the probability, on some 
 occasion or other, of personally witnessing the 
 working of their occult imaginings. An anony- 
 mous attack on an officer of state yields but a tame 
 gratification to the general class of these sporting 
 characters — the bird is of too lofty a flight ; its 
 " aiery buildeth in the cedar's top ;" but the game 
 which flies nearer the ground, while it is more easy 
 to strike, tumbles also so immediately within the 
 ken of the marksman in ambush, that he has fre- 
 quently the pleasing satisfaction of being an eye- 
 witness to the very writhings of his victim. 
 
 True it is, that no elevation is a security from 
 these attacks ; but eagles are not shot at every day ;
 
 CORRESPONDENTS. 357 
 
 and though the more expert weapon is sometimes 
 raised against this nohler flight, yst it comes not 
 within either the power or ambition of that "hempen 
 homespun" class of which we speak, to carry the 
 rifle of "Junius." 
 
 As the intentions of these anonymous specimens 
 may be of all possible variety, so do the party- 
 coloured duties of an actor ofler as many premiums 
 to the folly of this propensity. 
 
 The actor, for example, is a lessee who has given 
 umbrage to some " play- goer," who could get no 
 seat in the pit, last night, at half price. Down goes 
 the " play-goer" to the Morning Herald with an 
 epistolary eff'usion, which if rejected there, flnds its 
 way into the lessee's private room with a few addi- 
 tional epithets — or, he is a manager, who has dis- 
 appointed the fond visions of some poetical gentle- 
 man, who, so far from being desirous of concealing 
 his name, has hitherto dreamt only of its immor- 
 tality, by a sulphureous melodrama. Up goes the 
 young gentleman and bleeds his fever in a wretched 
 lampoon — or, he is a player, whose success on a 
 certain evening has whetted the secret axe of some 
 would-be rival in the part. Off" he goes, and the 
 comedian's wife soon hears something of her hus- 
 band which hnot " to his advantage." — But chiefly, 
 he is a young, handsome, enterprising, popular, 
 " no care devil" actor, who has quickened the pulse 
 of some innamorata, whom fear of discovery alone 
 has hitherto preserved from sinning, and whose
 
 358 OBSERVATIONS THEREON. 
 
 ignorance of the machinery of adventure, has until 
 now protracted the gratification of her desires. — Up 
 she goes — up to that chintz second floor back, 
 with hot-pressed thoughts and stationery, and the 
 manager-actor by that very evening's post, hears of 
 the anonymous martyr, with a Uttle hint to the reve- 
 lation of her spirit. 
 
 Of these favours, in all their interesting variety, 
 Elliston had his share — perhaps more than his 
 share — the grosser threats, however, for the most 
 part, fell blunted at his feet ; but for the shafts of 
 Cupid, as they were levelled at something more 
 tender than a manager's conscience, he was not 
 unfrequently desperately wounded. 
 
 We shall readily be spared particular disclosures, 
 which would by no means tend to elevate the dig- 
 nity of our history ; but we must take leave to 
 mention one example of the above, so intimately 
 interwoven with the subsequent days of our subject, 
 as to bs positively inextricable from our duty as 
 biographer. This was an anonymous, or rather 
 pseudonymous friend, who stuck to him for eighteen 
 years, the first letter being received by Elliston in 
 January, 1809, and the last in 1827. 
 
 But the curiosity was not fixed in this alone. 
 These letters, received in the course of the time 
 just alluded to — some in the airy dress of poetry, 
 others in the more sober garb of prose — some 
 addressed to Elliston himself, others to his wife — 
 some sharply castigatory, others softly adulatory —
 
 " INVISIBLINA !" 359 
 
 some affecting dramatic matters, others relating to 
 domestic concerns, — all in the most unequivocal 
 terms of regard, but not a syllable to flatter the 
 most credulous fancy in less innocent imaginings, 
 were in number, at least one hundred, and bearing 
 the signature " Invisihlina !" Suffice to say, the 
 correspondent avowed but only her sex — for the 
 rest, the mystery followed Elliston to his grave. 
 
 It might be well imagined that no means or artifice 
 had been left untried for the discovery of " Invisi- 
 blina." Letters, accompanied by no inconsiderable 
 presents to the wife and family of Elliston, had 
 from time to time, been left under her direction, at 
 his residence. Trinkets, game, books, birth-day 
 odes, all bearing the impress " Invisiblina," had 
 found their way, by public conveyance, to Stratford 
 Place. Sometimes, indeed, despatches had arrived 
 by other messengers, and once the vigilance of 
 Elliston had intercepted a bearer, but the employe 
 was worthy the mistress he served, and bafiled effec- 
 tually every inquiry. 
 
 " Invisibhna" was a pixy of no common order; 
 nothing relative to the comedian, or bis transac- 
 tions, was hidden from her knowledge. She was 
 in possession of all he did, and penetrated even his 
 designs. His transgressions stood in recorded lines 
 against him within a day of their commission. Like 
 Frankenstein, he was in the power of an agency he 
 could not elude ; but unlike Frankenstein, he was 
 the subject of a beneficent director.
 
 360 POETRY 
 
 At times, however, Elliston was almost driven to 
 madness by these inexplicable transactions. 
 
 Gifts had reached him, which he was called on 
 to acknowledge through the public journals ; and 
 reproaches had reached him, which he was only called 
 on to acknowledge by a reformation of his errors. 
 
 " InvisibHna" was a spirit of honour — for with 
 these errors she meddled only to reclaim the hus- 
 band, not to afflict the wife. To Mrs. ElUston she 
 was a friend and benefactor ; to Elliston himself, a 
 benefactor and a monitor. 
 
 Year after vear, lustrum after lustrum succeeded, 
 and no guess had been afforded to these perplexing 
 benefits. Plots laid by Elliston (which we shall 
 hereafter notice more particularly in their places) 
 had been rendered abortive — schemes for the dis- 
 covery of "InvisibHna," which "InvisibHna" her- 
 self had better cognizance of than some of the 
 agents for their accomplishment ; and while the 
 comedian knew not so much as the very element 
 in which she dwelt, there was no corner in his own 
 existence shut out from her intelligence. 
 
 We will beg leave to offer a brief recueil (for we 
 can well spare it) from the hortatory piles in our 
 possession — poems, which, if they do not reach 
 posterity, are at least long enough ; and prose suffi- 
 cient to compose a corpus epistolare for all the dra- 
 matic generations which are yet behind. 
 
 The following was amongst the earliest specimens 
 received : —
 
 AND MARVELS. 301 
 
 " May th(! blessings of life, now and ever befiicinl you I 
 Love of children and wife, in your efforts attend you ! 
 Ev'ry sentence abroad, all your actions acquit, 
 And your conscience applaud ev'ry thought you admit ! 
 But escape you can never the vigilant eye 
 Of that Spirit unknown — your Invisible Spy. 
 
 " May you ever advance in the path you've selected I 
 May you win ev'ry chance, if the cause be respected! 
 May your offspring be proud of the parent they find. 
 And the drama endow'd with the wealth of your mind I 
 But years shall revolve, and my caution be nigh, 
 And ne'er shall you know your Invisible Spy." 
 
 Some days afterwards — 
 
 " I send to Mrs. EUiston 
 
 A token of regard ; 
 To you, a caution to be wise, 
 
 In language of the bard. 
 Three lonely hours, when midnight past, 
 
 Watch'd she, and you away — 
 Worse, worse than absent — Thursday last! 
 
 In riot, wine, and play ! 
 
 "Beware ! beware ! these dangers fly ! 
 
 Lest sorrows round thee flock ; 
 For she will henceforth watch you by 
 
 ' Invisiblina's' clock. 
 The steady hand upon its round, 
 
 Which points the minutes now, 
 Shall tell you are eniploy'd unfouiid. 
 
 And ticking, whisper — hotv.'' 
 
 With the above, to EUiston himself, a handsome 
 dial was forwarded to his wife. The verses evi- 
 dently allude to some late indiscretion of our hero.
 
 362 PROSE 
 
 Again, the vigilance of " Invisiblina" appears to 
 have tracked him in his wanderings — • 
 
 " ' Two nights together,' so Horatio said, 
 ' He and Marcellus had not been in bed — ' 
 Two nights together, speak your constant crime, 
 How much you lost — much more — than merely time. 
 Hours, guineas, squander'd — better far have kept *em — 
 Rather j9«3/ bills, believe me, — than accept 'em!" 
 
 The following is one of Elliston's advertisements 
 in the Morning Post, in conformity to the will of 
 the " Invisible Power:" — 
 
 " To ' Invisiblina.' The acknowledgment of the 
 receipt of a present to ' Blanche,' commonly called 
 ' Juliet,'* was duly sent to the Morning Post, but 
 from the multiplicity of advertisements, and the 
 pressure of other business, it has unavoidably been 
 delayed. 
 
 " Why does so beneficent a being withhold herself 
 from receiving personal demonstrations of gratitude, 
 for innumerable favours ? Why should thanks, 
 fresh and warm from the heart, be forced through 
 the artificial channel of the press, and be poured 
 out, cold and clouded, on the altar of ' Invisiblina?' 
 Mysterious being, 'unfold thyself!'" 
 
 Wesubjoin one letter further from " Invisiblina," 
 which will sufficiently explain itself: — ■ 
 
 " Descending from the regions of air to become 
 
 * The present here alluded to appears to have been sent to 
 Mary Juliet EUiston, born 21 July, 1800, died in September, 
 IBH.
 
 AND MYSTERY. 363 
 
 earthy and of the flesh, I visited Drury Lane Theatre 
 on Monday last, to witness again your impersona- 
 tion of the Duke Aranza. 
 
 *' Believe me, I was disappointed. You have be- 
 come careless and inflated — undignified and unna- 
 tural. The freshness and native bloom of this 
 portraiture is faded, and the complexion supplied 
 by the daub of harlotry. Trifle no longer with public 
 favour — for he who loses the wealth he once pos- 
 sessed, becomes poorer than he who was never rich. 
 
 " Beware the acetous fermentation of sudden po- 
 pularity ! it will eat into your very vitals, and search 
 you beyond even the art of ' Ihvisiblina.' 
 
 " The journals have spoken truly of you — had 
 you acted this part on the first night of the repre- 
 sentation of the play, in the manner of Monday last, 
 it never had been one step in the ladder of your 
 fame. Leave burlesque and harlequinade to other 
 places, and for other hands — poor Lord Harcourt 
 would have been pained to the heart had he wit- 
 nessed what I witnessed." 
 
 There can be but little question that *' Invisiblina" 
 was a sound critic as well as a fast friend. Elliston, 
 though still continuing attractive, particularly in 
 his comic parts, had given just oft'ence on various 
 occasions, not only by slovenliness in acting, but by 
 indiscretions of convivial indulgence, of which he 
 appeared ambitious the public should have the most 
 unequivocal evidence.
 
 364 
 
 BACCHANALIAN ERRORS. 
 
 An occasion of this kind had nearly lost him the 
 friendship of his valuable ally, Warner Phipps, who 
 despatched to him so severe a lecture on the folly 
 of intemperance, that the actor, doubly grand and 
 important as he ever was, when he knew he had 
 been playing the profligate, knocked at his friend's 
 door, for the purpose of demanding what he called 
 satisfaction — and satisfaction he really had, for 
 Phipps, in addition to his former threats, gave him 
 to understand he should also throw up all manage- 
 ment of Elliston's pecuniary affairs, if these diver- 
 tissements were repeated, and should also put in 
 force certain bond debts on the part of the come- 
 dian, while there might be yet something unsquan- 
 dered to liquidate them. 
 
 Elliston, like those who came to scoff, remained 
 to pray, was sufficiently humbled at the interview ; 
 but meeting, soon after, one of his nightly com- 
 panions, who had been apprised of the actor's hos- 
 tile intentions, Elliston assured him that Mr. Phipps, 
 having made every apology which a gentleman ought 
 to demand, he could of course feel no otherwise 
 than propitiated! 
 
 This was thoroughly " Ellistonian" — with such 
 illusions did he often comfort himself, like one we 
 have heard of, who, being scarcely able to command 
 a dinner, would look disdainfully at the elevation 
 of legislators, exclaiming, " These are the people 
 whom I pay to think for me !" Yet, spite of all 
 these remonstrances from Phipps and others, we
 
 THE JUBILEE. 3G5 
 
 fearElliston had too fatally contracted the " second 
 nature" — a habit of wine. We remember to have 
 heard of a Turk, who had an eunuch who used to 
 get drunk, whom he swore by Mahomet, he would 
 strangle if he ever committed the offence again. 
 Yet the eunuch still continued to drink. The Turk, 
 now believing that there must be some extraordi- 
 nary charm in liquor, since this man preferred it to 
 life, fell to it himself, and very soon drank himself 
 into the grave. 
 
 On the event of the great national jubilee, Ellis- 
 ton, in the ardour of gratitude to royal patronage 
 which he had long enjoyed, gave a fete in Stratford 
 Place, to a select party of his own and Mrs. Ellis- 
 ton's friends ; which, divested of some bizarreries, 
 was reasonable enough. But Elliston could do 
 nothing like other people — all his designs were 
 a little larger than life, and he was ever making that 
 advance beyond the sublime, which we have long 
 been taught is but a step. 
 
 Dr. Kitchener, Mr. Phipps, Pope, Johnstone, and 
 the celebrated Mr. " Romeo" Coates were of the 
 entertainment — a party well-suited to elicit the pe- 
 culiarities of the latter gentleman, who though never 
 wanting encouragement, was now in the hands of a 
 host, who, like Wycherley himself, had the peculiar 
 fomentous quality of bringing the humours of men 
 at once to a head. 
 
 Mr. Coates, of course, was called on to recite.
 
 366 A FETE. 
 
 and Dr. Kitchener well observing that, as music was 
 a sister art, he should accompany the recitative 
 with appropriate bars on the pianoforte. This was 
 accordingly put into operation, but the playful 
 " sister," not so observant of that sinfonia as she 
 might have been, fell on the tender passages of 
 Lothario with such an astounding ohligato, that the 
 aspirations for Calista were completely drowned in 
 the murder of the Innocents. 
 
