,%, 
 
 nTlBITiii]1iiT'''T^'''*"-''"''''""-~''^'^"''==^^ '■ "'■'^ 
 
 HppWWMBHaMMtwpaiMii* Hiriiii 'iiYinrt;i 
 
 
 ir r TrTriT i r'T TiiTrTmTiT"'T' T"" -'-^■-■'-'•■-■■"-'■'-■■-'----''f ---- 7''^™""--''^»»— ■"■"-■"^•-^■^--■-•-■-■t- - '■■ ■" 
 
 'y? KjnKa.'i. 
 
 iMMMi 
 
 HWpapi 
 
 WWW* 
 
 I 
 
 J 
 
 !'
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 AN OLD ACTOR
 
 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 AN OLD ACTOR 
 
 BY 
 
 FRED BELTON 
 
 LONDON 
 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS. 8, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND 
 
 1880 
 
 [_A// rights of Translation and Reproduction are reserved]
 
 TN 
 
 Ji5S8 
 ;B39A2. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 P\OK 
 
 Chapter I. 1815 to 1822 1 
 
 „ II. 1815 to 1823 15 
 
 „ III. 1823 to 1833 27 
 
 „ IV. 1833 to 1835 46 
 
 „ V. 1830 to 1835 69 
 
 „ VL 1833 to 1838 84 
 
 „ VII. 1835 to 1840 108 
 
 „ VIII. 1821 126 
 
 „ IX. 1850 to 1857 153 
 
 X. 1857 to 18G0 174 
 
 „ XI. 1856 to 1859 193 
 
 „ XII. 1859 to 1865 213 
 
 „ XIII. 1859 to 1871 230 
 
 ?) 
 
 84S8B.5
 
 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 
 
 I 
 
 'V 
 
 V 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 1815 TO 1822. 
 
 T is my purpose to write of days gone by, and to 
 call up from the past recollections of things, 
 beings, and events long vanished from our gaze, and 
 buried in the mists of the past. Dandy-horses have 
 given way to bicycles, stage coaches, to trains, and 
 couriers to telegrams ; still those early days were 
 merry days, and ladies of the past, leaving the ball- 
 room, theatre, or tea party — " drum" or " conver- 
 sazione" — though tossed and tumbled in their sedan 
 chairs by drunken " bearers," and pestered in foggy 
 weather by importunate linkmen with " Light, 3'er 
 honour," had as much to tell on reaching home as your 
 modern belle — in her carriage or brougham. To be 
 
 B
 
 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 sure, you can travel or sleep now in more security than 
 in the days when footpads and highwaymen plied their 
 trade in broad daylight. It certainly is a comfort to 
 know that a stalwart policeman, with military step, 
 treads round your premises and the adjacent streets, 
 instead of an infirm potterer, who rarely left his box, 
 except to bawl, in tremulous accents, " Past one o'clock, 
 and a cloudy morning." 
 
 What changes I have seen in my day in all things ! 
 With gas came a wonderful transmutation. Where 
 Regent Street now stands, we passed through 
 wretchedly-constructed shops, covered with tarpaulin, 
 and barely habitable ; while off the pavement, and 
 nearly to the middle of the street, hawkers carried on 
 a brisk trade. In fact, small markets existed where 
 stalls, laden with meat, vegetables, fried fish, pastry, 
 and other edibles, rendered the roadway, on foot or in 
 vehicle, almost impassable. The steady march of im- 
 provement swept away these rat-holes, and few that 
 pass in these days Holborn Bars — the Strand, near 
 Northumberland House then ; now non-existent — 
 have any idea of what its appearance was in those times. 
 
 Thence could, at the time I speak of, be obtained no 
 view of the Thames, which is now slowly, but surely.
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 
 
 recovering from its once black pool of muddy impu- 
 rity, as I then remember it. Your loungers, too, in 
 Eegent Street, little think that those spots were, 
 within my memory, the haunts of the lawless and 
 lowest of the low, St. Giles, where now stands New 
 Oxford Street, was second only to Westminster in 
 sheltering depravity. By the way, that same West- 
 minster is now the patrician quarter; there the noblest 
 in the land reside and give entertainments, out-topping 
 all that Lucullus ever dreamed of. Your dainty lady 
 would faint if told that, where she now eats, sleeps, 
 rides, and recreates, the vilest crimes have been con- 
 cocted and committed. The dens of Westminster 
 stood ever prominent in criminality; for though St. 
 Giles might abound in filth, the deeper stains of 
 crime found its hottest and most congenial bed where 
 now the conservatory plants of our aristocracy bud 
 and bloom in refinement. And then, again, the city 
 proper of London. Why, bless me, we hardly know it. 
 Vast improvements have taken place since the time 
 when Holborn Hill and Fleet Ditch were covered with 
 abominable thievish dens. There marriages by candle- 
 light were boldly performed for a guinea, and as un- 
 blushingly " touted" for as stolen handkerchiefs ; 
 
 B 2
 
 4 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 there, heavy lumbering chariots, swinging high in the 
 air, once plied, driven by some drunken and discharged 
 coachman who paraded his lumbering and faded finery 
 for hire in the streets. These vehicles, however, gave 
 place in course of time to the cabriolet, a French in- 
 vention, in which the filthy cabman sat side by side 
 with his fare, in a little box over the wheel ; so that 
 if Jehu had been indulging in liquor, onions, tobacco, 
 &c., you had the full benefit of these luxuries, en- 
 hanced perchance by the fogs that somehow in those 
 days were thicker than they are now. Closed hackney 
 cabs, hansoms, and omnibuses, drove these vehicles off 
 the roads. 
 
 Talking of cabs puts me in mind of coaches, 
 waggons, &c. When first railways were started, 
 great was the outcry and condemnation. We were 
 to be hurried through the air so hastily that, at the 
 termination of our journey, we should all be found 
 suffocated ; indeed, by the comic journals of the 
 period, starving horses were depicted dying on the 
 roadside, or peering out of stable doors, skeletons of 
 misery. And the belief universally entertained was, 
 that horses would be at a complete discount ; instead 
 of which never have they been so valued, or so much
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 
 
 money given for them of all breeds. In the old 
 coaching days, as they were called — I speak particu- 
 larly with reference to the Great North Eoad — the 
 traffic was considerable. Post-chaises, travelling 
 carriages, and coaches, had a merry time of it. The 
 famous " Tally-ho," " Eclipse," and " Comet," dashed, 
 with their teams, through towns and villages. My 
 grandfather horsed the coaches from Newark, in 
 Nottinghamshire, from thence to Edinburgh, and you 
 may imagine the business transacted when I tell you 
 that I have heard my mother often say it was a 
 common thiuo: to have from 150 to 200 horses ill in 
 their stock stud. The Chaplin's, the Thompson's, 
 the Hunt's, the Roberts's, and Pickford's, did a great 
 road business. The Golden Cross, Charing Cross ; 
 the Bull-and-Mouth, Aldersgate Street ; the Saracen's 
 Head, Snow Hill ; its namesake in Newark, with 
 Clark of Barnly Moor, were hostelries world famous. 
 Waggons, too, were a very important branch in 
 that trade, and a great source of profit and revenue 
 to innkeepers and owners, being large and commo- 
 dious, holding many passengers who were too poor to 
 afford to pay for a more rapid transit. These waggons 
 carried also an immense amount of freight, &c., and
 
 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 were usually drawn by six fine horses, sometimes eight, 
 though slow in pace and cumbersome. But railways 
 soon drove waggons and coaches off the road ; the 
 splendid inns were deserted, yet the horses rose in value, 
 and the towns awoke to prosperity and advancement. 
 Printing also has made rapid strides. I well re- 
 member the first pictorial effort I ever saw in a news- 
 paper. A dreadful murder had been committed — but 
 not half so dreadful as I have read of since. But no 
 event in my time — saving the Brownrigg atrocities — 
 ever created such excitement as the Ware, Hunt, Pro- 
 bert and Thurtell trial, of shameless notoriety. A 
 young fellow, of good family, but a confirmed gambler, 
 was shot by his friends while riding with them in a 
 gig, and then thrown into a pond. 1 presume the 
 respectable position of the murderers and their victim 
 assisted to create the great furore that seized all 
 classes. Rude woodcuts, the first I ever saw in a 
 newspaper, were hastily carved with scenes of the 
 event ; couriers dashed through the towns blowing 
 their horns, and announcing the procedure of the trial, 
 impressing my youthful mind with horror and wonder. 
 The papers, too, were sent, by means of an additional 
 horse, in post-chaises. These papers were eagerly
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 
 
 purchased by the crowd, and sometimes snatched by 
 force. I have often seen manias seize the people, but 
 none to exceed that trial. 
 
 What strides have I seen since then in the pictorial 
 department. The Illustrated London Nexus to wit; 
 the more recent Graphic, and various papers of 
 esteeiied note, published in territories at that 
 time scarcely heard of, is far superior to anything 
 then conceived of in England. The Times I remember 
 a paper small in size^, very different in appearance at 
 the breakfast table then from what it now is. 
 
 In all ages, at all periods — save during the Com- 
 monwealth — the stage held a prominent position ; 
 consequently the arrival of a dramatic troupe in 
 Newark, where I lived with my parents, was a great 
 event. A family called Robertson held what was then 
 called the Lincoln Circuit, which embraced Notting- 
 ham, Newark, &c. &c. Crowds gathered round when 
 the troupe arrived, and I was on all possible occasions 
 one of the number. Great was the excitement when 
 the waggon was unpacked ; rolls of scener}' were 
 anxiously peered at by the eager crowd. A wooden 
 gate, made of laths, but looking a real wooden gate, 
 appeared. This gate was indispensable, being used in
 
 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 a then popular piece called " The Turnpike Grate." 
 But wonders reached their climax when we gazed 
 upon a " real horse," which turned out to be a small 
 pony used by Mrs. Eobertson in a piece called "Queen 
 Elizabeth." Young as I was, I pitied the poor beast 
 when I saw it at night on the stage, laden with Mrs, 
 Robertson's portly figure, in long train, feathers, and 
 furbelows. The prettiest sight was the first appear- 
 ance of Mr. Robertson's son as the youthful page who 
 held " the untamed fiery steed," which was, by the 
 way, as tame as a kitten. This same Mrs. Eobertson 
 was the grandmother of our popular London favourite, 
 Madge Eobertson (Mrs. Kendal), of the St. James's 
 Theatre, and the pretty page was her father — also the 
 father of the celebrated author of " Caste," " School," 
 " M.P.," " Society," and other well-known comedies of 
 modern days. This last-named promising dramatic 
 author died young, to the regret of all. His great- 
 grandfather, the manager of the circuit, wore a 
 spencer, and looked like a bishop. His wife, the 
 Queen Elizabeth I have spoken of, was a fine actress 
 of the Siddonian school and mode ; for, when asked 
 why she preferred the provinces, her lofty reply was, 
 " I would rather reign in Hell than serve in Heaven."
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 
 
 My uncle was the Mayor of Newark, consequently, 
 to my mind, the most important man in the town, 
 save and except the beadle and the leading man of 
 that travelling theatrical company, whom I secretly 
 reverenced and worshipped. The beadle looked posi- 
 tively majestic to me as he paced with solemn strides 
 before my uncle and the aldermen, carrying an enor- 
 mous brass mace, which seemed to me gold of the 
 purest refinement. His cocked hat and blue coat, 
 adorned with six sham red capes, with bright brass 
 buttons, shed a glow of light and lustre before which 
 my uncle's dignity paled into insignificance. The 
 leading man, so said report, had often been invited to 
 appear in London, but scorned the efibrts made to 
 draw him from his beloved circuit and devout wor- 
 shippers. Grandly he looked to me in his black 
 frogged coat — which did duty for the " Stranger" and 
 other parts, his black tights, and hessian boots. I 
 never saw him vary his dress, which was a source of 
 astonishment to me in such a great man. But then 
 (jreat men always indulge in eccentricities, and why 
 shouldn't he? I saw him in " Hamlet" — rather a fat 
 prince too. But then, what a voice. Why didn't he 
 harangue, like the member of Parliament, on the
 
 lo RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 hustings in the Market-place, who couldn't be heard, 
 though they pelted him with cabbages, and chaired 
 him afterwards, a very unpleasant method of honouring 
 a member of Parliament in those days, for it was no 
 joke to be crammed forcibly into a ricketty arm-chair, 
 and carried round the Market-place on the shoulders 
 of drunken men ? I thought, as I witnessed the sight, 
 how grandly the leading man would have rolled his 
 E's and have turned up his eyes ; and I wondered why 
 fortune had made him an actor^ when his proper 
 sphere should have been a throne, or at least a mem- 
 ber's chair, or, more happily, borne on shields, as they 
 did in Rome of old — " in armour clad " and Toga's 
 classic fold. 
 