 But of all this, the " Amateur of Fashion" was 
 himself equally innocent, or if, perhaps, pushed too 
 far, received some opportune encouragement which 
 rendered him again heroic ; as Swift tells a story 
 of a Jew at Madrid, who being condemned to the 
 flames, a crowd of boys followed him to his martyr- 
 dom, and fearing they might lose their sport should 
 he recant, tapped him on the back, crying out, 
 '' Sta firme, Moyse !" 
 
 " It is frequently in that nice discrimination, in 
 which our greatest actors fail," observed Mr. Coates, 
 " you will perceive in me indications of delicacy in 
 recitations, that neither Booth, Barry, Garrick, nor 
 Kemble ever exhibited. When I address myself to 
 Providence, I always raise the left hand — the inno- 
 cent, the inoffensive limb ! The right arm is the 
 instrument of war and devastation." 
 
 " True," replied Pope ; " but it is also the right 
 hand of fellowship." 
 
 " Ay — ay," rejoined " Romeo," a little puzzled; 
 " but I am ambidextrous." Saying which, he
 
 STllATFOUD PLACE. 3G7 
 
 turned towards two ladies, and taking one in each 
 arm, seated himself between them, " Now, this is 
 what I call Love amongst the Roses," cried he. 
 
 To do Mr. Coates justice, however, Elliston re- 
 peated a " bon mot" of his guest, which gained him 
 better applause. They were s})eaking together of 
 the merits of a certain great actor, when some one 
 by, observed, " That gentleman is beyond all 
 praise." 
 
 " Yes," replied Romeo, " so far beyond it, that 
 it will never reach him." 
 
 Pope's besetting sin, gastronomie, is well remem- 
 bered. Amongst the many anecdotes related con- 
 cerning him, is a humorous equivoque, which trans- 
 pired at Drury Lane. The " Suspicious Husband" 
 was in rehearsal, in which Pope had gone througli 
 the character of Mr. Strickland, but the actor who 
 was to have sustained the part of his servant, Tester, 
 being " suddenly taken ill," (as all theatrical mis- 
 adventures are called,) a very underling, who had 
 scarcely ever spoken a line on the stage, was called 
 on to fulfil his duty. After the morning's rehearsal, 
 which this unhappy wight got through with fear and 
 trembling, his next puzzle was respecting his cos- 
 tume. Accosting Pope just as he was passing off at 
 the wing, with marked submission, but with a ner- 
 vous abruptness, said, " Pray, Sir, how is it to be 
 dressed?" But Pope, who had ever one thing 
 uppermost in his thoughts, namely, first and second 
 course, entrees, &c., replied as abruptly, " Stufied,
 
 o 
 
 (JS ANECDOTE OF POPE. 
 
 to be sure — stuffed by all means." With this in- 
 telligence, his friend, the actor, departed. 
 
 On the evening of the play's representation, when 
 " all ladies and gentlemen concerned" were met in 
 the Green Room, ready to go on for their respective 
 parts, in walks the Tester of the night, as complete 
 a Falstaff in livery, as could possibly have been 
 accomplished. In costume, at least, he had gal- 
 lantly resolved there should be no deficiency ; for 
 the small clothes, in fact, could scarcely contain the 
 weight he carried The shrieks of the assembled 
 party can be well imagined. " In the name of all 
 that's wonderful, what is this?" was the universal 
 demand. " Why! why! Mr. Pope said it should 
 be stuffed, and may the devil fetch me, but I've 
 had trouble enough," said the terrified votary of 
 art. 
 
 But the " Follies of a Day" were not altogether 
 appropriated by one person. Elliston, who could 
 never walk the earth, except bearing the helmet of 
 Achilles, was to- night more than usually magnifi- 
 cent. The supper was consecrated by " Non nobis 
 Domine," and a piece of small artillery from the 
 tiles of Stratford Place announced the " King's 
 health !" to the consternation of the whole parish. 
 This was followed by a speech from the host 
 himself, being under the positive impression, the 
 eyes and ears of Europe were at that moment upon 
 him. 
 
 On the 1 9th of September, the new splendid
 
 KEMBLE SIDDONS 3G9 
 
 theatre in Covent Garden was opened with " Mac- 
 beth," and " The Quaker," an event memorable by 
 the " O. P." riots, which were nightly continued 
 until the 16th of December. 
 
 The revival of many of Shakspeare's finest plays, 
 particularly " Julius Caesar" and " Coriolanus," 
 under the masterly hands of John Kemble, carried 
 this order of drama, in scenic representation, to a 
 higher pitch, perhaps, than it had ever previously 
 attained. English Comedy belongs not more to 
 the time of Charles 11. , than the loftier Drama to 
 the period of Siddons and Kemble — true, there was 
 Betterton in the earlier age, yet, like Sir Walter 
 Scott, he stood alone in his peculiar art ; but the 
 united excellence of the Kemble family in imperson- 
 ation, and the intelligent direction of the one in 
 scenic appliances, rendered the Shaksperian Drama 
 their own appropriate renown. 
 
 As Schlegel speaks of his countryman Winkel- 
 man, so Kemble " transformed himself completely 
 into an ancient, and lived only in appearance in his 
 own land, unmoved by its influence." The days are 
 past ; and, like most glories which are past, appear 
 irrevocable : the prophetic language of Dr. Johnson 
 rises in our mind, and we now live but to fulfil a 
 like spirit of prediction : — 
 
 " Perhaps where Lear has wept, and Hamlet died, 
 On flying cars new sorcerers may riile ; 
 Perliaps (for who can guess th' effects of chance) 
 Here Hunt may box, or Mahomet may dance." 
 
 15 B
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Drury Lane Theatre destroyed — Miss Farren — Mrs. Jordan — 
 Letter to Sheridan — The Opera House — Lyceum — Natural 
 history, rats, bugs — Covent Garden Company — Lord Har- 
 court's death — Miss Mellon — Ornithology — Miss Warren — 
 Whimsical hoax — A Custom House clerk — A parlour scene 
 — An uproar — *' Invisiblina," lost. 
 
 On the 24th of February of this year (1809), a 
 convivial theatrical party was assembled in Lin- 
 coln's-inn Fields, at the house of Mr. Richard 
 Wilson, a gentleman who had been appointed, in 
 1802, one of the board of management of Drury 
 Lane Theatre. 
 
 This annual meeting had long been of the most 
 joyous character. The host, esteemed for his hos- 
 pitality, and the guests, comprising the leading per- 
 formers of the above establishment, together with 
 some of the choice spirits of the day, could hardly 
 fail constituting a reunion of the most animated 
 description. The '^ King's health !" had been already 
 expressed in suitable demonstrations of loyalty, and
 
 DKURY LANE THEATRE DESTROYED. 371 
 
 Mr. Wilson was in possession of his friend's atten- 
 tion, by an occasional speech, on the state of affairs 
 at Drury Lane, when about concluding his state- 
 ment, with a hearty hurrah for its lasting prosperity, 
 the butler rushed into the room, and announced 
 Drury Lane Theatre in flames ! 
 
 The consternation may be easily imagined. In a 
 moment the house of festivity was a desert — the 
 whole party hurrying to the scene of destruction. 
 A body of constables, as usual in such cases, had 
 formed a barrier at a distance from the theatre, 
 which Elliston had some difficulty in passing. He 
 was, however, soon recognised, and fortunate enough 
 in gaining that part of the building in which he had 
 deposited sundry articles of value, amongst them, 
 a specialty, on which he was just about to sue the 
 individual liable under it. 
 
 Unhurt, but without his hat, he escaped with 
 these effects from the burning pile, on which he 
 had scarcely congratulated himself, when he disco- 
 vered his watch was gone The rogues ! it was a 
 gold repeater, which had belonged to the late Master 
 of Sidney ; the only tangible memorial which there 
 had been any chance of his nephew's retaining, for 
 all other bequests, being money, were about as 
 sepure in the hands of Elliston, as the Apollo at that 
 very moment, on the liquefying roof of old Drury.* 
 
 * We subjoin the following extract from Moore's Life of 
 Sheridan, on this calamitous event. " On the night of tlic 
 
 B B 2
 
 372 MISS FARREN. 
 
 It is curious to remark, that on the opening of 
 the late theatre, which cost 129,000/., an occasional 
 epilogue, spoken by Miss Farren, assured the public 
 that a conflagration could never take place in that 
 theatre, as they had water enough to drown authors, 
 actors, auditory, and all their applause, to boot- — at 
 the conclusion of which, a shower of real water was 
 produced, and an iron curtain let down in sight of 
 the assured spectators. The result, however, 
 forcibly reminds us of a friend, who was only 
 overturned once during his life, in a stage-coach, 
 
 24th of February, when the House of Commons was occupied 
 with Mr. Ponsonby's motion on tlie conduct of the war in 
 Spain, and Mr. Sheridan was present, the house was suddenly 
 illuminated by a blaze of light, and the debate being interrupted, 
 it was ascertained that the theatre in Drury Lane was on fire. 
 
 " A motion was made to adjourn, but Mr. Sheridan said that 
 * Whatever might be the extent of the private calamity, he hoped 
 it would not interfere with the public business of the country.' 
 He then left the house, and proceeding to Drury Lane, wit- 
 nessed, with a fortitude which strongly interested all, the entire 
 destruction of his property. 
 
 " It is said, that as he sat at the Piazza Coffee House, during 
 the fire, taking some refreshment, a friend of his having re- 
 marked on the philosophic calmness in which he bore his mis- 
 fortune, Sheridan answered, ' A man may surely take a glass of 
 wine by his own fireside.' 
 
 " Without vouching,'' continues Moore, " for the authenticity 
 of this anecdote, (which may have been, for aught I know, like 
 the Wandering Jew, a regular attendant upon all fires since the 
 time of Hierocles,) I give it as I heard it."
 
 MRS. JORDAN. 373 
 
 which happened when he travelled by the " Patent 
 Safety." 
 
 The fire happened on a Friday in Lent, when 
 there was no play. It commenced in the coffee- 
 room of the theatre, which fronted Brydges Street, 
 and from which there was a direct communication to 
 the first circle of boxes. The workmen had quitted 
 the house, leaving a flue overheated, and hence the 
 origin of the calamity. The water which was to 
 overwhelm the building in such an event, had been 
 suffered to escape ; and as to the iron curtain, there 
 was no assistance at hand to drop it. The ruin was 
 complete — 
 
 " In one dread night, our city saw, and sigh'd, 
 Bow'd to the dust, the Drama's tower of pride — 
 In one short hour, beheld the blazing fane, 
 Apollo sink, and Shakspeare cease to reign." 
 
 Amongst the many epistolary attentions which 
 Sheridan received on this event ; the following was 
 from Mrs. Jordan : — 
 
 *' Bushey House, Thursday. 
 
 " My dear Sir, — It is not for one with such weak 
 persuasions as mine, to attempt any consolatory ad- 
 dress to you under this late calamity, who must 
 have a mind to encounter any misfortune, as to 
 comprehend all subjects. But I feel I should be 
 wanting in respect to you, and most certainly to 
 my own sense of kind obligations, were I to suffer 
 an event, which calls I'orth the sympathy of the
 
 374 HER LETTER TO SHERIDAN. 
 
 whole world, to pass unnoticed by one, who has the 
 happiness of being ranked amongst your friends. 
 Believe me, my dear sir, I condole with you sin- 
 cerely in this late calamity at Drury Lane. I 
 lament, with the public, the destruction of that 
 edifice, on whose ancient site so many dramatic 
 triumphs have been celebrated, and none greater 
 than vour own. And I condole with those sufferers 
 who, in having less strength of mind than yourself, 
 may have had more need of it ; who, in addition to 
 their loss of all, find themselves unblest by the 
 powers of regaining anything. 
 
 "But I am not without satisfaction in finding 
 such prompt exertions are making for the benefit of 
 our extensive company. I shall neither be wanting 
 in effort or goodwill in the cause ; and if my humble 
 talent should be deemed advisable, do not let it 
 remain idle on a single occasion. 
 
 *' My woman has been with me this morning. 
 The attendants have been great sufferers. I am 
 happy to find their salaries will be paid, should the 
 public patronize. 
 
 " Believe me, my dear Sir, 
 " Your sincere friend, and humble servant,
 
 THE OPERA HOUSE. 375 
 
 We subjoin a brief extract from Anthony Pris- 
 quin — a faint memorial of this inimitable child of 
 Thalia. 
 
 " In Nell, sportive nature's bluff habits are shewn, 
 And the rose of frank hearted ness blushes full blown ; 
 Not a ray issues forth from her keen sable eye, 
 But gives the tame race of refinement the lie. 
 The broad jolly rapture she paints with such truth, 
 That surliness grins in despite of his tooth. 
 Yet her name's not been raised by illiberal arts, 
 Her gazers confronted, and rush'd to their hearts. 
 Her features, applause, like transparencies, win, 
 Which owe their effects to the light that's within."* 
 
 "O" 
 
 On Thursday, 16th March, the Drury Lane com- 
 pany, under sanction of the Lord Chamberlain, and 
 with the consent of the Drury Lane proprietors, 
 opened the Opera House, for three nights, as 
 stated, for their common benefit. The first per- 
 formance was '* Man and Wife," *' Sylvester Dag- 
 gerwood," and the ballet of " Quichotte," by the 
 whole force of the Opera corps, producing 549/. 
 The second night was the " Honeymoon," with an 
 occasional address. Mrs. Jordan acted " The Country 
 Girl,'" on the third night, the receipts being 834L 
 So warmly did the public take up the cause of the 
 Drury refugees, that three additional nights were 
 then announced. On the evening in which Madame 
 
 * Mrs. Jordan retired from the stage in 1814. In this me- 
 morable year, the sun of Siddons magnificently set, and all eyes 
 were turned to the saffron rising of O'Neil.
 
 376 LYCEUM THEATRE. 
 
 Catalan! sang, in the part of Semiramide, the 
 receipts were 903/. The total of these receipts 
 amounted to 426GZ., — the principal performers 
 receiving 75/. per cent, on their respective sala- 
 ries — the second class, 87/. lOs. per cent., and the 
 third class their full demands. 
 