 Liston, of comic memory, came to Newark on one 
 occasion to star with Miss Love, a favourite singer, 
 who made " Rise, Gentle Moon," so popular. They 
 sang a duet together, called " Pretty, Pretty Polly 
 Hopkins," and another called " Buy a Broom." Liston 
 I thought coarse and vulgar, a disreputable contrast 
 to the charming impersonation of Miss Love's, who 
 shook her broom coquettishly at a certain young gentle- 
 man in the stage box, who became from that moment 
 the envy of all the men of larger growth in the town.
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. ii 
 
 This lady's career was not too fortunate. If I 
 remember rightly she became Marchioness of Yar- 
 borough, and lived but shortly and unhappily. 
 
 By the way, I saw Liston some years after at the 
 Olympic, in a piece called " The Old and Young 
 Stager," written to introduce the celebrated Charles 
 Matthews to the public, who made, I believe, his first 
 appearance in that piece, and, true to my first im- 
 pressions, I could not but feel Liston was a vulgar 
 grimacer, and a great contrast to the refinement of 
 Charles Matthews, of whom more anon. Mr. Liston's 
 wife, when I saw her, was fat and pretty, with a 
 brightness of manner which must have been very 
 fascinating in her young days. Her daughter essayed 
 the stage as a singer, and married Eodwell, the com- 
 poser ; they lived unhappily, and separated — a sad 
 grief to the aged Listons, who had amassed consider- 
 able property, and looked naturally with hope to the 
 future of their pretty daughter, whose career com- 
 menced so auspiciously, only to see it dimmed and 
 saddened by its termination. 
 
 But to return to the leadin": man of the Lincoln 
 circuit. In those days a free night was given to the 
 public, and called a " house-warming." Boy-like, I
 
 12 RAND OjW re COLLE CTIONS OF 
 
 took advantage of this treat ; the piece was " Hamlet." 
 1 and my brother desired to retire early, he much 
 fatigued and I with a headache. No sooner were we 
 ensconced in bed, and the parental kiss and blessing 
 bestowed, than out we slipped, dressed, opened the 
 window softly, and slid down the waterspout, then out 
 at the back gate, and off to the theatre. The object 
 of my admiration, the leading man, played Hamlet. 
 In the Court scene with Polonius he appeared un- 
 gartered with black silk stocking down to ankle, but, 
 to save propriety, a white one under. The low 
 comedian, too, in the churchyard scene, threw off the 
 then traditional three-and-twenty waistcoats before he 
 commenced to dig Ophelia's grave, which caused im- 
 moderate laughter, as each phase of waistcoating 
 ])attern was more grotesquely developed than its pre- 
 decessors. Modern actors have taken Hamlet's 
 advice, and reformed these things altogether. 
 
 Those loere days. We laugh when we see Hogarth's 
 picture of the strolling players, but many things not 
 fifty years ago have been enacted as ludicrous. In 
 AVigan, a little town (whose manager was a Mr. 
 Beverley, a connection of the celebrated scenic artist, 
 Beverley, of Drury Lane), occurred a laughable cir-
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 13 
 
 cumstance. The juvenile leading lady, a good actress 
 and very pretty woman by tlie way, and a young 
 mother, was cast to play Juliet, in " Romeo and 
 Juliet." Her baby had been placed in her dressing- 
 room for security, and to be near the mother. But 
 just before the balcony scene the young tyrant became 
 unruly and impossible to control. What was to be 
 done ? A mother's tact hit upon the true soothing 
 syrup. She nestled the infant to her breast, and from 
 that moment the young villain became silent as a 
 mouse. Being called, she hastily mounted the rostrum 
 that supported the supposed balcony, throwing a lace 
 scarf over her shoulders, which concealed the little 
 suckling ; and leaning over the balcon}^ with her 
 other arm pensively placed upon her cheek, she 
 looked the picture of innocence and beauty. The 
 scene opened and went glowingly. But, alas ! Juliet 
 has to appear and disappear three times, and in her 
 effort to do so gracefully, and yet conceal the child, 
 she stumbled against the iron brace that held up the 
 frail structure. Down fell the balcony, and, lo ! the 
 love-lorn maiden was discovered with a baby at her 
 breast — seated on a tub, that served for a stool, 
 and at her foot, accidentally placed there by the
 
 14 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 thirsty carpenter, was a quart pot. The said car- 
 penter was discovered on all fours, steadying with his 
 back the ricketty structure above. Shrieks of laughter 
 from all parts of the house greeted the tableau, and 
 of the play no more was heard that night. 
 
 Poor Beverley was a very conscientious man. His 
 son, a gentle, promising lad, met with a melancholy 
 end. He was attacked with scarlet fever ; the troupe 
 were announced at another town, and Beverley (who 
 was a widower), to his intense grief, had to leave his 
 son to strangers, and the care of an unfeeling land- 
 lady. In the boy's delirium, and in the woman's 
 absence, he stole down stairs, it is supposed suffering 
 from a raging thirst, and applied his lips to the mouth 
 of the then boiling kettle ; drank, and from the 
 draught received such severe internal injuries that 
 death speedily ensued. Poor Beverley ! 
 
 :^^
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 1815 TO 1823. 
 
 TTTHEN war was over on the Continent, and long 
 after the Battle of Waterloo — for Ensrland's 
 regiments remained in France until all treaties, &c., 
 were concluded, and our troops returning from abroad 
 were then slow in their transit to the mother-country 
 — the usual rendezvous of troops on their march was 
 the Market-places, until billets were issued. Many 
 heartrending scenes were witnessed. Some soldiers' 
 wives had followed their husbands abroad, and those 
 who had not would tramp from all quarters to 
 welcome their return. My mother, a truly charitable 
 and Christian woman, had at that period her hands 
 full, her purse often empt}^, and brain overworked, to 
 alleviate as far as in her lay the numerous distressing 
 cases that came before her notice. Often would she 
 have soldiers' widows, or wives, with their offspring, 
 quartered in the out-houses, nay, even within the very
 
 1 6 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 house, out of pure charity. This alarmed my uncle, 
 the Mayor, who used to come early and anxiously to 
 see if we were alive, for his impression was that we 
 should not only be robbed but murdered ; but we met 
 with none but grateful returns. 
 
 My tutor, the Eev. William Taylor Wild, was then 
 the curate of Newark, and imagined he detected in 
 me great powers of impressionable prayer; and at 
 some of their prayer meetings a Mrs. Thompson, who 
 had formerly been of the Quaker persuasion, was 
 enthusiastic in the belief of my latent power, and 
 would insist upon my praying with the various good 
 people who met in private for that purpose. It so 
 happened that a young officer who had returned from 
 the Continent — and, from what cause I never could 
 discover, became impressed with a heavy load of 
 guilt — in his anguish sought advice and counsel from 
 my tutor. He was prayed for by the devout, among 
 whom Mrs. Thompson, my Quaker friend, was 
 prominent. All efforts failed to comfort him. I was 
 at last suggested as the proper medium. Behold poor 
 trembling me introduced to the serai-maniac. Sunday 
 was the day proposed for the introduction. I shall 
 never forget it. I did all that my poor brain could
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 17 
 
 do in the way of prayer, and doubtless that was a 
 feeble outpouring, but my petitions were from my 
 heart, and he was impressed, and would not hear of 
 my leaving him. I was then little more than eight 
 years old. We dined together ; nothing on the table 
 but mutton chops and potatoes \ no tart or pudding — 
 a positively repulsive and Spartan feast to a hungry 
 lad. However, I attacked what was there ferociously. 
 But, before I had tasted a second mouthful, over came 
 the poor afflicted one, seized me by the wrists, and, 
 with tears running down his cheeks, cried, '^ Pray for 
 me, pray !" His valet, who was a soldier, tried in vain 
 to soothe him ; so without tasting another mouthful 
 and with my eye upon the chops fast getting cold, I 
 had to do my best in a rambling and disordered way 
 to soothe his afflicted mind. After a period, which to 
 me seemed hours, he grew calm, and shortly after I 
 made my escape, a dinnerless and discontented 
 grumbler. I have often reproached myself since with 
 allowing the lusts of the flesh to intrude when I 
 sliould have thought of nothing but the sacred duty 
 which had fallen upon me. But, as I have said, 1 
 was but a child of eight years old, and hunger is 
 powerful with children. I never knew what became 
 
 c
 
 1 8 RAND OM RE COLLE CTIONS OF 
 
 of the lieutenant, but thought of him often after that 
 with pity and regret. 
 
 Talking of wars puts me in mind of a period in 
 England's history fraught with dreadful episodes and 
 fearful events. England^s glory trembled in the 
 balance ; all countries seemed bent on upsetting the 
 tight little island. India unsettled. America past 
 all rule, Jamaica and all dependencies worked out. 
 Russia too much to do in organising its uncultivated 
 horde. Australia almost terra incognita. Chinaand Japan 
 the same. France and her dependencies [then vast] 
 sworn to support Napoleon. Prussia — the Germanic 
 Powers — with Belgium alone, stood forward to uphold 
 our tottering glory. Ireland would have been doubt- 
 ful if it had dared from Catholic influence. Scotland 
 and Wales true to a man. Then appeared a wonder 
 of wonders. A catvi Irishman arose, the guiding 
 spirit of the time. Wellington, born for the period, 
 coldly checked the impetuosity of Napoleon, and 
 brought a triple peace to our beloved land. Bread, 
 flour, &c. &c., were at that period at fabulous prices. 
 I remember we had to feed upon a mixed quantity of 
 flour and potatoes. Pastry and such luxuries were 
 forbidden by law. Candles, too, were so dear that on
 
 AJV OLD ACTOR. ig 
 
 an exorbitant rise of that article a good woman asked 
 the cause, and was told " the wars." " Lord save us," 
 she exclaimed, " do the soldiers fight by candle-light!" 
 Yet out of the debris, England, like a giant refreshed, 
 or like a second Samson shorn, stood out a terror and 
 example to be feared and respected. 
 