 The company then carried on operations at the 
 Lyceum, where they acted for fifty-two nights, and 
 received 13,235/. One of their items of expense, 
 on entering, was remarkable enough, viz., 6/. Is. 
 for killing bugs, and something less for the profes- 
 sional services of a rat-catcher. The rats, indeed, 
 appear to have had a greater run in the theatre than 
 any other of its productions, for the death of the 
 actors alone put an end to the entertainment. 
 
 It is not a little singular, that the very " rat- 
 catcher" himself became, some years afterwards, a 
 member of the Olympic Company, when Winston 
 directed, under Elliston's management. Had this 
 " rat-catcher" played the part of Tybalt, nothing 
 could have been more tit.* 
 
 For some little time previous to the destruction 
 of Drury Lane Theatre, Arnold, who had obtained 
 a licence for the representation of English operas, 
 liad been coquetting with one Lingham, a breeches- 
 
 * A far better joke than our own, was uttered by Madame 
 Vestris to Arnold, who, telling her a tailor had applied to him 
 for an engagement at the English Opera House, said, " You had 
 better bring hiui out as pantaloon."
 
 NATURAL HISTORY RATS — BUGS. 377 
 
 maker, and proprietor of the Lyceum Theatre, for 
 renting that building for such performances The 
 house was at this juncture occupied by wild beasts, 
 conjurors, phantasmagorians, &c., '' mendici, mimes, 
 balatrones," (hence, peradventure, the bugs,) bipeds, 
 quadrupeds, and multipeds ; for all of which, Ar- 
 nold fancied he had a charm, potent as that of 
 Orpheus — namely, his own music. But on the 
 Tuesday immediately following the fire, not having 
 come to the scratch, (which was really not a little 
 formidable, recollecting the variety of animals he 
 would have to encounter,) Lingham, with laudable 
 activity, offered Sheridan the theatre on the same 
 terms he had named to Arnold, and thus the 
 breeches-maker, fitting the immediate necessities of 
 the Drury dictator, the proposal w^as agreed to. 
 
 The very next day, however, Arnold calls on 
 Lingham, proposing to conclude the negotiation at 
 once, and the tradesman, believing he had been 
 commissioned on the part of the Drury Lane pro- 
 prietors, (in whose service Arnold was intimately 
 engaged,) without hesitation assented. Everything 
 was therefore supposed to be mutually understood, 
 and the matter was settled ; except the formalities 
 of legal instruments. 
 
 On the following morning, Lingham quitted 
 London, leaving to his son the power of ratifying 
 this treaty, which was accordingly done, and Arnold, 
 under a written agreement, became lessee for a term 
 of three years.
 
 378 COVENT GARDEN COMPANY. 
 
 But the astonishment of the good landlord was 
 by no means slight, when, on his return to town, 
 he discovered who, in fact, his real lessee was ; and 
 also, that his son, Mr. Lingham, junior, had con- 
 sented to the insertion of a clause, giving Arnold 
 the right of purchase at any time within the unex- 
 pired term of the lease. 
 
 Lingham was by no means indifferent as to a 
 choice of tenants — he preferred the Drury pro- 
 prietors ; and as he fancied a little sharp practice 
 had been employed in the transaction, an attempt 
 was made, on his part, to set aside the agreement ; 
 but as it appeared he had given absolute power to 
 his son to act in his behalf, the object was found 
 difficult. 
 
 To avoid litigation, the agreement was suffered 
 to remain in force ; and the Drury Lane company 
 entered the Lyceum as tenants of Arnold, in the 
 place of Lingham. 
 
 The Covent Garden company was at this time 
 carrying on their business at the Little Theatre in 
 the Haymarket, previous to the opening of the new 
 and magnificent edifice alluded to in our last chap- 
 ter, and was perhaps the best body of performers 
 that had ever been got together, in the memory of 
 the living. 
 
 It was composed as follows : — Kemble, Cooke, 
 Young, C. Kemble, Pope, Brunton, Murray, &c., 
 Lewis, Jones, Mundcn, Fawcett, Liston, Emery, Blan-
 
 LORD IIARCOURT. 379 
 
 chard, Simmons, Farley, &c. ; Incledon, Taylor, 
 Bellamy, &c. ; Grimaldi, Bologna, Byrne, &c. ; 
 Mrs. Siddons, Miss Norton, Mrs. St. Ledger, Mrs. 
 Humphries, Mrs. H. Johnston, Mrs. C. Kemble, 
 Mrs. Gibbs, Mrs. Davenport, Mrs. Dickons, Mrs. 
 Listen, Miss Meadows, Miss Bolton, &c. &c. 
 
 Here was, indeed, a constellation ! But scarcely 
 will it be believed that, with this extraordinary 
 assemblage of talent engaged in the Haymarket 
 Theatre — representing, too, the most sterlmg plays 
 on the national roll — that the receipts were some- 
 times under the nightly expenses, not to mention the 
 great deficit there must have been on the weekly 
 payment of all persons engaged. 
 
 This identical company, a few weeks before, acting 
 in the Italian Opera House, rarely failed attracting 
 full audiences — a fact which, undoubtedly, proves 
 that, whether or not large theatres be more bene- 
 ficial to dramatic representations, the public, at least, 
 like them and prefer them ; perhaps under a sort of 
 impression that they get more for their money, or 
 that— 
 
 " Magno (le fluniine inallem, 
 Quam ex hoc fonticulo sumcre." 
 
 The following favour was the last Elliston ever 
 received from his respected and valuable friend, 
 Lord Harcourt ; the Earl dying in the spring of this 
 year. It was written but a short time before the
 
 380 HIS DEATH. 
 
 fall of Drury. In this nobleman the family oi 
 actors lost one of its most honoured protectors, 
 and the stage itself was deprived of a patron, to 
 whose taste, liberality, and exertions, much of its 
 prosperity had been owing. 
 
 " Nunehani, Sunday. 
 
 " Sir, — You may be surprised at hearing from 
 me, dated this place, but a near friend of mine — a 
 lady — was last week so delighted with your acting, 
 that she has requested me to beg of you, if possible, 
 to make an arrangement in the theatre, for your 
 playing Hotspur, on any day after Tuesday, and 
 secure for Miss Fauquier, Queen Street, Mayfair, 
 the stage and contiguous box, on that side of the 
 house, which would be most advantageous for 
 viewing your principal scenes. 
 
 " Lady Harcourt sends her compliments. Pray 
 
 offer mine to my old friend, (for I cannot give up 
 
 an expression of esteem, out of false politeness to 
 
 the sex,) my old friend. Miss Pope — and believe 
 
 me your humble servant, 
 
 " Harcourt. 
 
 " P.S. I have a copy of Colley Gibber's " Apo- 
 logy," with some interesting emendations by an 
 unknown hand. I purchased it some few years ago, 
 and will take an opportunity for letting you see it." 
 
 Elliston, with all his mystery of manner, kept 
 about an equal guard over his secrets as his money,
 
 MISS MELLON. 381 
 
 SO that there were many of his friends, who knew 
 as much concerning " Invisiblina" as he himself. 
 This frailty rendered him liable to repeated mau- 
 vaises plaisante7'ies , of which the boldest in design was 
 the contrivance of Miss Mellon, who some years af- 
 terwards, when Mrs. Coutts, made full confession. 
 
 In Norfolk Street, Strand, lodged a gentleman 
 holding a situation in the customs, a Mr. Borrow- 
 dale, an old friend of Miss Mellon's family, and 
 whom that lady occasionally visited. He was a 
 staid, systematic bachelor, and as little calculated 
 for the hero of an adventure, as such a character 
 might be naturally imagined ; but Miss Mellon 
 having set her heart upon a stratagem, had also as 
 positively made up her mind, he should be the chief 
 agent in the affair. 
 
 The gentleman occupied the drawing-room floor 
 of the house in question, and in the lower apart- 
 ments resided an airy, antique maiden, who was 
 somewhat of " a character." She was a well-dis- 
 posed person, but her long practice in the artificial 
 parure of rouge, had so estranged her perception 
 from the real aspect of nature, that she was now 
 more like a red Indian than a Saxon ; or rather her 
 face resembled that appearance, which is sometimes 
 fantastically made by tracing human outlines on an 
 ace of diamonds. 
 
 Her next passion was her aviary. In her apart- 
 ment were collected all specimens of birds, from
 
 382 ORNITHOLOGY. 
 
 the Indus to the Po — the screaming cockatoo to 
 the chattering pie — the common starling to the 
 red-pole finch. Of canaries she had a vast variety, 
 and her apparatus for pairing &c. was very perfect. 
 
 Breeding-cages, maw-seed, and scalded rape, 
 were scattered on shelves and tables. In the pro- 
 lific constitution of these birds she was greatly 
 interested, and had often witnessed the female 
 ready to produce a second brood before the first 
 was able to quit the nest. Her very chintz furni- 
 ture was patterned with birds, while she herself 
 was as fine a specimen of the red mackaw, as ever 
 came from Delhi or Cashmere. 
 
 Her third peculiarity was an everlasting song, 
 which, for one who kept company with birds, is not 
 perhaps so very extraordinary. But it was a song 
 set to the music of her own heart, and the poetic 
 words " My nephew the colonel in India." 
 
 Never could she utter a sentence, or address any 
 one, in which " my nephew the colonel in India" 
 did not bear a part. Her acquaintances had heard 
 it a thousand times, and the butcher, when plead- 
 ing guilty to a tough rump-steak of the day before, 
 secured his condonation by a timely inquiry re- 
 specting her last accounts from " her nephew the 
 colonel in India." The starling had of course 
 caught the beloved lesson ; while the very walls, 
 which we know have ears, had long been conscious 
 of this only theme.
 
 MISS WARREN. 383 
 
 Miss Mellon had frequently heard her friend speak 
 of this lady and her packet of peculiarities, which 
 were quite enough to induce her, with his aid, to 
 play off a pleasantry both on the spinster and the 
 comedian. 
 
 A letter was forthwith concocted and addressed 
 to Elliston, stating, that if he would call at six o'clock 
 on a certain dav on Miss Warren, in Norfolk Street, 
 some elucidation would be vouchsafed as to the in- 
 comprehensible " Invisiblina." 
 
 Miss Mellon was well acquainted with the nights 
 of EUiston's professional engagements, and took 
 care therefore to fix on a practicable occasion ; and 
 making no doubt as to the success of her fantasy, 
 took her station in the apartment of her accessory, 
 who in fact became not a little frightened as the 
 plot thickened, and awaited the arrival of their com- 
 mon victim. 
 
 St. Clement's clock had already tolled the hour 
 of six, and some twenty minutes grace had elapsed, 
 but no visitor to Miss Warren. The nervous state 
 of the actress and guilty partner, were just in an 
 inverse ratio. As the one was excited, so did the 
 other find relief ; when suddenly a knock at the 
 street door set both hearts into a gallop, and the 
 delighted contriver of the plot heard distinctly over 
 the banisters, the well-known accents of Ranger de- 
 manding admission to Miss Warren. Imagination 
 now supplied a full fruition to her scheme. Miss
 
 384 A WHIMSICAL HOAX. 
 
 Mellon was all ecstasy, but as to the unhappy clerk 
 in the customs, having somewhat the fear of the chief 
 magistrate of Bow Street before his eyes, he was 
 the very picture of woe. 
 
 A considerable time elapsed, and EUiston was 
 still closeted with Miss Warren, — *' Invisiblina" and 
 " My nephew the colonel in India" were the playful 
 watchwords of the anxious listeners, when their 
 ears were startled by a scream, which positively 
 made the male conspirator tremble in his shoes. 
 Fielding commences one of his chapters by the 
 words " A violent uproar now arose in the entry," 
 and we cannot do better than quote the very lan- 
 guage, for at this moment Miss Warren, EUiston, 
 a servant girl, and a Scotch terrier, vi^ere in one 
 common state of clamour in the passage ; while a 
 general insurrection of the whole aviary, though 
 multiplying the tongues, by no means tended to 
 render the text intelligible. 
 
 By an act of involuntary courage, the clerk of 
 the customs sprang down the staircase, when Miss 
 Warren exclaimed, " Oh, Mr. Borrowdale ! — Oh, 
 Mr. Borrowdale ! that vile bird man has entered my 
 bed-room — Oh, the cormorant! would that my 
 nephew the colonel in India were present." 
 
 " Borrowdale, Borrowdale," repeated EUiston, 
 in a supremely comic tone — " the Borrowdales — 
 know them well — come from Cheshire — Cheshire, 
 in Kent — one settled at Acapulco — his sister mar-
 
 A CUSTOM-HOUSE CLERK. 385 
 
 ried a Moravian" — at which tirade the custom- 
 house officer stared with a hundred eyes, hut on 
 went the noiv hero of the scene. 
 
 *' Your little woman, Borrowdale, has been some- 
 what alarmed at the gambols of her cockatoo — I 
 just started up to quiet the bird, when that damned 
 
 horned owl but walk in, Borrowdale, and I'll 
 
 tell you the whole history;" saying which, he hooked 
 the perplexed placeman by the button, and gently 
 persuaded him into the parlour. 
 
 Miss Warren, (the crimson drops trickling from 
 her countenance,) here followed both gentlemen into 
 the apartment, when the comedian perceiving a tray 
 of crockery ready for an afternoon's repast, observed 
 with true Ellistonian solemnity, " And now, Madam, 
 we'll take a cup of your exquisite souchong." 
 
 Borrowdale, who had wit enough to determine 
 the best course which could be pursued, immediately 
 gave both his hearers to understand, he knew the 
 name and person of Miss Warren's unexpected visi- 
 tor, and wisely suggested some mistake had been 
 the cause of the vexatious contretemps. 
 
 The history of the meantime, in which Elliston 
 had been closeted with the spinster, appears to have 
 been this : — He had, of course, arrived, hoping to 
 hear something of " Invisiblina," and Miss Warren 
 rather expecting a visit from a bird-fancier, at about 
 the same time, a most comic equivoque had been 
 the consequence. 
 
 c c
 
 38G A PARLOUR SCENE. 
 
 But Elliston quickly perceiving that both the 
 lady and himself had been the victims of some 
 wicked plot, and suspecting a conspirator might 
 still lie hid in the adjoining chamber, which turned 
 out to be the lady's bed-room, up he jumped, and 
 with little ceremony forced his way into it. As Sir 
 Anthony Absolute observes, he might also have 
 been " a little too lively," (for the lady opposed his 
 progress,) and hence the scream in defence of her 
 honour, which, like a sweetmeat, had been preserved 
 for many a season, since the ripening on the tree. 
 