 With vast troops on the Continent, and home in a 
 measure unprotected, serious fears were entertained of 
 a raid upon our shores. Then started forth the in- 
 domitable power of our secret resources. Troops must 
 be raised, but how ? Our yeomanry had been fairly 
 but insufficiently drilled. Then the latent spirit of 
 English gentlemen roused, anxious to be up and doing. 
 Suggestions came from all quarters, until at last the 
 Government promised a captaincy (and pension to his 
 widow and children) to any man who could bring a 
 hundred men into the field, clothed and drilled. My 
 father was not slow to accept such terms. His little 
 army was equipped, drilled, and clothed, and accepted 
 at head-quarters. The title of captain was bestowed 
 upon my father, who subsequently held garrison in 
 Exeter, Dublin, and eventually was captain of the 
 guard at Windsor when the Prince of Wales (after- 
 wards George IV.) was proclaimed Prince Eegent. 
 
 c2
 
 20 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 By courtesy and custom a knighthood, I believe, was 
 his by right ; but wise friends, who feared his well- 
 known extravagance, persuaded him to prefer that his 
 regiment should be presented with a pair of colours 
 instead. This was done, and the said colours of the 
 14th Regiment of Foot now float in Westminster 
 Abbey. 
 
 On proclamation of peace, festivities were held in 
 every town. Down the public streets large tents were 
 erected ; beef, beer, and plum-pudding were dispensed 
 to all comers with ungrudging hospitality. 
 
 I believe this was the last street feast that occurred. 
 Traffic has become too great. Maypoles, Oak-apple 
 Day, Easter, and Palm Sunday, with Jack-in-the- 
 Green, and such remnants of an older period, have 
 disappeared. I believe, also, that I was present at 
 the last in England, as 1 was by accident at the last 
 Smith field and Greenwich fairs. The last feast I 
 allude to was held at Winthorpe, near Newark, and 
 lasted for three days, and a simple and plentiful feast 
 it was too. I was invited to a large farm, and, 
 strange to relate, a favourite servant of ours was that 
 well-to-do farmer's daughter. Strange changes since 
 that: farmers' daughters now-a-days indulge in
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 21 
 
 pianos and riding-habits, would scorn to be servants, 
 and know as much about churning as about darning 
 — much less knitting — stockings. But to my tale. 
 A large barn was decorated with green boughs and 
 flowers, and a large copper was kept boiling night and 
 day, filled with what, in olden parlance, was called 
 "frummety" — "firmity," I believe, is the correct 
 term. This consisted of boiled wheat, mixed with 
 milk, nutmeg, and sugar. This mixture used to be 
 sold as freely as milk, from door to door, in my early 
 days — but more often the simple boiled wheat. But, 
 to return : a table was kept constantly supplied with 
 rounds of beef, ham, bacon, pork-pies, and such solid 
 food ; table beer ad lib. The more refined visitors were 
 offered home-made wine and mead. That drink has also 
 departed. Also strong beer and tea were provided. 
 This was no joke, as the best tea at that time was 
 sixteen shillings per lb. But then it was tea. Salt, 
 too, was an expensive and distinguishing feature, 
 costing from half-a-crown to eighteenpence per lb. It 
 used to be sold in little latli baskets, like the demi- 
 strawberry ones you see in London. Rude rock salt 
 was used for the kitchen, a lump being placed upon 
 the table, and potatoes, meat, &'c., were rubbed upon
 
 2 2 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 it to taste — a rude remnant of barbarity, then just 
 banished from the farmer's own table. Improvement 
 then travelled slowly, and master and men generally 
 worked and ate together. But on to the feast. Beds 
 and all manner of contrivances for rest were laid 
 down ; those who had danced all day, or otherwise 
 amused themselves with quoits, skittles, wrestling, 
 and running, retired for the night. Then a fresh 
 batch, who had been sleeping, rose to keep up the 
 game ; and so it went on for three days. But, in fact, 
 it was nearly a week before all things were toned 
 down and heads clear again. The fiddlers had a hard 
 time of it, and had to be well fed, watched, and paid, 
 or the game never would have lasted. I was an 
 observant boy, and remember no scene during that 
 festive time to shock the ear or eye. This was the 
 last real old-fashion feast, that I know of, held in once 
 Merrie England, 
 
 When the history of George IV. shall be 
 properly written — when old influences, family ties, 
 and Court alliances shall have died out — then, those 
 in possession of back-stair secrets, intrigues, private 
 and political, will be heard, and a history will be 
 developed overtopping the infamy of any pre-
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 23 
 
 ceding reign in English history. Bad — altogether 
 bad. 
 
 The strict nature of " snuffy old Charlotte's" rule 
 domestic, and the easy pious nature of simple-minded 
 but obstinate Greorge III., paved the way for 
 duplicity on the part of those surrounding them. At 
 last there burst forth an unbroken development of the 
 long-hidden follies, ripening into crime, which, re- 
 coiling on the simple George, caused the pent-up 
 remnants of his mind to be shattered, and a merciful 
 Providence folded in darkness his anguish-tortured 
 heart and brain. 
 
 She was not altogether a bad sort, wasn't snuffy 
 old Charlotte, then so called, from a habit she had of 
 taking snuff with a little golden spoon, the finger and 
 thumb being thought a dirty process for a lad3\ 
 This little woman hadn't a bad heart, though she was 
 somewhat over-jDroud of her Court and its dignity. 
 She was exacting, too, in forms and etiquette — but if 
 a declension in trade from change, fashion, or other 
 cause occurred, she would step to the rescue. Should 
 the Spitalfields weavers be in distress, dresses alone of 
 that manufacture were to be worn ; should Coventry 
 suffer, ribbons, and no other trimming, would be
 
 24 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 tolerated. In fact, in her sphere she did much to 
 assist her people. A liberal and personal supporter 
 of all public entertainments, and, though somewhat 
 niggardly herself, she would not tolerate it in others. 
 She said once to a celebrated Duchess, on a Court 
 day, who appeared for the second time in a costly 
 dress — 
 
 " I thinh I have seen that dress before." 
 The sarcastic tone of the little lady amused all 
 present, and left a warning for those to come that she 
 would have no duplicate presentations. 
 
 I think William IV., both as an old and young 
 man, was as spotless as any of that branch — one only 
 serious blot amidst his foibles was his treatment of 
 Mrs. Jordan, the celebrated actress. In that he dis- 
 played as much narrowness as she evinced broken- 
 hearted dignity. In youth she was impetuous, but 
 showed as much sense and grace in her after elevation, 
 as quiet resignation in her fall. 
 
 When a mere novice in the York circuit, the airs 
 and assumption she indulged in made her dreaded as 
 a cormorant, who was resolved, if possible, to get 
 more than her due share of applause. But at the 
 same time she was well-beloved — (for actors are ever
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 25 
 
 prond of talent in others) — for her gay heart, lovely 
 person, and joyous manner. She rose rapidly in her 
 profession, and was the observed of all observers. 
 This drew her to London, where her fame and fortune 
 became settled. When in the zenith of her popularity 
 she received an offer from the manager of the York 
 circuit to " star," as it is called. In those days it was 
 a rare occurrence to part with a useful member unless 
 drawn to London, for at that time letters were eight, ten, 
 and sometimes eigliteenpence; therefore applications for 
 situations, and the necessary correspondence, entailed 
 money, and that in no small measure. The nurseries 
 for London were York and Bath. When the news 
 reached the company of the coming "star" about to 
 visit them, all was consternation. " Oh," said they, 
 " nobody will be able to get a line worth speaking, or 
 even a laugh, while she is here — the cormorant." 
 But to their surprise, though she appeared more 
 elegantly dressed, her manner was gentle, sweet, and 
 simple. After greeting them all affectionately, 
 almost the first words she uttered when rehearsal 
 began were these, " You know what a little grasper I 
 was, but London has taught me better things. 
 Whether 3/0^ get a laugh, or /get a laugh, so long as
 
 26 
 
 RAND OM RE COLLE CTIONS. 
 
 it is legitimately got, and with propriety, the better 
 for the piece — you, me, and the public." She had 
 learnt the great secret, that "unity is strength;" 
 " that 0/'?e swallow does not make a summer;" and 
 that the " star" dimning the efforts of itr, satellites, 
 shines inordinately and loses grace in the world's 
 eye.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 1823 TO 1833. 
 
 A T the time I speak of, bair-powder had gone out 
 of use, with breeches, thoug-li, in some cases, 
 pigtails held their sway. Hessian and tights came 
 now into fashion, and I remember a great beau would 
 never sit down when he called. He was in the habit 
 of wearing nankeen tights, and used to say the}'- 
 bulcjed at the knee if he sat. Fashion had its victims 
 then — even more than now. An uncle of mine, who 
 was in the yeomanry, used to explain the trouble a 
 thorough head- dressing for drill caused him. The 
 process lasted three hours. It commenced with a 
 good washing, to get rid of the old dressing, 
 then a basin of lard and flour was brought. Every 
 hair was thickened with this preparation ; a kind 
 of rough foundation, with false pigtail, was then 
 attached to the hair. Then his own hair raised over 
 it, forming a kind of toupc. It was then left slowly
 
 28 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 to dry, the dresser by degrees puffing with a little 
 instrument formed for that purpose like a small 
 bellows, from which issued a certain amount of violet 
 powder, until the mass became firm, hard, and fault- 
 lessly white. Then black ribbon was tied firmly 
 round the pigtail, in various folds ; the head, face, and 
 neck were thoroughly cleansed, and the process was 
 completed. 
 
 This kept good for a week or more with occasional 
 powder applied, with a new ribbon to give it a fresh- 
 ness of appearance. This torture, endured by men 
 for fashion's sake, was insignificant to what the ladies 
 suffered. In their case the process was so prolonged 
 that often, on Court occasions, high-class barbers 
 fixed hours three days beforehand to accommodate 
 their customers, allowing one hour on tlie Court day 
 for fresli powdering, patching up, and fixing the 
 various ornaments for those vast structures, as flowers, 
 feathers, jewels, &c. The poor things had to lie for 
 nights in one position for fear of disturbing the 
 proper form of their towering head-dresses. This 
 was a disgusting fashion in all senses. 
 
 My father was very fond of company and late 
 dinners. It was his boast — and a very foolish one, I
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 29 
 
 regret to say — that his " grandfather breakfasted by 
 candle-light, but his son dined by it." Amidst his 
 numerous guests was one Romeo Coutts, as he was 
 called. The crest on this eccentric individual's 
 carriage — a showy, useless vehicle — was a cock crow- 
 ing, with the motto of " While I live I'll crow." 
 His vanity was excessive ; he made himself famous 
 by playing Eomeo, and exhibited his folly in most 
 provincial towns, Bath not excepted. His fame 
 reaching London, he was invited to give a per- 
 formance at Drury Lane. His well-known eccen- 
 tricity attracted a crowded house ; many of his 
 speeches elicited laughter and ironical applause, but 
 the climax of absurdity was reached in the death 
 scene, on his final fall — the applause was ironically 
 tremendous. He mistook it for genuine admiration, 
 and, spreading out a handkerchief to protect his 
 finery, he actually gave his death over again, and the 
 curtain descended amidst cat-calls and convulsive 
 laughter. 
 
 The marriage of poor Caroline with \X\q first gentle- 
 man in Europe — Heaven save the mark ! — was a 
 great event, and the country paid pretty smartly for 
 its gilded toy. His debts must be paid — and pretty
 
 so RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 debts tliey were — -before he could be forced to swallow 
 the pill matrimonial and become a good boy, which, 
 by the way, he never became. However, they were 
 paid in a fashion, and the marriage took place. On 
 that fatal night the warm-hearted creature was 
 drugged by heartless demireps, and the bridegroom 
 got dead drunk. Ah ! when the history of that 
 marriage, its previous intrigue and after experiences, 
 with cat-and-dog life, is written, innocent hearts will 
 shudder, and prefer the simple path of pure unity to 
 the gilded severance of all holy ties. It was thought 
 that the birth of their daughter, the Princess 
 Charlotte, would solve all differences ; but the polite 
 humbug sank deeper into crime until its culminating 
 point was reached, when he, like Henry VIII., panted 
 for poor Caroline's blood. Fortunately for the honour 
 of England, and owing mainly to Brougham's in- 
 domitable pluck, this business ended in divorce. The 
 rash interruption during the coronation — the attempt 
 by the despairing, wretched wife to enter Westminster 
 Abbey during the ceremony, speaks a volume of un- 
 controlled mismanagement and ill-advice such as has 
 been rarely met with. Even her surroundings were 
 of the blatant class ; and though thousands mourned
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 31 
 
 for her, no true heart took the rightly directed course. 
 I am Dot here to speak of any but cursory matters, or 
 " I could a tale unfold whose lightest word would har- 
 row up your souls ;" bat I am off on my hobby again. 
 
 They say Churchmen are dead on the charity-box, 
 and love a plurality of livings and fees — this fact was 
 exemplified strongly in my young nature. The vicar 
 of a neighbouring parish asked my tutor to do duty 
 for him in his absence abroad for health, and promised 
 me all the burial fees. The parish was a healthy one, 
 and we used to drive over in a gig. Every Sunday 
 mv mind was calculatinsr the amount of fees in 
 prospect ; thus my naturally sympathetic mind was, 
 by the love of lucre, transformed, and I felt positively 
 disgusted that no one did me the favour to die in 
 order that I might pocket the burial fees. 
 
 That a great change has taken place in the climate 
 of England since my earlier days is positive. Plenty 
 of snow and skating before Christmas was usual ; now 
 it is a rarity. It was a common thing to have letters 
 delayed, as the mails had often to be dug out of 
 immense masses of snow. I remember being blown 
 into a vast pile, gatliered by the storm against the 
 wall, and nearly suffocated.
 
 32 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 On that very night, too, I remember another cir- 
 cumstance, partly ludicrous and partly mournful. 
 Sitting in my mother's house, we all heard a timid rap 
 at the door on that bitter night, and were roused by 
 a fearful scream. Suddenly the parlour-maid rushed 
 into the room, screaming, " The devil ! the devil ! 
 Save me, wretched sinner that I am !" My mother, 
 more calm than the rest, stepped into the passage. 
 We breathlessly listened to a low murmur and ex- 
 pressions of surprise and pity. 
 
 " Step into that room, and I will prepare the 
 children." 
 
 The matter was explained, and in due course, after 
 preparation, and assisted by the now delighted 
 parlour-maid, one of the tallest figures and most 
 eleo;ant women I have ever seen entered the room. 
 Her history was a sad one. The daughter of a wealthy 
 nurseryman of Newark, she lived in happiness and 
 independence during her mother's life. The mother 
 died, and the father married again. Her new step- 
 mother was a harsh, vindictive, and jealous woman. 
 The poor girl, owing to her height, could rarely leave 
 home, and was debarred the natural enjoyment of 
 societ}^, and that home was made a hell to her. She
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 33 
 
 also, unfortunately, " loved, not wisely, but too well," 
 and fled from tliat home with a drunken, dissipated 
 fellow. The father, urged by his merciless wife, swore 
 a bitter oath that he would never forgive or receive 
 her. In desperation she was obliged to exhibit 
 herself publicly, and became the occupant of a 
 travelling show. Brought to a standstill on her 
 way to Nottingham fair, her husband dying, and her 
 little one sick, she bethought her of the charitably 
 disposed, and my angel mother, amidst others, rose 
 to her recollection. In her despair she dressed 
 herself in her spangled finery, and, covered by a 
 cloak, with a shawl over her head, and head-dress 
 under her arm, she made her way as best she 
 could by bj'c-ways and unfrequented streets to our 
 house. 
 
 We laughed as she described the terror she inspired 
 by her great height, and wept at the recital of her 
 griefs. When first she appeared before us the impres- 
 sion was startling. Upon her head she wore a kind 
 of turban adorned with feathers. Her hair was 
 singularly beautiful, and fell in massy ringlets upon 
 her well-shaped bust ; her features were purely 
 Grecian, and her manners and movements most lady- 
 
 D
 
 34 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 like, altliougli in height slie exceeded any woman I 
 have ever seen. 
 
 After staying a short time she departed, overwhelmed 
 with gratitude at our liberality, to seek other doors, 
 leaving behind her an impression yet fresh in my 
 memory. Little less in height than the celebrated 
 Irish giant, O'Brien, she never had his good fortune. 
 This celebrity travelled as a gentleman, put up at the 
 principal hotels, his prices of admission being five 
 shillings, and nothing less ; while the poor woman 
 who had just left us had to exhibit at from sixpence to 
 one penny. O'Brien, in his way, was a wonder, too. 
 Being well up to efl'ect and business, he used to stand 
 behind the door of entrance, his figure being thus 
 concealed ; and, leaning over, he would shake hands 
 with those entering. When the doors were very high 
 he would stand upon a stool, and thus increase the 
 first impression. The one retired in comfort; the 
 other, I fear, ended her days in misery. The fatlier 
 took to heart his fatal curse and cruelty, became a 
 reckless drunkard, and ended by dissipating a good 
 business and property, thus cutting off the chance of 
 a tardy reparation. 
 
 One of the first steamers ever built used to ply on
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 35 
 
 the Trent. I remember it — a rude, ungainly, bulky, 
 ugly thing ; it gave no promise to me of what, and to 
 what extent of importance, I should see steamers 
 attain in the maritime world. I remember a short 
 tramway for the transport of coal. Tramways became 
 popular in the coal districts, and from that I opine 
 came the first hint of rapid progression ; and with that 
 and the advancement of steam power arose, doubtless, 
 railways. 
 
 Talkino; of that reminds me of a comical event. A 
 little tramway led down to the river near the old 
 Newark Castle. On the wharf was a cottage and 
 weighing-machine. A pet parrot used to be perched 
 outside the cottage, and naturally picked up the usual 
 expressions to be heard in that quarter. On this 
 identical tramway was a load of coal, and attached to 
 a cart was a horse unattended, the driver being pro- 
 bably off to a public-house. The horse suddenl}^ 
 heard a rough command to " back," then a steady 
 " wo-ooh." The horse heard the mandate, first 
 backed a space, and then stood still. Polly, 
 who enjoyed the fun, chuckled a hearty laugh, 
 and asrain irave the word to "back." The horse 
 did " back" with a vengeance, for coals, cart, 
 
 D 2
 
 36 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 and horse were precipitated into the river and 
 lost. 
 
 A Httle while ago I spoke of murders ; I will now 
 speak of one far more cruel than the Ware, Hunt, and 
 Thurtell affair. A crippled wretch travelled the 
 country in a small cart drawn by two dogs. He used 
 to propel himself with two claw-like irons. Near 
 Mansfield he met on the road, and in a lonely part, a 
 beautiful young lady. What artifice he used to attract 
 her attention Heaven knows ; suffice it he, according 
 to his own confession, clutched her with those iron 
 claws, abused her, and, to conceal his guilt, cut her in 
 pieces. But Heaven ordained that the villain should 
 not escape ; and yet this brutal murder was passed 
 over in comparative silence by the Press. 
 
 Talking of Mansfield puts me in mind of a comical 
 event. During the vacation I was about to spend 
 some time with a relative near Thoresby Park, the seat 
 of the Earl Manvers. A gentleman in that neigh- 
 bourhood expected a son from school, and sent his 
 man-servant with a gig to meet him. I had also 
 received intelligence that a gig would be at the hotel 
 to take me to Thoresby. On my arrival I heard an 
 uncouth country lad bawling out, as the coach
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 37 
 
 arrived, " Oony cliap here for Tliarshy /" Not quite 
 certain what he said, I cried out, " I am going to 
 Thoresby." 
 
 " Au reet," he replied, " I'se bring a gig round." 
 
 After seeing my traps right I jumped in, and, boy- 
 like, began to ask all sorts of questions. Much of 
 his conversation I really could not understand, he 
 spoke so broadly ; but I learned, to my astonishment, 
 that my relative saw the Earl every day, and in all 
 probability I should be invited to the grand house, as 
 " the Countess was very fond of little chaps." My 
 bosom glowed with delight, having an ambitious turn 
 of mind. 
 
 The more questions I asked the more puzzled I got. 
 He, too, began to " smell a rat." At last he said : 
 
 " What's thy name ?" 
 
 I told him. 
 
 He scratched his head, and said, " Be'est thee in 
 thy reet raoind ?" 
 
 " Yes," I replied; ** are you in yours?" 
 
 " I doan't knaw," the yokel said. "Where art'ee 
 going to, then ?" 
 
 "To Mr. Pashaud's," I said; who, by the way, was 
 of Swiss extraction and the husband of my aunt.
 
 38 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 He whistled loud and long, then coolly said, " Thee 
 mun get out." 
 
 Now we had driven a long way, and the road was 
 narrow and lonely, for " the Dukeries,'^ as the}' are 
 called, are not very populous. I was plucky, too, and 
 would not stir. We had a wordy war, but he coolly 
 settled it by pitching my baggage into the road, and 
 was going to do ditto to your humble servant. I 
 clung with tenacity to the gig, and a scufSe ensued. 
 Kicks, shouts, screams, and yells were suddenly put 
 an end to by the arrival of another gig and its 
 occupant, who in his turn yelled, thinking some 
 murder was being committed. 
 
 It turned out to be my uncle's servant hurrying to 
 meet me at the hotel. The matter was soon explained, 
 but the event caused much laughter in the neigh- 
 bourhood, and on Sunday, when attending church, I 
 received from the Earl, his Countess, and family, a 
 laughing recognition, repeated, too, on several occa- 
 sions, having been praised for my pluck. But — death 
 to my ambitious hopes — / never received an invitation 
 to dinner. 
 
 Fate took me from Newark and the companionship 
 of my dearly beloved tutor. My mother's broken
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 39 
 
 health, brought; on by excessive attendance on my 
 father in his last illness, rendered a change to more 
 bracing air imperative. My father had lived to get 
 through a tolerable estate ; and losses came thickly 
 in his later days. He lost heavily in Chamberlain's 
 china manufactory, Worcester, so that the captaincy 
 purchased, as I have said, b}^ the equipment of a 
 hundred men, proved for us a fortunate event, as from 
 this my mother derived a pension, which, added to a 
 small annuity, enabled us to live, if not in splendour, 
 at least respectably. 
 