 But now, partly through the ineffable quality of 
 rich comedy, which was so much the constitution 
 of Elliston, and partly from Miss Warren's mulcible 
 nature, which, to do her justice, was unrivalled, 
 and all this aided by the pacific disposition of the 
 clerk of the " long-room," peace was tolerably re- 
 stored. The perspiration streamed from Miss War- 
 ren, like a tinted water-course in the vicinity of 
 a dyer ; but Elliston, who mixed up humanity in his 
 revenge, soon beguiled her of her native good 
 humour, and declared that he would not leave 
 the house, nor should Borrowdale quit the room, 
 until tea, toast, and noyeau, had gone the round of 
 the table. 
 
 Miss Mellon's employment, in the while, is only 
 to be surmised. Borrowdale made sundry attempts 
 to depart, but the comedian was peremptory, and 
 he could not stir.
 
 AN UPROAR. 387 
 
 It came ultimately to this, — the whole party sat 
 down to cribbage. Miss Warren having won seven 
 shillings, the birds being covered up for the night, 
 and EUiston having declared over and over again, 
 her nephew the colonel in India was one of his early 
 playmates, she was as happy as a queen. 
 
 By this time, Elliston, who had nearly discussed 
 the bottle of noyeau, was dropping off into a com- 
 fortable doze, when a slam of the street door startled 
 the little party, and made the very cages rattle on 
 the walls. The servant maid entering a few minutes 
 afterwards, shuffled up to Borrowdale, and in a kind 
 of ludicrous perplexity, whispered, " The lady's 
 agone, sir ;" at which, Elliston opened his eyes, 
 and perceiving renew^ed confusion in poor Borrow- 
 dale's manner, exclaimed — ''Lady! what Lady? you 
 hussey !" — " Why, the lady what's a been a watch- 
 ing a you, sir, this whole hour." — " What ! what !" 
 repeated Elliston, at the same time seizing Borrow- 
 dale with one hand, and Miss Warren's turban and 
 curls with the other, (both of which w^ere eradicated 
 by his grasp) — " Watching! watching, did you say? 
 
 A lady ! — and gone ! — which w^ay ?" — saying 
 which, he snatched up his hat, and thrusting the 
 spinster's head gear into his pocket, rushed into the 
 passage. "Which way, wrench?" screamed the 
 comedian. — *' Can't a tell, sir," responded the maid 
 — an octave higher ; " can't a tell, sir," — and in 
 two minutes Elliston was out of sight. 
 
 c c 2
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The Royal Circus — Rev. Rowland Hill — His addresses — The 
 Pic Nics — Their diversions — Colonel Greville — Theati'ical 
 furor — R. C. Sowden — Infamous hand-bill — Captain Caul- 
 field — John Fuller — A fracas — EUiston, Captain Macheath 
 — Dr. Busby — New Prologue to Macbeth — Speech and 
 benefit — Sheridan's appointment — Thomas Sheridan — His 
 letter and remonstrance — Elliston's reply — A Greek poet 
 — Another theatre — Disaster. 
 
 The Royal Circus Theatre, in Black friar's-road, 
 having been advertised for lease or sale, early in 
 this year, Elliston, on the 23rd of February, (the 
 day before the fire at Drury,) sent in proposals as 
 a tenant. The terms demanded by the trustees 
 were, for purchase of the remaining term^ — nine 
 seasons — 20,000/,, payable in annual sums, or for a 
 lease of six years, 3000/. per annum, the lessee pay- 
 ing ground-rent, taxes, and insurance, amounting to 
 540/. per annum.
 
 REV. ROWLAND HILL. 389 
 
 After a lengthy correspondence on the subject, 
 Elliston became lessee for seven years, at 2100/. 
 per annum, being bound under a covenant not to 
 produce any dramatic pieces of an immoral ten- 
 dency. 
 
 When this theatre was in the course of building, 
 the chapel, erected by the Rev. Rowland Hill, in 
 Blackfriar's-road, was in a similar progressive state ; 
 but the divine having observed, with some bitter- 
 ness of spirit, the great advance the theatre was 
 daily making over the chapel — that the one party 
 worked like bees, whilst his own operatives were 
 sluggish as drones — he took an opportunity of 
 pointedly animadverting on the case, in an address 
 to his congregation, at the place where he was 
 preaching in the meantime : — 
 
 "There are two ships," said he, "within sight 
 of a spice island. One is manned by the elect of 
 heaven, and freighted with good works — the other, 
 directed by the devil's crew, and laden with sinful- 
 ness. The object of both these craft, is to reach 
 the spicy port as soon as possible ; but the devil's 
 ship, if not a better vessel, is more actively manned, 
 — for to do Satan justice he is always industrious. 
 These fellows are crowding all sail till their shrouds 
 crack again, whilst the good and righteous ship is 
 throwing away a line wind. Let them only land, 
 and the whole shore will become tainted, — this fine 
 aromatic flavour which invites you now, will become
 
 390 HIS ADDRESSES. 
 
 fetid — mephitic, as the scientific people call it — 
 and you will be poisoned on the very pastures which 
 ought to be yours. But push into port, my lads, 
 before them — sanctify the harbour, and then mount 
 the mole. The devil hates holy water. They will 
 never effect a landing, but be off again quickly, as 
 though their master fetched them ! Come ! — don't 
 let the devil beat you ! — a small dividend more upon 
 your earthly pelf, and all will be accomplished !" 
 
 This w^ell-timed appeal answered the full purpose. 
 Supplies immediately were added to the failing sub- 
 scription, and the chapel was finished. 
 
 One of the most curious, and equally successful 
 orations of this eccentric divine, about the same 
 time, was in the service of his friend, William 
 Walker, the astronomical lecturer. 
 
 Rowland Hill had always inveighed against play- 
 houses, with the asperity of a Prynne himself; and, 
 as the very building was rank in the nostrils of this 
 man of sanctity. Walker could have but little hope 
 in finding favour with him, as he was in the habit 
 of engaging the Haymarket Theatre for the purpose 
 of lecturing. He was, however, happily undeceived 
 on this point, for on the occasion alluded to, Row- 
 land Hill thus addressed his auditors : — 
 
 " You have often, my friends, heard me de- 
 nounce the playhouse as a temple of sin, and the 
 habitation of the devil — and I say so still — for their 
 works are carnal, and their words ungodly. But
 
 THE " PIC NICS." 391 
 
 when our beloved friend and brother, William Wal- 
 ker, introduces the heavenly bodies, it is quite 
 another thing — you may freely enter — enter with- 
 out prejudice to your souls, and with great benefit to 
 your understandings. And now, let me scatter these 
 notices amongst you. You may go freely, I tell 
 you, on Friday next, and I hope you will." 
 
 Saying which, he threw from his pulpit about a 
 dozen of Mr. Walker's printed bills, which were 
 speedily in circulation amongst his congregation. 
 
 About this time Elliston was invited to join a 
 theatrical speculation, originated by Colonel Gre- 
 ville, a gentleman well known in the fashionable 
 circles. 
 
 This institution was to be called "The Pic Nic." 
 The scheme was, to erect a ball-room, a private 
 theatre, and all the concomitant accommodations 
 of card and supper-rooms, vestibules, &c., under 
 one roof, on a piece of ground then vacant in Albe- 
 marle-street, opposite to the Royal Institution, and 
 where the chapel now stands. But not being able to 
 carry this into effect, the Colonel took the King's 
 Concert Room, in Tottenham-street, and issued 
 proposals for carrying on his enterprise on this 
 spot, which documents were actually circulated in 
 the Opera House, and in other fashionable places 
 of amusement. 
 
 It is worthy of remark that, some lew years
 
 392 THEIR DIVERSIONS. 
 
 afterwards, Elliston was positively in treaty for the 
 purchase of the above Albemarle Chapel, having 
 serious thoughts of taking holy orders, and preach- 
 ing therein himself. 
 
 Elliston, like our old friend, Mrs. Cole, was subject 
 to holy attacks ; yet these were but of a chronic na- 
 ture, — the paroxysms passed speedily away, and his 
 constitution was not materiallyshakenby the malady. 
 This chapel attack, however, was one of the longest 
 fits he ever had — he was ill for a week. 
 
 Bat to return to the Pic Nic. Numerous caustic 
 assaults, and bitter lampoons, having been publicly 
 levelled at Greville and his speculation, and the 
 managers of the great theatres, particularly Sheri- 
 dan, having threatened him with legal proceedings, 
 the Colonel announced a tremendous philippic 
 for publication, to which the town was looking for- 
 ward with eager expectation, when an interview 
 took place between Sheridan and the aggrieved 
 party, which terminated by the Colonel's withdraw- 
 ing his literary threat, and obtaining the consent of 
 other parties that the. Pic Nic should proceed. 
 
 The press, however, was not to be silenced. The 
 field was too rich and yielding for the abandonment 
 of the newspapers, and a number of paragraphs ap- 
 peared, in which various ladies w^re handed up 
 by inuendo, as the " Frails'' and " Foresights," to 
 wliom this house of intrigue would be of the greatest 
 accommodation. But conscious innocence ! con-
 
 COLONEL GREVILLE. 393 
 
 scious innocence ! looked calmly on. The Thespian 
 martyrs rose superior to the malice of the crowd, 
 and the playjiouse was announced for opening on 
 the 15th of March. 
 
 On a moveable theatre, constructed at one end of 
 the ball-room, the Colonel, in person, opened the 
 entertainments of the night by a prologue. This was 
 followed by a French proverb — then came an act 
 from the "Bedlamite" — another French proverb 
 succeeded — a little more of the "Bedlamite" — 
 the whole dramatic part terminating by an occa- 
 sional epilogue. 
 
 Next in order, was a little music — Mich. Kelly 
 in all his glory ; to this, without doubt, a ball suc- 
 ceeded, and a pic nic supper was the sum total of 
 the night's enjoyment. 
 
 The repast was thus furnished : — Tiie maitre 
 (Vhdtel made out a bill of fare, numbering every dish. 
 Corresponding numbers were then drawn at random 
 by the general subscribers, and each had to supply 
 the stated contents of that dish to which his number 
 corresponded. A mutual assurance with benefit of 
 survivor — incorporated by acts of plays, and secured 
 by the indentures of feasting. 
 
 These meetings were continued at intervals 
 throughout this season. Colonel Grevillc, Captain 
 Caulticld, and Mr. Sowden, generally performing 
 the principal parts in the dramatic exhibition 
 
 " Where every room 
 Bla/cd iortli with liulitt; and braved with niiiistrelsv. '
 
 394 THEATRICAL FUROR. 
 
 Of this cacoethes agendi, Wanley, in his ** Won- 
 ders of the Little World," has a curious instance : 
 " In the reign of Lysimachus, king of Thrace," say% 
 he, " the people were infected by a strange disease. 
 First, a violent and burning fever seized them. 
 Upon the seventh day after, they bled at the nose 
 very copiously, or others of them fell into an ex- 
 ceeding sweat. But a ridiculous affection was left 
 upon their minds, for they all fell to acting of tra- 
 gedy, thundering out iambics, especially the ' An- 
 dromeda' of Euripides, and the part of Perseus 
 therein, so that the city was full of pallid, attenuated 
 actors. This dotage lasted till the winter, when 
 the sharp frost put an end to it. The secret of the 
 malady was this : — Archelaus, a famous tragedian, 
 had in the summer represented Andromeda, and 
 while in the theatre, the people were first seized 
 with fever ; and thus the representations of the stage 
 got dominion over their senses." 
 
 Richard Choyce, {prccnomen idoneum) Sowden, one 
 of the most rabid in the Pic Nic affair, had been 
 originally brought up to the navy, and was ap- 
 pointed lieutenant before he was twenty years of 
 age ; which piece of good luck was augmented by 
 his coming into possession of a handsome fortune at 
 about the same time. This, however, he did not long 
 enjoy, even after his own notion of enjoyment. 
 " Marylebone and the chocolate houses were his 
 undoing ;" or, in more modern words, Pall Mall, 
 Soho Square, and its neighbourhood, soon brought
 
 R. CIIOYCE SOWDEN. 395 
 
 him on his beam ends, — "he was in fact a ruined 
 man before he came to" — the Pic Nic. 
 
 Sowden then embraced the stage as a profession ; 
 and under the name of Stapleton, made his appear- 
 ance at the Haymarket Theatre in 1810, in the part 
 of Dennis Bulgruddery, but was engaged only for a 
 season. So truly does Addison remark, when he 
 speaks of men mistaking their own qualities : — 
 ** Many a lawyer makes but an indifferent figure at 
 the bar, who might have become a very accom- 
 plished waterman, and have shone at the Temple 
 Stairs, though he could get no business in the 
 house." 
 
 Sowden died a victim to dissipation, at his lodg- 
 ings in Islington. He was a man of coarse habits 
 and depraved disposition — a kind of minotaur, half 
 man and half brute. Soured by losses and dis- 
 tress, he became ultimately a very pest in society ; 
 and acquired a notoriety at Southampton, which 
 the following decent hand-bill, circulated by him 
 in that place, will sufficiently prove : — 
 
 " TO THE rUBLIC. 
 
 '* It having been intimated to me that I have 
 materially injured myself in the minds of the inha- 
 bitants of this place, by meddling with affairs that 
 do not concern me, and lampooning characters who 
 are known to have powerful friends and connexions 
 in and near this place, (alluding to the disrespectful
 
 396 AN INFAMOUS 
 
 introduction of Mr. Kemble and Mrs. Siddons in 
 the song of Rooney O'Rogherty,) allow me to 
 observe, for the information of all those of the 
 Kemble faction whom it may concern, that Mr 
 Kemble and Mrs. Siddons, as public characters be- 
 come public property ; and that I, as a similar public 
 character, have a right to make a public use of their 
 name in a public manner at a public place of amuse- 
 ment. I hope this will explain that point, with all 
 due publicity, to the public partizans of these Thea- 
 trical Publicans and sinners. 
 