 My prospect of entering the Church became, how- 
 ever, shadowy and distant. I entered what is called 
 a preparatory school — and here let me warn parents 
 to make a strict inquiry as to the character and means 
 of those to whom they entrust their offspring. The 
 ouhoard appearance of the academy was imposing and 
 respectable ; but I soon found a woeful change. Our 
 bed-rooms were crowded ; our play-ground narrow. 
 (Why are not schools inspected as other institutions ?) 
 " Do-the-Boys Hall" over again ! Dickens must have 
 had some such experience — for if we were not brim- 
 stoned and treacled we were saltzed and sennoed. 
 Tutors came and went; the wife, who ought to have
 
 40 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 been our comforter, became flighty and fantastical ; 
 took to her bed without cause, until it became patent, 
 even to us, young as we were, that the lady drank! 
 Her husband was occasionally absent, and somehow 
 the doctor was at those periods imperatively required. 
 Intrigue was suspected, and the husband turned her 
 out of the house. One morning came the astounding' 
 fact that we were minus provisions. Always old- 
 boyish in my disposition, I could not understand short 
 commons, so I boldly went to a shop in the Totten- 
 ham-court Eoad, and ordered butter, eggs, and bacon 
 liberally, which were duly sent, and were swallowed 
 with much gusto, and to the universal delight of my 
 fellow-scholars. We had scarcely finished when 
 piteous w^ails were heard in the next garden. It was 
 the truant wife. We planted a ladder and mounted 
 it ; then, handing the same over the wall, she mounted 
 and descended amidst cheers ; and, by the assistance 
 of the whole school, reinstalled herself, right or 
 wrong. A terrific row ensued, and thus, sickened of 
 scholastic experiences of that kind, I made my way 
 to a relative and never returned. 
 
 I was removed to a school in Essex, well conducted 
 and well managed; large dormitories, and good food
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 41 
 
 without stint ; also tuition irreproacliable. It was 
 situated in a village spelt Kelvedon, but called 
 "Keldon." Being elected monitor, my duty was to 
 light the rushlight (now disused) with a tinder-box 
 ignited by flint and steel, and many a rap on the 
 knuckles I have had before the light would come. Oh ! 
 ye lucifer matches, we hail your startling and bene- 
 ficial change ! 
 
 So much for the dear old times. But while I am 
 on the subject of old days I will show how the laws 
 were administered then in some instances. I well 
 remember a little lad, scarcely seven years old, who 
 was, without reflection, given in charge for stealing a 
 silk pocket-handkerchief from my brother-in-law while 
 walking with two friends in Cheapside. The three, 
 without thinking, gave the boy in charge. On my 
 brother-in-law's return home he mentioned what had 
 happened, and my sister was horrified at the relation, 
 having children of her own. At her instance her 
 husband tried to get the boy released; his appeal was 
 useless, the law must take its course. The day of 
 trial came on ; I went with my sister to the Old 
 Baile}', being the first and, up till now, the last time 
 I was ever in a criminal court. We, with the rest of
 
 42 .RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 the public, were perclied in a kind of gallery. In 
 the dock was a pale, white-headed old man, near 
 seventy, I should say. Grreen herbs were strewn 
 around him, to keep off the infection from prison 
 fever — then common. Ah, the good old times ! 
 Past, thank Heaven, never to return, I hope. This 
 poor old man had stolen a lamb, to keep life in his 
 fast decaying frame. He had " never done so before," 
 he said, in tremulous accents ; " but I and my missus 
 were starving." To my intense horror and disgust, 
 he was sentenced to death. 
 
 Hanging then was common ; it scarcely elicited a 
 remark. Next the helpless child was brought up for 
 sentence, and soon disposed of; his term for stealing 
 a pocket-handkerchief (probably much worn) was 
 seven years' transportation. My poor sister fainted, 
 and on her partial recovery we left the court, sickened 
 and appalled. 
 
 This reminds me of an event indelible in its im- 
 pression. I had a brother-in-law living in Salisbury 
 Square, Fleet Street, London, I was then on a visit 
 to a brother of mine who lived in Smithfield. Light- 
 heartedly 1 arose, bent on breakfasting with my 
 brother-in-law in Salisbury Square. It was a little
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 43 
 
 after eight in the morning. As I neared the Okl 
 Bailey I saw a crowd, and straight before me I saw 
 five figures dangling on a beam. I shall never forget 
 it ; the centre figure especially attracted my gaze, and 
 seemed photographed there. It was the figure of a 
 woman, in a white, short bed-gown, and a black petticoat 
 tied to her ankles, with a black cap over her face. It 
 turned me deadly sick, and even now I shudder as I 
 write of it — for hours after, nothinfr- that I took 
 remained upon my stomach. What crimes the four 
 men who dangled from that fatal beam had committed 
 I do not remember, as the woman's case was all- 
 engrossing to me. She had been condemned to death 
 for the murder of her child. The cruel creature had 
 strangled it, as she thought, and flung it into the 
 Fleet Ditch — a veritable ditch of filth indeed — now 
 vanished. The child struggled hard for life, and the 
 bubbling attracted some passers-by. The little thing 
 was rescued and carried to the neis^hbourinjz work- 
 house. After being washed, the child was placed to 
 some woman's breast ; it suckled eagerly, but could not 
 swallow. This led to an examination. A piece of 
 thread had been tightly tied round the neck by the 
 unfeelhig mother ; upon severing this the child grew
 
 44 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 lively and well. But now comes the remarkable 
 portion of the case. Laws then were so strict, and 
 hanging so common, that the mother was hanged for 
 the attempt. 
 
 It was a sight indeed, before railways were fully 
 developed, to see the mail coaches assembled for the 
 dispatch of letters to all quarters. A member of 
 Parliament had little peace ; postage being then so 
 dear, and he having the privilege to frank letters free 
 of cost, you may imagine the mean shifts to get a 
 letter free. Eowland Hill studied the matter deeply, 
 and the subterfuge of a Welsh girl to learn news 
 from home and avoid payment of postage led to the 
 introduction of the penny rate. Rewards were freely 
 offered to the public for a stamp fulfilling all require- 
 ments, but in vain. One morning there was sub- 
 mitted a pierced sheet of paper with a Queen's head 
 and a glazed back. Its practicability and positive 
 value were at once apparent, and, without trouble, 
 the large reward was handed to the inventor. 
 
 Talking of postage brings us back to coaches, four- 
 in-hands, &c. We were always famous for our " turn- 
 outs" in England. I remember being in Paris during 
 Louis Philippe's time, and whenever an English turn-
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 45 
 
 out appeared in the Champs Elysees or Bois de Bou- 
 logne, every eye was turned in admiration : " Les 
 Anglais!" was the cry; "Yoila!" " Magnifique !" 
 " Superbe !" &c. Now their turn-outs equal ours, 
 and their racers compete with and gain prizes against 
 our best blood. What a change has Paris under- 
 gone ! I remember there, in the narrow back streets, 
 ropes holding a lantern were swung across the streets ; 
 "a la lantern !" was a common cry in revolutionary 
 times. Then it was common to see a man hanging 
 instead, of a lantern. These over-convenient air 
 arrangements were prudently removed by Louis 
 Philippe ; and Napoleon III., improving upon the 
 " Citizen King," cast down the narrow streets, and 
 gave light, space, and symmetry, where filth and 
 crime had flourished. The French often go before 
 us, but always improve upon us. Truly ma}^ it be 
 said that England invented the shirt and France the 
 
 ruffle. 

 
 CHAP TEH IV. 
 
 1833 TO 1835. 
 
 T PASS over my mother's death, a bitter loss to me ; 
 my departure from Kelvedon, much suffering, 
 many struggles to forget the happy past. My father 
 had been dead some years, and now my mother gone. 
 I felt next to friendless. My grief at this desolate 
 period of my life at last brought on an attack of brain 
 fever. On recovery I was sent to my uncle's to learn 
 farming, with no taste for such occupation. There I 
 stayed two years, but my distaste for such a Hfe 
 strengthened, and I returned to Loudon. My brother 
 Philip had married a clergyman's daughter, and I be- 
 came acquainted v/ith her brothers, who were gay 
 young fellows, much in love with amateur perform- 
 ances, and here commenced my first glimmering of 
 my future fate. They frequented Pym's Private 
 Theatre, and played parts from five shillings to a 
 guinea a head. They persuaded me to join them.
 
 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 47 
 
 They selected Earl Percy in " The Castle Spectre" for 
 my first essay. The stage was very small, and I had 
 to climb a ladder from my dressing-room and get 
 through a window on to the stage for rehearsal. I 
 got on pretty well till I came to putting on the 
 armour, and standing on a pedestal, which, by the way, 
 was a soap box, when suddenly I heard my brother 
 Phil's voice — " Where's the vagabond ? I'll ' Castle 
 Spectre' him !" A box on the ear sent me sprawling, 
 and a vigorous kick sent me ignominiously flying from 
 the stage. This was my first appearance ; would it 
 had been my last ! This puts me in mind of some 
 mountebanks I once saw performing in a field. Usher, 
 a well-known clown at that time, announced a great 
 entertainment in a field, when a pig, a gown, and a 
 guinea were to be raffled for, with ground and lofty 
 tumbling, comic songs were to be sung, tight-rope 
 dancing by Miss Usher (afterwards the celebrated 
 Mrs. Alfred Wigan), and to conclude with a duet be- 
 tween Mr. Usher, the clown, and a goat! which turned 
 out to be most laughable. And the way it was efiected 
 was thus: — A rude kind of piano was brought for- 
 ward, then the goat was introduced on his hind 
 legs bv Usher, when, after some ludicrous tricks, he
 
 48 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OE 
 
 was led close to the piano. After some advice as to 
 due regard to the notes, the band struck up the duet 
 of " No," and Mr. Usher began, as if playing, " When 
 you was a young one and wanted some wittles, oh, 
 what did you say to me?" the Goat replied, "Baahf" 
 and so the duet went on, until mounting to crescendo, 
 it actually reached a scream. And it was managed 
 thus : — A wire had been passed round his tail, 
 and was pulled by Usher hard and harder, until 
 the goat absolutely screamed with agony. This 
 caused peals of laughter, and the whole entertainment 
 Was a success. 
 