 " Mr. Kemble and Mrs. Siddons richly deserve 
 what they are known to have, the contempt of every 
 actor in the profession, though all must admire and 
 revere their professional talents and merits. Mrs. 
 Siddons, in particular, deserves the execrations, 
 public and private, of every member of the South- 
 ampton theatre, for her shameful conduct during 
 her stay here. But whether the Kembles and their 
 adherents be pleased or not at my conduct, it is to 
 me perfectly immaterial. I have asserted and main- 
 tained my rights to do so, and shall continue to 
 do so ; and, moreover, as Mrs. Galindo is publish- 
 ing the Life of Mrs. Siddons, with Anecdotes, Let- 
 ters, &c., let her apply to me, and I will help her 
 to a few genuine traits of that overgrown mass of 
 pride, hypocrisy, insolence, arrogance, and over- 
 bcarance, that emblem of envy, hatred, malice, and 
 all uncharitableness.
 
 HAND-BILL. 397 
 
 " If I have done wrong, I am amenable to the 
 laws of my country, and am willing to abide by 
 them ; but, at this juncture, no one seems safe from 
 the tyrannic gripe of the myrmidons of that Bow 
 Street Radamanthus, who administers justice with 
 rigid adherence to impartiality, while he tramples 
 on the privileges of Magna Charta and the Rights of 
 the people; or the eloquent Westminster Lycurgus, 
 who, unblushingly, attempted to corrode the minds 
 of a British jury with the subtle poison of prejudice. 
 
 " No Englishman, with these examples before his 
 eyes, can, for a moment, if he truly loves his coun- 
 try, refrain from expressing his abhorrence of those 
 who are the immediate cause of it. And as the 
 stage was originally intended to be the scourge of 
 the follies and vices of the age, I shall always, while 
 I continue the profession of an English actor, 
 endeavour to lash them severely wherever they 
 assume a tangible shape. Meanwhile, I beg leave 
 to assure a just and impartial British public, that 
 they will always find me 
 
 "Their most devoted Servant, 
 
 " R. Stapleton." 
 
 Captain Caulfield, the next Bedlamite, had held 
 a commission in the first regiment of guards, and 
 was so successful in the Pic Nic exhibitions, that 
 Harris invited him to Covent Garden Theatre, where 
 he appeared in 1803 in the character of Hamlet.
 
 398 CAPTAIN CAULFIELD. 
 
 It was said to have been a very accomplished per- 
 formance, and this he repeated on several occasions; 
 but Cohnan's comedy of ''John BulV being now 
 produced for the first time, took the lead of all 
 other performances, and the captain was conse- 
 quently superseded. 
 
 The Duke of York was present at Caulfield's first 
 appearance, and finding " he would be an actor," 
 permitted the sale of his commission. At the end 
 of this season, the Captain proceeded to Bath, where 
 he played Richard III., Sir Giles Overreach, and 
 some other characters with equal success, and would 
 inevitably have made a gallant stand in his new- 
 profession, but for the distinguished part he played 
 in the Court of King's Bench, where he appeared, 
 in 1804, as defendant in a case of Crim. Con., being 
 cast in a new part, namely, that of damages to the 
 amount of 2000/. 
 
 He now became a prisoner in the custody of the 
 above court, and expired afterwards in lodgings at 
 Hampton in September, 1808. 
 
 Caulfield was intended for a man of sense, but 
 having bartered the fee simple of his wisdom for 
 the uncertain tenancy of a wit, he outlived his 
 estate, and eventually died a beggar. 
 
 His body was conveyed, not 
 
 "As Hook conceals his hero, in a cask !" 
 
 but in the case of a piano-forte, to Melina Place,
 
 JOHN FULLER. 399 
 
 St. George's Fields, from which spot it was " honour- 
 ably interred." Jones, the Marshal of the King's 
 Bench Prison, was sentenced to pay 2100/. on 
 Caulfield's escape. 
 
 An attack of another nature, namely, rheumatic 
 gout, prevented Greville from carrying on these 
 reunions on the following season. A more fashion- 
 able situation had now been considered absolutely 
 necessary, and the Hanover Square rooms were 
 partly engaged for future operations; but the Colonel 
 finally agreed on securing JolifFe's old house in Little 
 Argyle-street, which was, in fact, the rise and pro- 
 gress of that establishment, since known as the 
 " Argyle Rooms." 
 
 This being arranged on a still more elegant and 
 extensive plan than the former building, the "Pic 
 Nics" resumed their entertainments. These pro- 
 ceeded with great vigour for one or two seasons 
 more, and Greville, by his interest, obtained finally 
 a licence for music, burlettas, and English operas. 
 
 Mr. Fuller, member for Sussex, commonly known 
 as the eccentric " Jack Fuller," was a constant 
 attendant on these soirees, and on one occasion his 
 amatory temperament had nearly brought him in 
 rough collision with another subscriber, but which 
 was timely prevented by a somewhat ludicrous inci- 
 dent. • 
 
 During part of this entertainment, Mr. Fuller, 
 who had for a time been oglmg a remarkably
 
 400 A FRACAS. 
 
 handsome woman, sitting at some distance, and 
 attended by an equally " smart young man," be- 
 gan now to express himself in very audible and 
 unequivocal terms of admiration, accompanying 
 the same by a manner so impatient of restraint, 
 as not only to attract the lady and her cavaliere 
 servante, but to engage the attention of the whole 
 assembly. 
 
 Irritated at length by the continued behaviour of 
 the honourable member, the friend of the lady 
 rose suddenly up, and was in the act of an hostile 
 advance towards the offender, when, unfortunately, 
 he capsized a bottle of hot negus partly over the 
 satin slip of his fair companion, and partly over his 
 own small clothes, which being composed of an 
 article at that time much in vogue, namely, nan- 
 keen, produced the most ludicrous and distressing 
 consequences. 
 
 The ridiculous is ever irresistible, and though the 
 right was assuredly on the side of the enraged gen- 
 tleman, yet the laugh was unfortunately against 
 him ; and Jack Fuller was consequently brought 
 off the hero of the adventure. 
 
 On the 23rd of March, EUiston issued an adver- 
 tisement, announcing that the Royal Circus would 
 be opened on the Easter Monday ensuing, at his 
 direction ; and stated his determination of placing 
 the entertainments under the joint management of 
 persons of the most approved abilities ; that he had
 
 ELLISTON, CAPTAIN MACIIEATH. 401 
 
 embarked in the undertaking, with a view of giving 
 to its exhibitions all the excellence of which they 
 might be capable, within the privilege of his 
 licence. 
 
 The whole of the interior was refitted and em- 
 bellished with good taste ; additional private boxes 
 were constructed, and the ensemble bore the aspect 
 of complete novelty. The house was opened as 
 announced, on April the 3rd, with a new prelude, 
 entitled, " Albert and Adela ; or, the Invisible Aven- 
 gers," a melo-dramatic spectacle, to which was added 
 a comic pantomime, called " Harlequin's Resource ; 
 or, the Witch of Ludlam." 
 
 EUiston's engagement at the Lyceum, prevented 
 his appearing at his own theatre, until the 1 6th of 
 June, when he made his entree as Captain Macheath, 
 in a Burletta melodram, in three parts, founded on 
 the "Beggar's Opera" — before which, he spoke an 
 address, whereof we offer a brief extract in allusion 
 to the Horse Circus : — 
 
 " At home, then, view me — where, unawed by rule, 
 The gravest sometimes dare to play the fool ; 
 To cheer the heart, — make every plan their choice, — 
 And e'en turn singers, utiposscss' d of voice : 
 That thought has nearly stopp'd my scanty breath, 
 While flitting past, appears to frown Macheath: 
 Minims and Crotchets seem to weep and wail, 
 And like king Richard's ghosts my ears assail: 
 Richard, wjio here might bawl in tragic strain, 
 ' A Horse I a Horse !' nor bawl for one in vain ! 
 
 D U
 
 402 DR. BUSBY. 
 
 While the poor Captain's strains, less prized by half, 
 Perchance may only raise a loud horse-laugh! 
 But then, like all Macheaths, I feel a hope, 
 You'll ask from me no feats upon the rope ; 
 But, mingling mercy with dramatic laws, 
 Assuage my doom: — transport me, with applause !" 
 
 So absolute was the success of this experiment, 
 that the burletta was acted for fifty nights, when an 
 adventure was made of a far more startUng charac- 
 ter, namely, a grand ballet of action, with music, 
 &c., founded on the " Macbeth" of Shakspeare ! 
 This galimafree was produced early in September, 
 and preceded by an entree, composed in the saccha- 
 rine of rhyme, by the hands of Dr. Busby, and in- 
 troduced by Elliston himself as maitre d'hStel. 
 
 It was a composition mixed with all manner of 
 good things, from the conserve of ^schylus to the 
 sweet-meats of Shakspeare. In a literary point of 
 view, the classic doctor appeared to invoke the spirit 
 of his great departed namesake, the pedagogue of 
 Dryden and the flagellation of Prior, by setting in 
 one view the whole inspiration of man, from the 
 days "When music, heavenly maid, was young," to 
 the new score of the Royal Circus. 
 
 We rejoice that this valuable original has been 
 preserved, and we hasten to give it to the reader. 
 The narrow licence under which the Circus was 
 permitted to give theatrical entertainments, prohi- 
 biting the use of speech, is most curiously alluded
 
 NEW PROLOGUE TO MACBETH. 403 
 
 to. The lines of Gay were alone wanting to render 
 this production complete. 
 
 Actors ' of late are finely ridden — 
 A parrot's privilege forbidden !'" 
 
 PROLOGUE TO THE BALLET OF MACBETH, 
 
 Notv performing at the Royal Circus, (1809.) 
 Spoken hy Mr. Elliston. Written by Dr. Busby. 
 
 " With nature, and the energies of man, 
 The reign of poesj' and song began ; 
 The joyful paean swell'd upon the gale, 
 And simple pastoral charm'd the silent vale. 
 But chief the drama's sweet delusion stole 
 The captive sense, and wrapt the yielding soul. 
 To jEschyhis, majestic as severe, 
 Enlighten'd Athens lent the astonish'd ear ; 
 Euripides dissolved with softest art, 
 And lofty Sophocles sublimed the heart ; 
 While Aristophanes the poignant lay 
 Of satire woke, and vice was laugh'd away. 
 
 Italia heard and felt the vivid strain, 
 And arch Thalia spread her frolic reign. 
 Stern Rome relax'd at Plautus' comic fire. 
 And in chaste Terence hail'd Menander's lyre. 
 Then sank the stage, ordain'd in after times 
 To rise again, and bless more western climes. 
 Spain Vega saw resume the tragic flame. 
 Arid Calderons wit insured immortal fame; 
 Gallia the gay Moliere true humour taught, 
 And bold Corneille the classic furor caught. 
 
 D D 2
 
 404 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Fair Albion, too, the scenic harp essay'd, 
 
 And Jonson's learned sock her skill display'd. 
 
 Shakspeaue arose I full orb'd her genius shone, 
 
 The ancient stars all blazed again in one. 
 
 O'er wild imagination's rich domain 
 
 He held a glorious undisputed reign ; 
 
 The regions of existence all too poor, 
 
 He seized her treasures and created more. 
 
 Faithful to Nature and the Drama's law, 
 
 From this great source our promised scenes we draw ; 
 
 Macbeth, the regicide Macbeth, portray, 
 
 His ruthless consort, and her direful sway. 
 
 Though not indulged with fullest powers of speech, 
 The poet's object we aspire to reach ; 
 The emphatic gesture, eloquence of eye. 
 Scenes, music, every energy we try, — 
 To prove we keep our duties full in view, 
 And what we must not say, resolved to do ; 
 Convinced that you will deem our zeal sincere, 
 Since more by deeds than words, it will appear." 
 
 As manager and lessee of the theatre, Elliston 
 felt he could not with strict propriety advertise 
 his name for a benefit ; but with the quick percep- 
 tion of a Father Joseph, he attained all the advan- 
 tages of such a measure, by announcing in the bills, 
 " that on the 27th of September, he would " address 
 the audience" in acknowledgment of the kindness of 
 their patronage, and enter on further explanations 
 respecting his scheme of management. 
 
 Never was a word better chosen — it was a ma- 
 nagement worthy a seat on the treasury bench, for
 
 A SPEECH AND BENEFIT. 405 
 
 it certainly filled his exchequer, and at the same 
 time kept the people in good humour. 
 
 The house was filled, on the night in question, in 
 every part. The boxes were graced by nobility, and 
 the audience was altogether brilliant as numerous. 
 Elliston acted Macbeth, and recited Collins' cele- 
 brated Ode. Then came the speech — his thanks 
 were abundant, and his promises for the future, 
 liberal. He designated his theatre as a " dramatic 
 asylum, open to the burnt-out actors of Drury," 
 and mingled so many lofty sentiments with the 
 objects of pleasure, that even his neighbour Row- 
 land Hill might have mitigated somewhat of his 
 severity in respect of playhouses, or extended friend 
 Elliston as liberal a boon as to his beloved brother, 
 William Walker, the lecturer. 
 
 In conclusion, Elliston took leave to remark that 
 many worthy members of his company would be 
 taking benefits in the course of the ensuing three 
 weeks, on all and every occasion of which, " he 
 himself should appear in two of his favourite cha- 
 racters." 
 
 The house then adjourned in perfect good hu- 
 mour. 
 
 " Doubtless the pleasure is as great 
 In being cheated as to cheat." 
 
 For June, (1809,) there is a minute entered on 
 the Drury Lane theatrical fund books, — that a 
 paragraph be forwarded to the Morning Chronicle,
 
 406 Sheridan's appointment. 
 
 returning Mr. Elliston thanks of the corporation, for 
 the sum of fifty pounds, contributed by him to the 
 service of the decayed brethren. 
 
 On the 25th July, a letter was addressed to 
 Elliston, signed by Richard Peake, (Treasurer,) and 
 Charles Ward, (Secretary,) giving him notice, under 
 the direction of the proprietors of Drury Lane 
 Theatre, that the Lyceum would open, by their ma- 
 nagement, about the middle of September, and that 
 they should not propose any abatement, or compro- 
 mise of salary, &c. 
 