 I had now arrived at an age when it became appa- 
 rent that I must begin to do something in the future. 
 My sailor-brother's arrival hastened this step. My 
 family wished to place me with a bookseller near the 
 Eschange. Had I taken that step, probably a villa and 
 retirement in middle age would have been my lot. My 
 pride revolted at the idea. " My father never stood 
 behind a counter !" I mentally exclaimed, " and why 
 shoul 1 1 ?" While the matter was yet unsettled, I hap- 
 pened to see in a shop window a little book, " The 
 Eoadto the Stage," Is. That little book decided my 
 career; I purchased it eagerly, and hurried home with it.
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 49 
 
 I there read that a young man with a fair degree of 
 education and good looks, with memory and tact — 
 these I flattered myself I possessed— would have little 
 difficulty in winning his way to fortune. Then glow- 
 ing visions arose. My inborn love of things theatrical 
 had nearly died out, until awakened by witnessing a 
 performance at the Strand Theatre, called " The Loves 
 of the Angels," the two principal lady performers 
 being Mrs. Waylett and Mrs. Honey. Mrs. Waylett 
 was one of the most delicious ballad singers that ever 
 graced the stage ; her voice was liquid melody, and 
 Lee, the composer, seemed born to add graces to it. 
 " Kate Kearney," " The Gondoletta," and a variety of 
 other charming songs were composed for her by Lee, 
 and her rendition has never been surpassed by any 
 later singer ; for Lee hit her natural, yet florid style, 
 exactly. Her grace notes, strange to say, never marred 
 the melody. She was a beautifully-formed woman, 
 too, though not remarkably pretty. Her compeer (the 
 rival of Vestris), Mrs. Honey, though not gifted with 
 Mrs. Waylett's vocal powers, possessed one of the 
 loveliest faces ever seen, with all the charms of a fine 
 figure and youth, to add lustre to her person. I 
 strolled into the theatre one night, and became en- 
 
 E
 
 50 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 amoured of the pair. My means were slender and my 
 hours limited, yet I attended regularly, and had to 
 force myself early from the theatre after the duet of 
 " Gently, ah, Gently" had been sung. The third 
 " angel" in this piece was the sister of Miss Ellen 
 Tree, who married Charles Kean, of whom more anon. 
 This little " angel" attracted Mr. Chapman, of news- 
 paper celebrity. She suffered by comparison with the 
 lovelier pair, but was universally admired for her rec- 
 titude of conduct and steady attention to the duties 
 of her profession. 
 
 Thus my latent passion for the stage had been 
 stimulated by my admiration of the Strand beauties, 
 and culminated in a furore on perusing the little 
 volume called " The Eoad to the Stage," 
 
 In it I learned there were three acknowledged agents, 
 whose dut}^ it was, for a fee, to procure situations. 
 The principal agent was Kenneth, whose daughters 
 were once celebrated Drury Lane actresses. Turnour 
 stood next, whose daughter, as a soubrette, was little 
 inferior, if at all, to Mrs. Humby. The other held 
 his resort at the Harp Tavern. Kenneth was too 
 grand for me then, so I sneaked round to the Harp. 
 Feeling disgusted with the drunk and shabby cus-
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 51 
 
 tomers, as a dernier ressorf I passed Tumour's abode; 
 it was a tobacconist's, in Bow Street, with private 
 entrance for actors' business on the first floor. I entered 
 the shop, asked for a cigar, and beheld a pale, pretty, 
 and interesting young girl, in ringlets (which were 
 then in fashion, I wish they were now). Young 
 people sympathetically get chatty, and without guile 
 I told her my purpose. "You turn actor! oh, pray 
 don't," she said. I replied, " I was resolute in making 
 the attempt." " Well, then, don't go up to my father 
 now, but come this evening, after eight o'clock. His 
 office closes at five ; I shall have plenty of time to talk 
 to him, and I'll see what I can do for you." I went, 
 and was received cordially by the father, who gave me 
 a letter to a Mr. Cobham, an enormous East-end 
 favourite in his time, and once — as Booth was — a 
 rival of the elder Kean, having much the same style 
 and figure. He had taken the Little Standard Theatre, 
 Bishopsgate Street, for a three months' season. By- 
 the-way, this theatre is now one of the largest, if not 
 the largest in London — so much for progression. I 
 entered, and for the first time trod theatrical boards ; 
 the place was by no means imposing, and the people 
 who surrounded me were so far from wliat I antici-
 
 52 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 pated, that I really think I should have gone as I had 
 come, but for the determination of fate. 
 
 I had heard much of Cobham, and anticipated see- 
 ing a god-like man — at least six foot two. To my 
 surprise I saw a little, wizened, old man, with a dirty 
 horrid muffler round his tliroat, and who spoke in a 
 snuffy shambling style. He was the antipodes in 
 my figuration of a people's idol. I explained my 
 business, and offered him Tumour's letter of recom- 
 mendation. He looked at me from head to toe, whis- 
 pered some time with two shabby companions, then 
 turned, and in a grandiloquent style, the oj^posite 
 to his former manner, said, " You are cast for Eode- 
 rigo." 
 
 " I am wliat ?'" I said, not dreaming of his meaning. 
 
 " I k-ji-e-w it'^ he said, folding his arms and 
 grinning at me in a sardonic way, " of c-o-u-r-s-e, 
 nothing less than Othello, o-r I-a-g-o, would suit you. 
 Come now" (grinning and hissing his words slowly, 
 with great emphasis, and elongation of arm and leg), 
 " I knew it. I suppose (looking at me from head to 
 foot contemptuously) you would have the a-u-d-a-c-i-t-y 
 to consider you could play Othello better than me," 
 carrying the tone up to a shriek, then in the deepest
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 53 
 
 bass, " ye g-o-cl-s ! but you don't do it here, young 
 man. No ! No ! ! you don't do it here." 
 
 I slowly recovered my astonishment, and began to 
 see the drift, " I beg your pardon," I replied, " I 
 would not attempt to play Othello against you, or any 
 other man, nor do I see why j'-ou should cast me 
 (mistaking the meaning of the word) with Mr. What's- 
 his-name, as I feel he is a stranger to me, by breed or 
 connection." 
 
 Here, to my astonishment, he elongated his leg as 
 well as his speech (a great habit with him, I believe), 
 and lifting his foot higher than I supposed he could do 
 in reason, suddenl}^ clapped it upon the table, dug his 
 elbow into it with his hand resting on his chin, 
 shrieked out, " Oh, a novice. Have I caught yoit 
 there! ! ! Ho, Rustighello, bring me a goblet of 
 the nectarian fluid, and as we quaff we will discuss 
 tliis matter." The nectarian fluid consisted of a 
 threepenny quart of porter in a battered quart pot. 
 After discussing this, he said suddenly, " We have 
 decided — Roderigo be it." Seeing me puzzled, he 
 explained, to my relief, in a natural manner, that 
 Roderigo was a capital part in Shakspeare's play of 
 " Othello," and admirably adapted to my face and
 
 54 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 figure. I rather winced at this side compliment — I 
 felt he must be in jest, as he did not seem the 
 prototype, in my mind, of Othello. I simply said, " If 
 you will oblige me with a book I will read it over ;" 
 he did so with much grace and flourish. I retired to 
 a coffee-house to read the part ; I found it far too 
 great an attempt at first. I returned, and said so. 
 He looked at me for some minutes, then slowly 
 placing his two hands on my shoulders, he said 
 solemnly, and with a look that brought tears into my 
 eyes, " Young man, you'll make an actor !" 
 
 Why has that look and tone come back to me so 
 often — and ever with the same effect ? Was it the 
 far-off sigh of a revealed prophecy — a glimpse into the 
 future of what has been and what will be ? Somehow 
 the tone was not cheering. "Ye gods!" said he, 
 " behold a wonder — an unambitious would-be actor ! 
 Anon, anon, sir ! Thou shalt be well repaid anon ! 
 Ludovico be it." Then turning to me, with over- 
 whelming dramatic effect, " Young man, my life, my 
 fortune are in your hands !" Horrified, I declined the 
 responsibility. He then dropped his theatric manner, 
 and concisely explained that, if imperfect — as what I 
 had to do was principally with him, in the last
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 55 
 
 scene, consequently it depended upon being perfect to 
 make the success and impression certain — I promised 
 my best, and left almost wondering. If all I had 
 seen was actual — had I been in a den of maniacs or 
 was I mad myself? 
 
 What I endured to hide my resolve to be an actor 
 no tongue can tell ; my efforts foolishly being to hide 
 that fact from my friends. I lived at the extremity 
 of Marylebone, and the theatre was at the other end 
 of London. I walked miles to rehearsal and back, 
 often when rehearsals were long, going without food 
 until one in the morning, and then, if I got a meal, 
 it was reserved by a kind servant of my brother's. 
 But I kept my secret well. I mounted from Ludovico, 
 in '' Othello/' and the Lieutenant of the Town in 
 " Kichard TIL," to Malcolm in " Macbeth," to Count 
 Montalban in the " Honeymoon," to " George Barn- 
 well," and that in London before I was six 
 weeks on the stage. On that night a note in a lady's 
 hand was presented me, in which I learned that my 
 little friend, Tumour's daughter, was with her father 
 in the front, sitting in judgment on me, and much 
 pleased. The next morning I received an offer, 
 through my little friend, from Mr. Saville Faucit
 
 56 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 (tather of Helen Faucit), to appear at the Margate 
 Theatre for the summer season, at the magnificent 
 salary of I85. per week; and as I received nothing 
 for my services at the Little Standard, a superb vista 
 was offered to my view. I then announced my 
 intention to my startled friends, who remonstrated in 
 vain. Finding that useless, they fitted me out fairly 
 as to wardrobe, and I took a lingering farewell of 
 Turnour and his pretty daughter, whom, by-the-way, 
 I never saw more. She died, I was told, of con- 
 sumption, and though I had seen her but little, her 
 anxious kindness made an impression on me never to 
 be effaced. 
 
 M}^ departure for Margate was a real event in my 
 life to be marked as the positive starting-point in 
 my profession. It was a lovely day when I 
 embarked ; there were not many passengers. But 
 amongst them were three destined to engross the major 
 portion of my thoughts and actions for the next three 
 months, apart from my professional duties. These 
 were an elderly lady and two younger ones. But, 
 strange to say, the younger of the two was in- 
 different to all my attention. The elderly lady 
 proved chatty and agreeable. In due time dinner
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 57 
 
 was announced, and as I bad been tolerably well 
 supplied with cash, I resolved to make one of the 
 number. During dinner I felt a burning desire to 
 announce the fact that I occupied what to my then 
 thinking seemed the most enviable position in the 
 world — that of an actor. The cloth removed, the 
 three ladies, who seemed to be acquaintances of the 
 captain's, remained ; and wine was ordered. The 
 wished-for moment came. The captain asked me if 
 my stay in Margate would be long. " In all 
 probability three months," I replied. " Business 
 or pleasure." " Neither " — they stared. " My 
 pleasures must be limited as my dreams are. Business 
 I object to — always did." " Well,, I declare, you are a 
 strange young man," said the elderly lady, laughing. 
 ''" Then what in the name of goodness takes 3'Ou to 
 Margate ?" " I am a professional man," I said 
 grandly. " Good gracious, who would have thought 
 it — why you are sadly too young for that." " Never 
 too young to be an actor," I replied loftily. " What ! 
 a jy/<2y actor." I winced at this. "Yes, and I make 
 my first appearance next Monday, at the Theatre 
 Royal," — I laid a stress upon the Roi/al. The 
 captain pushed a glass of wine to me with an
 
 58 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 approving nod, and the elderly lady drew nearer, 
 much interested; but to my mortification the 
 younger, and by far the most attractive, looked 
 superciliously and left with her companion for the 
 deck. 
 