 On the following day, in his reply, Elliston in- 
 quired whether the Lyceum were to be opened in 
 virtue of the patent, for in that case, he should do 
 all which the terms of his engagement with the 
 patentees had imposed on him ; but if any other 
 kind of authority had been assumed, he requested 
 that no dependence should be placed in him. 
 
 Sheridan took up the business at issue, and wrote 
 to Elliston, appointing a meeting, which the actor 
 thought proper to decline, unless he had a personal 
 friend present. This was agreed to, and a meeting, 
 which to the surprise of all the world interested in 
 these matters, actually took place, by Sheridan being 
 punctual to his assignation. But nothing, alas ! 
 was effected. The appointment was made at the 
 house of a convivial and common friend ; all par- 
 ties were awfully the worse for wine, and nothing 
 was done, except
 
 THOMAS SHERIDAN. 407 
 
 Mr. Thomas Slieridan, after reading the whole 
 correspondence, despatched the following letter : — 
 
 " 1 J, South Audley-street, 22nd Sept., 1809. 
 
 '< Sir, — Having carefully perused the correspon- 
 dence between you and Mr. Ward, respecting your 
 engagement with the proprietors of the late Drury 
 Lane Theatre ; and the whole of what passed at 
 the theatre on Tuesday, in the presence of Mr. 
 Phipps, having been communicated to me, I feel 
 myself called upon, as the person who made the 
 engagement with you, as w^ell as from my situation 
 in the management of the theatre, frankly to expos- 
 tulate with you on your conduct, before any mea- 
 sures of legal hostility are resorted to, which, 
 however, our duty to our renters and the other 
 claimants on the property, must compel us to resort 
 to, in the case of your refusing to fulfil so clear and 
 positive an agreement, executed, with all form, after 
 the fullest deliberation and discussion. 
 
 " I first enclose to you an authenticated copy 
 of the article executed between us on the 10th 
 of March, 1807, and the form and terms of 
 which I must take the liberty of presuming were 
 not in your recollection when you entertained 
 the idea of disputing its validity, and doubting 
 your being strictly bound by its contents. I under- 
 stand, however, that my father made you a projio- 
 sition on Tuesday, which was immediately assented
 
 408 HIS LETTER 
 
 to by you and Mr. Phipps, as a fair and equitable 
 proposal. This proposal was, to refer the ques- 
 tion between us to the arbitration of three honour- 
 able men, not implicated in the dispute ; and instead 
 of proceeding in written or verbal altercation, or 
 adopting the still more unpleasant appeal to a court 
 of law, to abide by their decision. This proposition, 
 I am informed, was not adopted in any form, be- 
 cause my father's (in my mind) too liberal sugges- 
 tion to dispense with your attendance till the time 
 you declared yourself tied to your own concern had 
 expired, namely, the 27th of October, appeared to 
 remove every difficulty from your mind. 
 
 " I now, therefore, have only to declare that I 
 here formally repeat to you the proposition above 
 stated, namely, that the question shall be referred 
 to a fair and honourable arbitration ; and if that 
 decision shall be that you are not bound in honour, 
 honesty, and law, to fulfil, under all the present cir- 
 cumstances, every part of that article and covenant, 
 (the copy of which I have enclosed to you,) I 
 will, without complaint, release you from every 
 claim, which I am now called upon and bound to 
 assert. 
 
 " I think nothing more is necessary to be said, 
 than to express my confidence, that you and 
 Mr. Phipps, as men of honour, cannot refuse 
 this offer. On this consideration, I have to re- 
 mind you, that your engagement for five years.
 
 AND REMONSTRANCE. 409 
 
 of which three remain, at the hberal, if not un- 
 precedented, salary of 28/. per week, was ac- 
 ceded to at your own pressing request ; that the 
 length of the engagement would enable you to 
 settle, and bring Mrs. Elliston to town, which, 
 upon a short engagement you could not do ; nor 
 will I observe at present on the peculiar moment 
 you have chosen for endeavouring to desert us, 
 when you must be conscious there is neither time 
 nor probable means to supply your place, and wdien 
 I should have hoped that every performer of a 
 liberal mind, reflecting on the liberal treatment 
 they have uniformly experienced, would have been 
 peculiarly anxious to shew some recollection of 
 that treatment, and some reluctance to assist, by 
 their conduct in aggravating, the calamity of the fire 
 which had destroyed our property. 
 
 " I remain, Sir, 
 
 " Your obedient servant, 
 
 ^j t^yy-i^^y^y^ 
 
 ^iO't^,.^^ 
 
 " To R. W. Elliston, Esq." 
 
 To this communication from Mr. Thomas Sheri- 
 dan, Elliston replies on the following day.
 
 410 elliston's reply 
 
 " To Tlionias Sheridan, Esq. 
 " Stratford Place, 23rd September, 1809. 
 
 " Sir, — I have received your letter of last night, 
 inclosing a copy of my agreement with the proprie- 
 tors of the late Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. 
 
 " Were any evidence necessary to shew that I have 
 not entered into any engagement under which I can 
 be required to perform for the concern at the Ly- 
 ceum, this document would afford the most decisive 
 proof of that fact. I cannot imagine, on the pe- 
 rusal of this paper, by what mistake of judgment 
 you, or any person, can venture to affirm that I am 
 bound to perform under circumstances so foreign 
 to any in which I stand pledged. 
 
 " It is true, that in the conference I had the honour 
 of holding with your father, Mr. Sheridan, on 
 Tuesday last, at which Mr. Phipps was present, I 
 did not object to Mr. Sheridan's suggestion of re- 
 ferring the question of law to the arbitration of 
 lawyers, but it is not true that I gave, nor that Mr. 
 Phipps on my behalf gave, any absolute assent to 
 that measure. On the contrary, I considered, and 
 Mr. Phipps also believed, all that passed, as subject 
 to the result of my further deliberation, and with 
 that result you have been acquainted. 
 
 " I would now, however, concur in a reference to 
 arbitrators, as to the point of law, if I could discover 
 anything whereon to arbitrate. It is as clear to me 
 as the sun at noon, that the parties engaged in the
 
 AND RESOLUTIONS. 411 
 
 Lyceum concern have not a pretence to my ser- 
 vices, excepting on my own choice ; and my own 
 choice does not induce me to join them. 
 
 " Why, as a mere matter of election, I do not 
 choose to act under the Lyceum scheme, I think it, 
 at present, unnecessary to explain in any detailed 
 form. On a point of inclination, I am not bound 
 to assign my reasons to any man. In the present 
 instance, I am fully prepared to assign reasons, 
 which, I am sure, would be as satisfactory to the 
 world as they are to my own mind. I desire not, 
 however, to occasion offence or vexation, uselessly, 
 to any person ; and I will go into no expositions, 
 therefore, unless provocation should render them 
 unavoidable. 
 
 " Instead of arbitration, I should earnestly re- 
 commend to you to submit the terms of my engage- 
 ment to some competent legal adviser. I have ad- 
 vised with no lawyer ; but I am strongly inclined 
 to believe that no one will be indiscreet enough to 
 urge you to any legal measures against me. 
 
 " If such measures, hovrever, be adopted, I am 
 quite ready to meet them ; or any imputation 
 which may be attempted to be thrown on the pro- 
 priety and uprightness of the feelings by which I 
 am actuated. 
 
 " On the score of the liberality I have expe- 
 rienced, and the obligation I am presumed to be 
 under on that account, I really have nothing to add
 
 412 A GREEK POET. 
 
 to what I have already written. It is somewhat 
 strange that it should be necessary to force upon 
 me, that which is supposed to be so greatly to my 
 advantage. 
 
 " You forbear, you say, to observe on the time I 
 have chosen for expressing my determination. Had 
 you not read the correspondence which has passed, 
 I should have imagined that you meant to describe 
 the present moment to be that time. You must 
 surely have perceived that, in the reply I made to 
 the letters I received from Mr. Ward and Mr. Peake, 
 two months ago, I expressly desired that no reliance 
 might be placed on my assistance. Any further 
 answer to your remark on this point would be 
 needless. " I remain, Sir, 
 
 " Your obedient Servant, 
 
 " R. W. Elliston." 
 
 We must own we do not observe much argu- 
 ment in our friend's reply, nor is it quite so intel- 
 ligible as we could wish. It reminds us somewhat 
 of Lycophro, a Greek poet, who deemed the highest 
 praise of language was to be obscure. He declared 
 he would hang himself if any were found to under- 
 stand his poem — "The Prophecy of Cassandra." 
 He, however, had not the slightest occasion to put 
 his threat into execution. 
 
 To the above letter, a formal notice was speedily 
 added.
 
 ANOTHER theatre! 413 
 
 " Mr. Elliston. — I hereby call upon you, ac- 
 cording to your engagement, to perforna the part of 
 Don Felix in the " Wonder," on Wednesday, the 
 4th of October next ensuing, and to attend on Mon- 
 day preceding to rehearse the same at the Lyceum 
 Theatre, in the Strand, where his Majesty's servants, 
 forming the Drury Lane company, are for the pre- 
 sent to perform. Your obedient servant, 
 
 " Thos. Sheridan. 
 
 «* R. W. Elliston, Esq." 
 
 Notice upon notice was repeated to the same ef- 
 fect, from manager, prompter, treasurer, and secre- 
 tary, to all of which Elliston gave reply, that he 
 " would not play at the Lyceum under the arrange- 
 ment which then existed." 
 
 Proceedings were then commenced on the part 
 of Sheridan and others, for breach of contract. In 
 the meantime, however, a long and tedious cor- 
 respondence on the subject occupied the parties 
 interested. The result was, an abandonment of the 
 action, and the actor left, for the present, master of 
 the field. 
 
 In the August of this year, Elliston, but just freed 
 from the troubles of a threatened lawsuit, with the 
 Circus engagement on his hands, and various minor 
 anxieties pressing upon him, purchased the free- 
 hold of the Croydon Theatre for 940/.^ with a fur- 
 ther outlay of 100/. for scenery, wardrobe, &c. The
 
 414 A DISASTER. 
 
 expenses of conveyance, &c., were 891., the whole 
 amounting to 1200/. before he got possession. 
 
 This speculation was altogether an unfortunate 
 affair. The parties to whom Elliston afterwards let 
 the property became involved, and the landlord 
 found himself on the high road of a similar jour- 
 ney.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Dr. Busby — Whimsey of Bannister — An actor of one part — 
 Tom Cooke — Anecdotes respecting him — A high note — A 
 note higher — Irish theatricals — Mrs. Billington — A peep 
 through a key-hole — EUiston at Manchester — An Irish 
 benefit, in 1758 — An enraged patroness — Memorial to the 
 King — Colonel Taylor — Petition to the House of Com- 
 mons — Sir T. Turton — Perceval's letter to Elliston — " Third 
 Theatre" petition — A pawnbroker's wife — Tottenham Street 
 Theatre — Privy council — Sheridan — Mrs. T. Sheridan — 
 Expenses of Petition. 
 
 At the termination of his first season at the Royal 
 Circus, EUiston entered on a new speculation — one 
 more theatre ! — the Manchester, which he opened 
 with an excellent company, on the 4th of Decem- 
 ber, and an address written by his own laureat, (as 
 he styled him,) Dr. Busby. 
 
 Dr. Busby appears to have been no faint sha- 
 dowing of his forerunners, Elkanan Settle, and 
 Stephen Duck ; for although never contesting 
 the palm with a Dryden, or admitted into the 
 boudoir of a Caroline, yet the journals teemed 
 with his poetry, and theatres were redolent of 
 his addresses. He affected the Pindaric rather
 
 416 A VVHIMSEY OF BANNISTER. 
 
 than the Epic — the Muse without stays, as the 
 sprightly Tom Brown designates her, rather than 
 the sterner lady in whalebone. 
 
 But Elliston and Ellistonian affairs were the poet's 
 principal theme. They contributed to each other's 
 fame — it was a joint policy of immortality ; and 
 though the great Edmund Kean might have talked 
 of his secretary, it was reserved for princes and our 
 own hero to move under the irradiation of a Muse. 
 
 EUiston's success during his short season at this 
 place was unequivocal ; and he played some of his 
 characters (as he frequently did in the country) 
 with far better spirit than before his metropolitan 
 friends. 
 
 An incident, humorous in its way, occurred 
 during this brief campaign, for which we by no 
 means vouch, but give only on report. Jack Ban- 
 nister happening to be at Manchester at the time, 
 though not of the company, (having refused, in fact, 
 to take any engagement,) by way of amusement 
 induced Elliston to advertise him under a feigned 
 name, for some small part in a comedy, announcing 
 at the same time that, between the play and farce, the 
 gentleman would " attempt a scene in the ' Children 
 in the Wood,' after the manner of the celebrated Mr. 
 John Bannister, of the Theatre Royal Drury Lane." 
 
 Bannister acted his part in the play, which being 
 very inconsiderable, he was suffered to pass un- 
 noticed ; at the conclusion of which, the curtain 
 
 /^/j
 
 BANNISTER. 417 
 
 again rose for the imitation. On walks the mimic, 
 in suitable costume, as perfect a Walter as ever 
 appeared on the boards of the Haymarket. Ban- 
 nister here made his bow to some trifling applause, 
 and then entering on the scene, which he had se- 
 lected for the purpose, went through the whole of 
 it after his best manner. 
 
 But the interruptions were many ; for scarcely 
 had he spoken three lines, when he was saluted by 
 a most distinct hiss. This was soon followed by 
 a laugh, and presently cries of, " Off, off! trash ! 
 — hiss, hiss !" — announced to the poor country p7-e- 
 sumer that he had entirely failed. In fact, he was 
 most completely damned. He now ventured to 
 address the audience — but no — they would not hear 
 him ; — they w^ere thoroughly disgusted at the at- 
 tempt of imitation, which a journal of the Saturday 
 following declared, was the vilest that had ever been 
 offered the public. 
 
 So much for the joke. Bannister enjoyed the 
 affair heartily ; but the true state of the case being 
 in a very few days generally made known, EUiston 
 found himself in no little disgrace with his Man- 
 chester friends. The laugh was so completely 
 turned against them, that EUiston was compelled 
 to get out of the scrape by a most unqualitied 
 apology. 
 