 Alone with the captain and the old lady : " Dear, 
 dear," she said, " what does your poor mother think 
 of such a step?" "I have no mother." "Well, 
 surely, your father objects." " He died long since," 
 I sighed, " Fatherless and motherless ! Dear heart ! 
 what a world we live in." " So much the greater 
 need to put his shoulder to the wheel," said the 
 captain. I saw sympathy and friendliness in their 
 eyes, and with the ingenuousness of youth I told them 
 all. " What, eighteen shillings per week, for a gentle- 
 manly lad like you; isn't it shameful, captain?" 
 " He'll want a world of wit to live on a sum like 
 that," replied the captain. " You couldn't put your 
 head under a roof for less than that sum in Margate. 
 I fear these are all a pack of extortioners. But, 
 luckily, I have been in Margate before, so keep up 
 your heart, and leave me to manage," said the old 
 lady. She retired, leaving me to the captain. I went 
 on deck shortly after, and saw by a seeming coldness
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 59 
 
 that I had been the subject of a wordy war. I felt 
 crest-fallen, fearing I had lost a friend. But as the 
 vessel neared Margate my elderly friend bustled up 
 to me, and frankly said, " I have engaged apartments 
 while we stay, and if you will favour me by calling a 
 chaise when we land, and look after the luggage for 
 us, as a gallant gentleman should do, I shall be proud 
 of your company home ; so put your luggage with 
 ours, it will save going to an hotel, and before you 
 have had a cup of tea I warrant I'll see you settled." 
 I felt her kind intentions, and cheerfully did the 
 duties of a beau chevalier. I jumped into the chaise, 
 to the surprise of her younger daughter, who ill con- 
 cealed her coldness — the other was more agreeable, the 
 old lady lull of kindness, so I rested content. The 
 lodging she had selected was situated outside Margate. 
 She was soon in deep conversation with the landlady, 
 who popped on her bonnet and disappeared, but soon 
 returned smilingly. More confab in a corner, and at 
 last she said, " Now, what do you think of my raanage- 
 juent — I've got you a love of a bed, and a small 
 sitting-room, and all for three shillings and sixpence ; 
 what do you think of that ?" " Impossible !" I replied. 
 " Oh, don't think it a palace, young Mr. Highflyer ;
 
 6o RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 tlie old lady is a lone widow who lias lost a son ; 
 you'll be company to her. But lest she should bore 
 you, I have bargained that you should have the rooms 
 to yourself." Thus was I installed in a pretty home, 
 and within my means — a great item. 
 
 The night of my appearance came at last, the part 
 learned (Montalban, in the " Honeymoon "), one of 
 tlie parts I had played in London, consequently 1 was 
 at ease. T also wore a handsome dress which fitted 
 me to a marvel. My vanity was piqued at the 
 younger lady's coolness, and I feared she would not 
 be present. But there she was, sure enough, and 
 elegantly dressed. I had been invited to supper by 
 Mrs. Britten, the elderly lady in question. I went, 
 after the play — but what a change ! " Eliza the Cold," 
 as I called her, hurried up to me, and complimented 
 me until I felt quite confused ; coldness had Hed, 
 warmth followed, which increased in intensity to the 
 last moment of her life. These are facts — not the 
 suggestions of vanity. SuflRce it, we became lovers. 
 Every morning as the sun arose we wandered by the 
 sea, I to study, she content to sit beside me — a bright 
 dream destined, alas ! to fade. As Eliza's partiality 
 increased, her mother's cooled, and with reason ; for
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 6i 
 
 eigliteen sliiilings per week was a poor look-out, and 
 her mother looked higher for her child. One fatal 
 night Eliza asked me to ride out on the morrow. That 
 was out of the question, for I could not afford it, so I 
 pleaded long parts in both pieces, and the girls had 
 to go alone. The horse Eliza rode started off at a 
 galloping pace, from some unexplained cause ; the 
 turnpike man seeing this, slaramed-to the gate, 
 thinking to stop the horse, which reared. She fell off, 
 and was carried senseless into the toll-house. On 
 rallying, she merely complained of a dull pain in her 
 head. For three or four days she lay upon the sofa, 
 never moving, for to do so caused her agony. It 
 wanted but two days to the termination of the season ; 
 she was anxious to remain, for we were now engaged ; 
 but her mother insisted she should see a physician 
 in London. I promised to see her on Sunday. Fatal 
 promise ! On my arrival home my sister insisted I 
 should not go out. I complied, fearing to pain her 
 and not liking to explain. On the following morning, 
 going to my agent's, intending to visit Eliza after, I 
 saw her sister sobbing at the door. Seeing me, she 
 said, " Oh, why didn't you come last night ? My sister 
 is dead !" Had a pistol shot been fired I could not
 
 62 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 have been more horrified. Heart-stricken, but doubt- 
 ful, I reached her home — it was too true! The flower 
 withered ; the face and form, rarel}^ equalled, cold, 
 cold, and dead to me for ever. It appears that, 
 against all entreaties, she would dress to receive me on 
 that fatal Sunday. Slie had a beautiful head of hair ; 
 the maid had raised the mass, about to apply the 
 comb, when a loud knock startled her ; she rushed 
 forward, exclaiming, " There's Fred !" and fell dead. 
 Tlie mystery was soon explained, for, upon post- 
 mortem examination, it turned out that the skull had 
 been completely fractured, save a slight link, which 
 her sudden start had severed. It was a merciful 
 close to her bright young life, for, had she lived, 
 it was the doctor's opinion dullness would have 
 merged into oblivion of sense, and her life become 
 a blank. Poor Eliza Britten sleeps in Kensal Green 
 Cemetery. 
 
 Having received an offer to join the Newcastle- 
 upon-Tyne com])any, our first essay was fixed for 
 Doncaster. Queen Victoria had then ascended the 
 throne, and her coronation was a different thing 
 indeed to the tinsel finery of George's. At that time 
 Elliston, a celebrated actor in his daj'-, was the
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 63 
 
 manager of Drury Lane. This impulsive individual 
 Lad concocted a fac-simile of George the Fourth's 
 coronation procession, which, by-the-way, was a walk- 
 ing one under cover from St. James's to Westminster 
 Abbey, that excluded the general public in a measure 
 from seeing it. The idea took, and Elliston cast 
 himself the part of the King. The applause was 
 immense during the processions, but culminated when 
 Elliston appeared in full robes, a capital representation 
 of Greorge IV. Night after night its popularity in- 
 creased, and at length, in a moment of enthusiasm, 
 heightened perhaps by a little champagne, he stretched 
 out his hands and gasped out with emotional dignity, 
 " God bless you, mj^ people !" It told, and was 
 repeated nightly. 
 
 Speaking of him brings to mind an anecdote or 
 two of that enthusiastic celebrity. At one time he 
 went on a starring tour to Cheltenham, then in full 
 renown as a watering town. The invalids were 
 numerous ; but, strange to say, there was no good 
 chemist. He espied a fortune, and actually started a 
 grand emporium for the dispensation of drugs, think- 
 ing a knowledge of pharmacy was a secondary con- 
 sideration, and he never abandoned this pet scheme
 
 64 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 until he learned by sad experience that if he had not 
 poisoned one-half of the inhabitants, and deliberately 
 slaughtered the rest, it was by the interposition of a 
 merciful Providence. 
 
 He had, at one time, the Theatre Royal at Bir- 
 mingham ; the business was not good, and Elliston 
 set his wits to work to bring grist to the mill ; he 
 announced, in big posters, the first appearance of 
 Signor Salvarini in England, "the world-renowned 
 wonder, and the strongest man, since Samson, ever 
 seen." Discovering the man was a muff and im- 
 postor, he ignored the engagement, but stuck to the 
 idea. 
 
 " What ?" he " dishonour a bill ? Never, sir-r-r, 
 never!" Glaring puffs preliminary appeared; at 
 length an announcement was put forth that "the 
 eio^hth wonder of the world" had landed at Dover. 
 The public were led up to the highest pitch of excite- 
 ment, and, to increase it, a waggon drawn by eight 
 horses, decorated with boughs and ribbons, paraded 
 the streets. On a raised platform was an immense 
 boulder, or stone, and two men in leather aprons and 
 bare arms struck upon it with sledge-hammers to the 
 notes of a band that followed. This immense stone
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 65 
 
 the mighty Samson was to throw into the air as he 
 would a ball; catching and balancing it upon his head, 
 legs, arms, and even on his nose. Night came, there 
 was a crushing house — fabulous prices were offered 
 for seats. The piece preceding the exhibition of the 
 Signor and the stone passed impatiently away, and 
 now for the grand event of the evening. A flourish 
 of trumpets announced the ascension of the curtain. 
 Who should step to the front bat Elliston, in deepest 
 black, white handkerchief in hand, parted hair, and a 
 voluminous frill and necktie. " Ladies and gentlemen," 
 said he ; raising his white handkerchief, with a broad 
 black border, to his eyes to hide his gushing tears, he 
 blurted out, " What I have suffered for the last fort- 
 night imagination cannot picture or tongue can 
 tell ; that great and gifted man — I allude to Signor 
 Salvarini — arrived, as you know, at Dover [nobody 
 doubted it] ; relays of horses, at immense cost, were 
 stationed at different points ; due notice of his progress 
 reached me, at flibulous cost. I learned at last, to my 
 dismay, that he was suffering from the effects of the 
 journey. I despatched physicians, at enormous cost, 
 and ' hope rose high on eagle's wings to banish fear.' 
 I had done m}'- duty (tears from Elliston, and thunders 
 
 F
 
 66 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 of applause from the audience) ; but alas, the fate of 
 greatness ! this mammoth of a past age — I may say, 
 this mastodon — sickened like a girl, and died !" (A 
 shudder of horror went shivering round.) " But," he 
 exclaimed, with a voice of thunder, " I have one noble 
 satisfaction left, if I cannot show you the man — behold 
 the stone P" The audience awoke to the sell, and 
 shrieks of laughter, mingled with hisses, closed the 
 scene. 
 
 M3' engagement for Doncaster and Newcastle was 
 ibr " inferior walking gentleman," at a salary of 1/., 
 under the management of Mr. Ternan, a good actor 
 and estimable man. He on one occasion played 
 Jaffier, in an exploded, but then popular, play, and 
 also a character in the pantomime. Walking down 
 the village street next morning, he was accosted by a 
 tradesmen, "Oh, Mr. Ternan, you delighted me last 
 night. ^' " I am glad to hear that," Ternan 
 anxiously replied. " The most natural piece of acting 
 I ever witnessed." Now, Jaffier happened to be the 
 actor's pet part. " And which portion did you 
 especially prefer ?" he anxiously asked. " Why, the 
 way in which you swallowed that bucket of water, 
 and the way you writhed when they pumped it up
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 67 
 
 again couldn't be equalled." Death to his am- 
 bitious hopes — it was an occurrence in the pan- 
 tomime he admired, not the cherished efforts of his 
 genius. So much for acting, and judges of the 
 same. 
 
 There were two ladies, as opposite as possible, in 
 that compan}', the one brilliant, the other quiet as a 
 quakeress. I had a rival in the "first walking gentle- 
 man," who thought no small things of himself He 
 bustled up to me, and said, " Your nose is put out, 
 IVe secured the star of the company, so you had 
 better try it on with the quakeress." " Not I," I 
 coolly said, and walked away. The night arrived ; I 
 was dressed in the costume, and perfect — he in 
 ollapodrida costume of all ages but the correct, and 
 anything but perfect in the words ; but the lady star 
 of the day shone with faint glimmer at night ; her 
 figure and action were awkward and ungainly, her 
 dress in the worst possible taste : it looked as if it had 
 been crushed by packing, and hastily unrolled. What 
 a transformation in the quakerish-looking girl, 
 dressed in pure white, and devoid of make-up. With 
 her dark hair falling in masses, she looked perfection, 
 and ere the performance was finished the quakeress 
 
 r 2
 
 68 
 
 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 was universally acknowledged the star of the night. 
 Suffice it, that night my salary was raised five 
 shillings, my position fixed for " first walking gentle- 
 man," while my rival had to accept " second low 
 comedy," or go. Thus Fortune's wheel goes 
 round.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 1830 TO 1835. 
 