 On one of the latter nights of his renting the 
 
 E E
 
 418 AN ACTOR OF ONE PART. 
 
 theatre, Elliston acted The Three Singles.* The 
 person Avho was to have played the part of Renaud, 
 was taken suddenly ill during the very representa- 
 tion of the piece, w^lien Ward, the leader of the band, 
 laying down his fiddle, volunteered to finish the 
 character ; which being received by sounds of ap- 
 plause, he jumped on the stage, and went through 
 the business with admirable art. Owing to his suc- 
 cess on this remarkable occasion, Ward determined 
 to hang up his fiddle and turn actor. He made 
 several attempts in other characters, but signally 
 failed in them all. Renaud, however, stuck to him 
 like a plaster. 
 
 This is another instance of that monophlox, so re- 
 markable in poor Desborough in the early part of 
 this history. Steele, in the " Guardian," has given 
 an amusing account of one William Peer, an actor 
 who took his degree with Betterton, Kynaston, and 
 
 * Admirable as Elliston was in these parts, we cannot refrain 
 quoting a passage from the observations of Congreve — in a 
 letter to Dryden — on personal defects being mistaken for humour 
 — a sentiment in which we so thoroughly concur — he says- — 
 " Sure the poet must both be very ill-natured himself, and 
 think his audience so, when he proposes, by shewing a man 
 deformed, or deaf, or blind, (or an idiot,) to give them an 
 agreeable entertainment. In one of your letters to me, you 
 have justly noticed this immoral part of ridicule in Corbaccios 
 character, in Jonson's ' Fox ;' and here, I must agree with you 
 to blame him, whom otherwise I cannot enough admire, for his 
 great mastery of true humour in comedy."
 
 THOMAS COOKE. 410 
 
 Harris ; whose memory has been preserved to pos- 
 terity, by playing only one part. But this single 
 part was such a point de resistance in his career, that 
 it has established his solid fame. The character was 
 that of the actor in " Hamlet." No one could repeat 
 the lines like him, 
 
 " For us and for our tragedy, 
 Here stooping to your clemency, 
 We beg your hearing patiently." 
 
 " His whole action in life," says the essayist, " de- 
 pended on his speaking these three lines, which he 
 did better than any man else in the world." Had 
 William Peer played the part of Hamlet itself pass- 
 ingly well, he had not, in all probability, been known 
 to that generation which now elevates the lamp of 
 his renown on the tripod of these three lines. 
 
 A very similar occurrence to that of Ward, took 
 place at Covent Garden theatre, not many years 
 since. Braham was taken ill during the first act of 
 the " Cabinet," when Wood ham, a trumpeter in the 
 orchestra, as an amicus theatri, took up the part of 
 Orlando, and went through the music and songs 
 with remarkable effect. He also, on this success, 
 turned his attention to the stage, but failed in all 
 future attempts. Providence thus, for a special 
 purpose, seems to give a momentary inspiration. 
 
 But perhaps the most remarkable instance of 
 general and permanent talent, is that of Tom Cooke, 
 who was, par excellence, a leader in Dublin, and after- 
 
 E E 2
 
 420 A HIGH NOTE. 
 
 wards principal singer both in that theatre and 
 Drury Lane. Nothing comes amiss to this gentle- 
 man in the shape of music, and few things appear 
 to baffle him, in any form. 
 
 Thomas, when only eight years old, played a con- 
 certo on the violin and violoncello for his father's 
 benefit, and was scarcely nine, when he became a 
 member of the theatrical orchestra, Birmingham. 
 Suett was at that time in the company, who, being a 
 good musician, introduced a song at his benefit, 
 with music of his own composing, and an obligato 
 part for the tenor. On the day this composition was 
 rehearsed, the tenor player declared the music was 
 too difficult, either for him or any one else to at- 
 tempt, and gave it up. Suett was greatly chagrined 
 at being thus deprived of the opportunity for dis- 
 playing his talent as a composer, when the leader 
 of the band observed, " I think Tom Cooke could 
 manage it." 
 
 "What! that boy!" shrieked Dicky Suett. 
 
 " Yes, Sir, that boy !" replied the conductor. 
 Tom then came forward, and taking up the instru- 
 ment, succeeded so well, that even the malice of 
 professional rivalry, like the tarantula, was charmed, 
 and the whole orchestra responded by a burst of 
 applause. The bills of the night, in advertising this 
 benefit, announced " an obligato accompaniment on 
 the tenor, by Master Cooke, aged nine years."" 
 
 " This will immortalize you," said one of the 
 actors to little Tom.
 
 A NOTE HIGHER. 421 
 
 " And so it should," answered the boy, " lor the 
 announcement is in the words of a tomb-stone." 
 
 The attempt was eminently successful, and Tom 
 Cooke, like the great Francis Bacon, found himself 
 famous before he had entered his teens. 
 
 In the following winter, Mrs. Billington, being 
 engaged at the Dublin theatre, was rehearsing, one 
 morning, the music of " Love in a Village," in 
 which she tried a song, " Shun, ye fair," newly set 
 by Giordani, for the purpose of displaying the great 
 compass of her voice. In one passage she reached 
 a high note. Young Cooke, who was just then below 
 in the orchestra, in the humour of the moment, 
 imitated this note — or forged it — so exactly, that 
 the attention of Mrs Billington was attracted. She 
 immediately sent for the lad and requested him to 
 repeat the offence, and this he not only did, but ag- 
 gravated the matter by a still higher flight ; to which 
 the siren herself, afterwards attempting, could 
 not attain. Mrs. Billington was indeed surprised, 
 but not out of her generosity, for she was as pleased 
 also as little Tom himself, and rewarding him by a 
 crown, he went away as happy as a king. 
 
 Some few years afterwards, Tom Cooke and an 
 ally, one Fulham, entered into a theatrical specula- 
 tion for o})ening a house at Carlow, which, though 
 being a county town, had hitherto been destitute of 
 dramatic amusements. Our two adventurers hired 
 a kind of shed for the purpose, at the end of which 
 was a blacksmith's forge, and the whole was pre-
 
 422 IRISH THEATRICALS. 
 
 sently converted into a playhouse. A circle of 
 boxes — which was, in fact, a quadrangle of benches 
 — was soon supplied, and a pit tolerably arranged ; 
 but the actors were puzzled a Httle about a gallery. 
 However, as few things came amiss to the quick 
 perceptions of Tom Cooke, as we have before ob- 
 served, accommodation was secured in this manner. 
 
 Under the roof of the said shed, were open beams 
 or rafters, and these supports were able to contain a 
 certain quantity of persons, with their legs dangling 
 over the pit. So far seemed satisfactory ; but in 
 what manner the ladies and gentlemen were to 
 mount to their perch, did not so clearly appear. 
 At last it w^as settled. There was a small window 
 at the top of the barn, opening into the street, to 
 which, on the outside of the building, a long 
 ladder was placed, at the foot of which stood the 
 money-taker. Thus, all things finally arranged, 
 the opening night arrived. The theatre was filled 
 in every part, for which the ladder experiment was 
 pre-eminently successful, for the humour of the 
 thing brought more ha'pence than the play. The 
 Carlow boys enjoyed it to their very hearts, — the 
 whooping and shrieking, both in ascent and descent, 
 was a complete Irish christening. 
 
 The play was " Love in a Village" — Young Mea- 
 dows, by Tom Cooke, and Justice Woodcock by Ful- 
 ham. The company was confined to five men and 
 three women, and the orchestra entirely dispensed
 
 MRS. BILLINGTON. 423 
 
 with. As a substitute for the latter, the playhouse 
 violin was hung up on one of the side scenes, and 
 another hired from a neighbouring dnnking-shop, 
 suspended on the opposite wing. When Cooke was 
 on the stage, Fulham performed on the public- 
 house instrument, and when Fulham was before the 
 audience, Cooke did wonders on the stock fiddle — 
 for he was first violin, second, tenor, bass — a tho- 
 rough and complete band ! 
 
 The afterpiece was " Don Juan," which had been 
 wisely selected for the purpose of bringing the black- 
 smith's forge into play, and the Libertine made his 
 final exit amidst a shower of fire, which had de- 
 manded no rehearsal. 
 
 The later history of Mr. Cooke is pretty generally 
 known to all those who have felt any interest in 
 theatrical concerns during the last twenty years ; 
 and more intimately by those whose taste may have 
 led them to appreciate the best music. Fortunately 
 for that science, and most fortunately for an exten- 
 sive circle of private friends, Mr. Cooke is still in 
 the vigour of his talent, which is associated with 
 the worth of amiable qualities and a lively fancy — 
 for it is not too much to say, Mr. Cooke is one of 
 the most agreeable companions that society might 
 be desirous of possessing. 
 
 Of Mrs. Billington there is an anecdote not to be 
 found in the " Biographical Dictionary of Music." 
 Soon after Miss Weichsell (which was her maiden
 
 424 A PEEP THROUGH A KEY-HOLE : 
 
 name) had married Mr. Billington, she was engaged 
 at the Dublin Theatre. Mrs. Daly, the manager's 
 wife, had for some time entertained troublesome 
 suspicions, that her husband had discovered greater 
 happiness in the society of the accomplished voca- 
 list, than was seemly for an honest man and the 
 father of a family. In fact, she determined to watch 
 the parties narrowly ; and on one eventful evening, 
 planting herself in a crouching position, just under 
 the lock of the manager's^ dressing-room in the 
 theatre, she testified, through the key-hole, all that 
 her worst fears had whispered her. Resolving 
 not to disturb the harmonious concept within, 
 as some enraged women would have done, Mrs. 
 Daly tripped nimbly off for the purpose of bring- 
 ing Mr. Billington himself, to partake the disclo- 
 sures of the kev-hole, and share in the entertain- 
 ment. 
 
 Having, therefore, amused themselves by alter- 
 nate bobs at the kaleidoscopic combinations within, 
 for some few minutes, Mr. B. (with as much pru- 
 dence as Mrs. D.) conducted himself with equal 
 forbearance, looking for better satisfaction than 
 any noisy heroism, or trash about injured honour, 
 by calling up a score of scene-shifters and super- 
 numeraries to have a peep also. 
 
 Mr. Billington, having thus got his legal wit- 
 nesses together, (for he appears to have had some 
 knowledge of the law of evidence,) was not long
 
 RESULTS. 425 
 
 before he commenced his action — process for pro- 
 cess — when the lady protested that, if the dressing- 
 room affair ever found its way into any other court, 
 she would never again appear on the Dublin stage. 
 This resolution was in every way masterly for the 
 case of the defendant, for Mr. Daly also as posi- 
 tively declared that, if she refused performing, he 
 would immediately proceed against her husband for 
 the forfeiture of 500/ , according to her professional 
 agreement with him, to which Mr. Billington had 
 also been a party. 
 
 The ill-starred plaintiff hereupon found himself 
 in a cleft stick. Should his wife refuse to fulfil her 
 engagements, 500/. would certainly stand against 
 him ; and, as any damages he might have fondly an- 
 ticipated from a jury would not, in all probability, 
 be very — very large, he abandoned the legal form of 
 attack altogether. 
 
 Mr. Billington now made up his mind to call his 
 antagonist to a field of honour ; but *' No," replied 
 the tactical manager — " this will never do. Had 
 you determined on this course in the first instance, 
 I should have been bound to permit you to run me 
 through the body ; but as a gentleman and a musi- 
 cian, you ought to know, that a court of honour 
 will never consent to play second fiddle to a court 
 of law." And thus ended the affair. 
 
 Let us, how^ever, append the Song to the Song- 
 ster : —
 
 426 ELLISTON AT MANCHESTER. 
 
 " Not Sappho, nor Mara, nor deified Bauti, 
 
 Nor the Tuscan dark beauty, renown'd Allegranti, 
 Spell-circled Cumsean, nor minstrel divine, 
 Have witch'ries so loved or so potent as thine. 
 Thine art is magic, magic are thine eyes, 
 The babbler ponders, and the gazer dies ; 
 Touch'd by the strain, would Bacchus cease to sip, 
 And tear the goblet from his ruby lip ; 
 His tigers foam no more, whom fury fired, 
 And god and savage blend, by thee inspired." 
 
 At the conclusion of the Manchester season, Ellis- 
 ton did not take a " benefit," but he procured a tan- 
 tamount advantage by the more elegant means of a 
 special " bespeak." 
 
 Mr. Clowes was, this year, sheriff for the county, 
 under whose patronage a distinguished auditory 
 graced the closing efforts of our hero in this town, 
 when the manager made a speech, remarkable for 
 all topics which could possibly carry with them 
 the least interest, except the very purpose which 
 brought him before the company. He entered 
 into a lengthy detail of his difference with Sheri- 
 dan, and made complimentary allusions to the high- 
 sheriff for Lancashire. Something about Garrick 
 he said, and a good deal respecting manufacturing 
 distress; and having occupied about twenty minutes 
 in this pantological harangue, to the satisfaction of 
 all parties, of which he himself was assuredly one, he 
 bowed and retired. The receipts on the sheriff's 
 night were considerable.
 
 AN IRISH BENEFIT. 427 
 
 In the time of Sheridan, the actor, (father of 
 Richard Brinsley,) a fashion prevailed amongst the 
 elerjantesoi Dublin, of benefiting distinguished play- 
 ers, by the lady patroness attending in person early 
 at the entrance of her box at the theatre, and 
 receiving her company, as though in her own 
 drawing-room, who paid their respects to her, 
 before taking their places in the dress-circle. It 
 was a fashion of the day, and frequent jealousies 
 were excited amongst the female leaders to ton, 
 resplecting the eclat of their appropriate nights. 
 
 In the year 1758 a certain parvenue being am- 
 bitious of trying her strength amongst the higher 
 grades, was rash enough to take a patronizing lead 
 for the benefit of some actor. She issued her cards 
 accordingly, through the fashionable circles, for a 
 special night, and took her place early in the theatre, 
 for the general reception. To her great mortifica- 
 tion, however, and no less to that of the poor hene- 
 ficier, her levee had but a gloomy appearance. 
 Seated in solitary grandeur at the ostiary of her 
 box, she had little interruption to her owai medita- 
 tions, for no company arrived. Her nervous state 
 was anything but delectable. She was ready to ex- 
 pire with vexation, when the box-keeper advancing 
 with rather an aspect of encouragement, observed, 
 
 " Your ladyship's gallery is excellent ! — your 
 ladyship's gallery looks charming !" — In the course 
 of five minutes more, the man returned, with
 
 428 AN ENRAGED PATRONESS. 
 
 Still brighter looks, — "your ladyship's pit im- 
 proves — we don't despair of your ladyship's pit," 
 — but alas ! in the boxes, not a soul ! 
 
 By this time, the curtain was up for the comedy; 
 — maddened by rage, the lady now took her seat 
 on her crimson chair of a side box, with the agree- 
 able prospect of a whole dress circle perfectly un- 
 occupied — some twenty persons in the pit — but 
 " her ladyship's gallery excellent !" Her state was 
 positively volcanic ; at the close of the first act, the 
 box-keeper again advanced, observing, 
 
 "Your ladyship's gallery is tremendous — posi- 
 tively overwhelming — w^e can't contain them." 
 
 " Send them here !" ejaculated the lady, in a 
 tone of fury — " send them here, if there are five 
 hundred, and let the expenses be mine." The 
 " order" was instantly obeyed, and a body of raga- 
 muffins were admitted, which, if quantity did ever 
 supply the defection of quality, here was full 
 satisfaction. The house was now a bumper — the 
 benefit a good one — the lady patroness satisfied all 
 demands, but withdrew from this hour as a leader 
 of fashion. 
 
 On the 17th of November, 1809, Elliston en- 
 closed to the Lord Chamberlain, a copy of a Memo- 
 rial, addressed to the king, with which he had 
 attended on the day previous at Windsor, and 
 which Colonel Taylor had undertaken should be 
 presented to his Majesty.
 
 MEMORIAL TO THE KING. 429 
 
 The substance of the Memorial was as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 " That his Majesty's Memorialist had ever been 
 honoured by public favour and encouragement, and 
 that in consequence of the destruction of the Theatre 
 Royal in Drury Lane, he had been deprived of the 
 opportunity of performing under the Patent, and 
 other privileges attached to that Theatre. 
 
 " That Drury Lane Theatre could not be re- 
 erected for a considerable time. That his Majesty's 
 Memorialist had, in concert with Colonel Greville, 
 been in treaty for the possession of the Pantheon, 
 in Oxford-street, with the view of carrying into 
 operation the privileges of a licence which the Lord 
 Chamberlain had granted to Colonel Greville, under 
 which licence recitativo must be substituted for 
 dramatic dialogue. 
 
 "That the intellectual community would be bene- 
 fited by an extension of licence for the regular 
 drama, and that his Majesty's JMemorialist humbly 
 prayed, his Majesty would be pleased to authorize 
 such an extension to the licence already granted to 
 Colonel Greville, in which the present Memorialist 
 was included." 
 
 After a few days, Elliston received the annexed 
 communication. 
 
 " Lieutenant-Colonel Taylor presents his com- 
 pliments to Mr. Elliston, and has had the honour of 
 presenting his Memorial to the king, and of re-
 
 430 COLONEL TAYLOR. 
 
 ceiving his Majesty's commands to acquaint him, 
 that as the law now stands, his Majesty cannot no- 
 tice any representation connected with the estabhsh- 
 ment of another theatre. 
 " Windsor." 
 
 EUiston being at Bath at this time, his confiden- 
 tial agent writes to him : — 
 
 " Colonel Taylor's note gives no assent ; but I 
 think, upon the whole, it is not so unfavourable. 
 It does not in the slightest degree discourage any 
 application to parliament. At all events, it secures 
 to you this, that no one, hy application to the king, 
 can have a preference to you. The assertion as to 
 the state of the law is not quite correct, because, 
 in the City of Westminster, and in the actual place 
 of the king's residence, the royal power to create 
 theatrical establishments is, I am convinced, indis- 
 putable. 
 
 55 
 
 With an elastic bound, EUiston now sprang from 
 the surface of opposition. Difficulties never clouded 
 the prospect of his devices, and like the sportsman 
 in the field, his chief pleasure was in pursuit. 
 
 The success of his first season at the Circus now 
 induced him to attempt an enlargement of its pri- 
 vileges. Baffled in his attempt by Memorial to the 
 king, on planting the drama within the walls of the 
 Pantheon, he now by Petition to parliament sought
 
 PETITION TO THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. 431 
 
 to secure it within his own establishment ; and on 
 the 5th of March (1810) Sir Thomas Turton pre- 
 sented the following to the House of Commons : — 
 
 "6th February, 1810. 
 
 " To the Honourable the House of Commons of the 
 United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, 
 in Parliament assembled. 
 
 " The humble Petition of Robert William Elliston, 
 of Stratford Place, in the County of Middle- 
 sex, Comedian, 
 
 ** Sheweth, — 
 
 " That your Petitioner has rented for a term of 
 years the Theatre in St. George's Fields, in the 
 County of Surrey, commonly called ' The Royal 
 Circus.' 
 
 " That such Theatre is at present licensed by the 
 Magistrates of the County of Surrey, in virtue of 
 the Act of the twenty-fifth of His Majesty King 
 George the Second. 
 
 " That, in addition to a very high rent, which your 
 Petitioner pays for such Theatre, he has adventured 
 considerable sums in such preparations and arrange- 
 ments as might render the performances therein 
 conducted, worthy of public approbation, exceeding 
 in the whole upwards of six thousand pounds. 
 
 ** That your Petitioner is now on the point of ex- 
 pending a large further sum, in order to increase
 
 432 PETITION. 
 
 and extend the accommodations of the said Theatre, 
 for the public use. 
 
 " That under the licence by which the Perform- 
 ances in the said Theatre are at present authorized, 
 your Petitioner has it not in his power to present 
 any Entertainment therein in which Dialogue can be 
 used, excepting with an accompaniment of Music 
 throughout. 
 
 "That your Petitioner humbly conceives, that 
 no advantage can be produced to the community, 
 nor to the interests of any existing property, by 
 the use of this restriction. — That, on the contrary, 
 such restriction has a tendency to abridge the 
 utility of the performances commonly exhibited in 
 the Theatres, acting under such aforesaid liceuce — 
 to harass and incommode the conduct of such 
 performances — and to prolong the existence of a 
 mode of representation founded on a false and 
 vicious taste. 
 
 " Your Petitioner, therefore, humbly prays that 
 this Honourable House will be pleased to grant 
 leave, that a Bill be brought in to enable your Pe- 
 tioner to exhibit and perform in the said Theatre, 
 the Royal Circus, all such entertainments of music 
 and action as are commonly called Pantomimes 
 and Ballets, together with Operatic or Musical 
 Pieces, accompanied with Dialogue, in the ordinary 
 mode of dramatic representation — subject, at all 
 times, to the restraint and control of the Right
 
 SIR THOMAS TURTON. 433 
 
 Honourable the Lord Chamberlain of his Majesty's 
 household, in conformity to the laws by which 
 Theatres possessing more extensive privileges are 
 regulated. 
 
 " And your Petitioner, as in duty bound, will 
 ever pray, &c. 
 
 " Robert William Elliston." 
 
 An alteration was suggested in the nature of the 
 petition, for exempting the proprietor of the Royal 
 Circus, from certain penalties under the law for 
 regulating dramatic exhibitions. To this, Sir Thomas 
 Turton, unadvisedly, (as Elliston thought,) con- 
 sented, and thus changed the power to be granted 
 from, an enabling act, to one of exemption. This 
 scarcely could have hoped for a successful issue — 
 exempting an individual from penalties incurred 
 by breach of an existing law, could not be sanc- 
 tioned by the House of Commons. 
 
 On the same month, a long explanatory state- 
 ment was sent on the part of Elliston to Mr. Per- 
 ceval and Mr. Ryder, stating further grounds for 
 applying to parliament for the above privilege. To 
 this a reply was forwarded on the following day : 
 
 ^'Downing Street, 11th March, 1810. 
 
 " Mr. Perceval presents his compliments to Mr. 
 Elliston, and thanks him for the trouble he has 
 taken in explaining to him the grounds of his 
 
 F F
 
 434 MR. PERCEVAL. 
 
 application to parliament. Mr. Perceval, upon 
 reference to the best means of information he could 
 obtain, is satisfied that Mr. Elliston's request can- 
 not be granted, except upon a ground which would 
 go to alter the whole principle upon which thea- 
 trical entertainments are at present regulated within 
 the metropolis, and twenty miles round it." 
 
 To any one but EUiston, this would have been 
 conclusive, but with him it was far otherwise. The 
 rebuff only occasioned another bound, and the 
 harder the stroke, the more elevated was his flight. 
 To oppose the very minister of the crown, even 
 his attorney — who could squeeze a client like the 
 last lemon — considered rash and hopeless ; but 
 again Elliston assailed the Treasury bench. Letter 
 after letter — and with Downing Street in one 
 pocket, and Drury Lane in the other — it would be 
 difficult to conceive a more supreme point of human 
 elevation — except, indeed, the Cham of Tartary, 
 who, having taken his repast, permits the sovereigns 
 of the earth to sit down to dinner. 
 
 Though advising his client to give up petitioning 
 parliament himself, the attorney by no means 
 recommended Elliston remaining silent, on the 
 question of a third Theatre Bill, for which applica- 
 tion was then making — for, although EUiston could 
 consistently urge nothing against the merits of the 
 case itself, (having employed them in his own plea,)
 
 A pawnbroker's wife. 435 
 
 yet by interfering he might thereby keep alive what 
 he called his claims, in the minds of those most 
 potential. 
 
 EUiston felt, moreover, that his injuries were not 
 confined to a mere rejection of his parliamentary 
 petition, but that he was suffering encroachment on 
 his own territorial possessions. In addition to the 
 Olympic and Sans Pareil licences, another had 
 been recently granted for a theatre in Tottenham 
 Court Road. This licence had been given to one 
 Paul, a retired pawnbroker, who having closed his 
 duplicate doors in High St. Marylebone, and sold 
 off all his unredeemed pledges, had a fancy for 
 turning theatrical manager. This hallucination liad 
 been engendered under the hot vertical sun of his 
 wife's vanity, who, being firmly persuaded she pos- 
 sessed the combined talents of Siddons and Mara, 
 thought that, by a concentration of the same in 
 burlettas and recitative pieces, she could multiply 
 her husband's gains by far more than the paltry 
 cent, per cent, he had been accustomed to, and 
 raise herself to the distinction of tlie frail com- 
 panion to some child of fashion. 
 
 Paul, vain of his wife's attraction, though setting 
 but a pawnbroker's value on her favours, listened to 
 these dazzling proposals, and secured the premises 
 in question— namely, the King's Concert Rooms in 
 Tottenham Street — the same which, a few years be-
 
 436 TOTTENHAM STREET THEATRE. 
 
 fore, had been occupied by the celebrated Pic-Nics, 
 and converted them into a theatre. 
 
 This place, the new proprietor opened on Easter 
 Monday, 1810, with a burletta founded on " Love 
 in a Village," which was in fact the opera itself, 
 scene for scene, and word for word, with the inter- 
 ruption only of a discordant note occasionally, on 
 the pianoforte. An old coat with fresh buttons 
 would have been a less piece of imposture. 
 
 Mrs. Paul was of course the Rosetta, and a coarse 
 piece of business it was ; for though certainly a fine 
 woman, she w^as far more fitted for a brigand's mis- 
 tress than a pastoral maiden ; and though she most 
 miserably failed in " Love in a Village," yet she 
 succeeded to admiration in Love in Bloomsbury. 
 Poor Paul, from a man of substance, was in a short 
 time reduced to a slender estate. The pawn- 
 broker himself was compelled to raise supplies by a 
 mortgage of his effects, and standing now on the 
 other side of the very counter were he was once 
 dictator, had perfect leisure to contemplate his 
 folly. Paul became bankrupt, — Rosetta was taken 
 in pledge by a certain stockbroker, residing at 
 Clapham, — and the doors of Tottenham Street were 
 for the first time closed, under a commission. 
 
 Petitions were now laid before the Privy Council, 
 in respect of a Third Theatre. The following ac- 
 count of the proceedings was transmitted to Ellis- 
 ton : —
 
 PRIVY COUNCIL. 437 
 
 " Sheridan sat at the council board, whose peti- 
 tion came on after yours. There was one also 
 from the wife of Tom Sheridan. (Thomas Sheridan 
 was at this time in Spain, in a declining state of 
 health.) All the petitions were in the hands of 
 counsel, excepting Greville's, yours, Sheridan's, and 
 that of Mrs. Thomas Sheridan. Sheridan's was very 
 declamatory; and certainly produced an effect ; but, 
 I think, yours was as persuasive as any. Lord 
 Harrowby perused it with evident attention. The 
 Attorney-General,* who was officially present, gave 
 strong indications of dislike and hostility to a third 
 theatre, and shook his head wondrously like Lord 
 Burleigh, or as you might have fancied the Lord 
 Mayor in ' Richard the Tliird.' 
 
 "To your petition Sheridan listened with more 
 gravity than he is accustomed to exhibit. Graham 
 was present, and observed, 'you were a pretty fellow 
 to petition the king, after violating the laws at your 
 Circus; and that if you were brought before him, he 
 should deem the utmost penalty under the V^agrant 
 Act applicable to your case.' The Justice was in a 
 fury. Much was said about the illegality of your 
 Circus Macbeth, when Sheridan slily observed, the 
 greatest violation was to the bard, in your attempting 
 the impersonation ! Adam attended on behalf of 
 Drury Lane Theatre — he was quite didactic and 
 pathetic." 
 
 * SirV.Gibbs.
 
 438 EXPENSES OF PETITION, ETC. 
 
 The expenses attending EUiston's petition to the 
 House of Commons, were 101/., and 31/. before the 
 Privy Council. 
 
 At the commencement of this year Lewis retired 
 from the stage. " All was frolic, fun, and humour," 
 observed a journal at the time. He was a whimsi- 
 cal, eccentric, and at the same time an elegant actor. 
 His great quality, however, was his buoyant, exu- 
 berant spirits. In light dramas he might have ex- 
 celled Elliston ; but he wanted his replete, rich style 
 for leading comedy. 
 
 ^.' 
 
 T. C. Savill, Printer, 107, St. Martin's Lane. 
 
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