 "O RIDGrES are significant of a city's prosperity. I 
 have seen London Bridge twice restored. I 
 remember old Blackfriars Bridge with an arch that to 
 modern eyes would appear preposterous. Both in de- 
 scent and ascent Waterloo Bridge, when first built, 
 was little used ; now it is as busy as it well can be for 
 safety. Hungerford swept away, and a railway bridge 
 erected in its place. No more tottering wooden 
 bridges, but in their place elegant erections. The 
 Thames Tunnel, the precursor oi wonders to come, nearly 
 passed from memory. Railways netting the land over- 
 head, underground, and in all directions. The dreaded 
 Chat Moss a myth. Now steam an utilised fact, 
 and almost ready to make way for some new propelling 
 power. I have seen and heard tramways derided, 
 scouted, and hooted, but edabl'mlLed. The introduction 
 of potatoes into Ireland nearly caused a rebellion, their
 
 70 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 removal or interdiction now would positively do so. Be 
 not slow, then, to believe anything progressive. Nay, 
 I believe that so little as eighty years ago if those then 
 livins" had been told we could hear news in one hour 
 from land then almost fabulous, the miserable asserter 
 would have been confined in a mad-house. Fifty years 
 ago every village had a cage or stable where some 
 wretched maniac was confined like a wild beast, 
 taunted by children or ill-used by brutes. But, thank 
 God, no more chaining or whipping. Now the 
 clouded brain sometimes gets glimpses of sanity. 
 Fancy the change from odium, filth, rags, and torture 
 to light, music, well-clothed, fed, and cheerfully sur- 
 rounded ! Why, bless me, the establishment of the 
 telegraph was as speedy as the fluid that impels it. 
 Photography, too, will be more profitable when uti- 
 lised for trade purposes, &c., for " it is money that 
 makes the mare to go." After the melancholy ter- 
 mination of George III.'s reign came the splendid but 
 coarse and theatrical rule of the Fourth George, with 
 its dissolute, drunken men, its debauched, beastly 
 women, the more conspicuous by their position ; its 
 pensions and places publicly given, sold, or bartered ; 
 its fopperies and frivolities, with its serious vices and
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 71 
 
 obscene ruler, who became at last, like Henry VIII., 
 unfit to be seen in public, and if not carried oif as he 
 was providentially, would have been as famous for 
 cruelty and oppression as Louis XI. of France was. 
 The muddy stream became less impure thanks to 
 William IV. 's good temper and Adelaide's example. 
 But to compare Elizabeth's reign to Victoria's is 
 downright blasphemy — the one coarse and energetic, 
 the other the refiner of refinement. 
 
 Meanwhile the world had not been slow to advance : 
 drainage and irrigation had become thoroughly under- 
 stood ; in fact, agriculture in all its branches progres- 
 sive ; thence arose neighbourly meetings and com- 
 petings of companies with respect to breeds ; from 
 thence cattle shows, &c. 
 
 Music had made marvellous strides ; Bellini's light 
 melodious style had swept to the winds the heavy 
 operas such as " Semiramide," and gave way to Balfe, 
 Wallace, and others, and the people awoke to find 
 that the unmeaning recitative and ponderous airs 
 decorated with roulades and trills palled on the ear ; 
 that flowing melody simply sung gained the ascend- 
 ancy — in short, Braham gave place to Sims Beeves' 
 popular songs, while the growing taste brought down
 
 7 2 RAND OM RE COLLE CTIONS OF 
 
 the price of pianos, and rendered music familiar in the 
 homes of the middle classes. The great philharmonic 
 meetings did immense good. Great archseologists, 
 wandering through ail parts of the kingdom, did much 
 to imbue the lower classes with a veneration for by- 
 gone ages ; hence grew the respect for public statues, 
 walks, seats, &c. The stately Minuet de la Cour fled 
 before the lively polka, but, in opposition strange, the 
 quadrille, from a dance, assumed a languid dawdle. 
 The waltz glided into a German spin, and Sir Roger 
 de Coverley gave place to a galop. Male dancers, 
 with their eternal pirouettes, were banished and thrust 
 out. Costume on the stage became a study. Picture 
 galleries were thrown open to the public. Iron had 
 worked a revolution in all branches of trade, but more 
 especially in buildings, shipping, and bridges, never 
 beiore used in such structures ; gutta percha became 
 of universal utility ; the police an organised body — 
 these sent to the right-about constables, runners, and 
 old fogies. Toll-bars began gradually to disappear. 
 Cock-and-hen clubs and free-and-easys gave place to 
 concert-rooms. Patent theatres were abolished, mono- 
 poly banished, free trade established, the Whig merged 
 into the Radical politics, the Tory jostled into a
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 73 
 
 Conservative. Prize fighting lost its lordly patronage 
 — the Ring succumbed to the Turf. Gin palaces 
 arose on the other hand; crime in every sense became 
 gorgeous ; our magnificent silks were supplemented 
 by base imitations ; broadcloth gave way to shoddy ; 
 bankruptcy became fashionable, and millionaires were 
 trebled in number. The law began to be simplified 
 (when will it be simple ?) ; honest oak and the richer 
 woods were supplanted by veneers ; honest bread and 
 milk became a base imitation. The window tax once 
 abolished opened the road to ventihition ; even our 
 very climate underwent a change. The ribstone 
 pippin gave place to French and American produc- 
 tions, the small red strawberry gave place to its 
 gigantic but paler rival, the wallflower gave place to 
 the camellia, the sunflower to the dahlia, the holyhock 
 and box to the lauristinus, and that prolific family 
 fled in dismay before their attractive rivals. In short, 
 the good old days were fading fast before us, and 
 lightning - speed improvements wrought magical 
 changes in the land and people. 
 
 Our company was a notably clever one ; nearly all 
 obtained celebrity. Sims Eeeves, the great tenor, 
 playing "little business," and occasionally "singing
 
 74 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 walking gentleman/' at a salary of 35-5. per week. 
 Addison, our " first old man," obtained eminence ; 
 Harcourt Bland, whose grandfather was Beattie, the 
 poet, became a celebrated teacher of elocution, and a 
 clever writer upon theological subjects ; Power and his 
 wife, Miss Jarman,Mr.Ternan's wife, a celebrated lead- 
 ing lady ; Miss Newton (Mrs. Bellairs, who afterwards 
 was popular in Australia) ; and Ternan, in himself a 
 host. He had a clever daughter, Fanny, five years old, 
 famed for impromptu poetry. One day, riding out with 
 a party, they came upon some gipsies. " Now, Fanny," 
 her father remarked, "here's a pretty subject for a 
 poetess." She thought for a moment, and then said — 
 
 " ' At home, at home for ever !' say the Buns." 
 
 then stopped, as if puzzled. "At a standstill?" said 
 her father. She smiled, and suddenly said — 
 
 " ' But out for ever !' say the wandering gipsy ones." 
 
 Its aptitude of opposite comparison struck every one. 
 Years after I met her, then a confirmed "blue- stock- 
 ing," possessing but little of that beauty which was 
 remarkable in her childhood, wearing green spec- 
 tacles, and bearing a solemnity of style. She lived in 
 a world of her own ; she sang at Exeter Hall, but her 
 selection of songs were the highest of high art, con-
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 75 
 
 sequently caviare to the general public. Master 
 Betty, a great star in bis time — I bave seen : anotber 
 proof tbat precocity in youtb becomes, as age advances, 
 stunted. Wben I knew bim be was a kindly fat man, 
 witb an excessively lumpish son, and in spite of bis 
 father's wealth and influence never made way as an 
 actor. 
 
 Here I first met " Macready." I was cast for 
 Francoise, in " Richelieu," in consequence of my 
 youthful appearance. Macready was by nature 
 pompous, mysterious, and very impulsive. He said, 
 on my commencement, " keep your eye on me, sir." 
 My speeches be interlarded with " great heaven," " ba, 
 ha," "well, well," and a host of other interjections not 
 indicated in my part. In the effort to retain the 
 words during this interruption — he glaring and gesti- 
 culating all the time — my memory wandered. " Keep 
 your eye on me, sir." The more I worked it up to 
 " crescendo," the more he yelled — " Keep your eye on 
 me, sir." At last, driven to desperation, and losing 
 all patience, I blurted out, " Mr. Macready, it is quite 
 enough to mind my words, not your eyes." I had 
 not done with him, for during the fourth act Sims 
 Reeves had a few lines to speak as Cleremont ; these
 
 76 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 he bungled through in his then careless way. This 
 upset Macready, and as he was retiring, Macready 
 screamed out, " Call that man back." I fired up, 
 wanting the opportunity, and to the surprise of every 
 one said, " That man is a gentleman, and our first 
 singer." " I beg pardon," he said, in an altered tone. 
 Afterwards he was most kind to me, and never re- 
 sented my petulance. 
 
 Strange to say Sims Reeves was not then over 
 popular, and would sing " My Pretty Jane," " The 
 Pilgrim of Love," " Death of Nelson," &c., with 
 scarcely an encore — simply because he had a sulking 
 way with him. Years after, they took the horses out 
 of the carriage he rode in, and the populace dragged 
 him to the hotel ; his earnings for six nights amounted 
 to 500/. or 600/. I wonder if he then thought of 
 their former coldness, and his meagre pittance of 35.s. 
 a week. 
 
 By the way, talking of Macready puts me in mind 
 of a ludicrous accident which happened to him, and 
 has not, to my knowledge, ever been in print. Playing 
 Macbeth in the dagger scene, it was his custom to 
 have a table behind the scenes, and on it a cup of 
 rose pink to imitate blood, a powder puff to make him
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 77 
 
 look pale, and other things appertaining to his make- 
 up — as we technically term it. It was also the 
 custom for his valet to stand behind a larc^e lookins:- 
 glass with a candle in each hand, that Macready 
 might have plenty of light. One night the valet 
 discovered to his horror that he had forsfotten the 
 powder puff. Seizing one of the carpenters, and 
 placing the candles in his hands, he said, " Tve for- 
 gotten something ; stoop down behind the glass, hold 
 the candles out on each side, and he won't see you ; 
 I'll be back in a minute." Away goes the valet, and 
 off comes Macready with his daggers to murder the 
 king. Not seeing the puff, he bawled out, " Paff, 
 sir, puff." The carpenter blew out one candle. ''Are 
 you deaf?" screamed Macready : " puff, sir, pulf," 
 and the man blew out the other. Left in the dark, 
 you may imagine Macready's horror. Bloodless and 
 powderless he rushed on to the stage, and both valet 
 and carpenter made themselves scarce that night, well 
 knowing his temper. He retired in the zenitli of his 
 fame and fortune, and lived to a good old age, un- 
 fortunately embittered by severe family bereavements. 
 Some years after I met him in Cheltenham, his tall 
 figure bent ; his face bore an anguished, world-wearing
 
 78 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 look ; leaning on his arm was liis sister ; his melan- 
 choly task was to take her to the cemetery to mourn 
 over the tomb of her husband. He took much interest 
 in scholastic matters, read often in public for their 
 benefit, and was, I believe, in heart and intellect, a pious 
 Christian, and a brilliant ornament to his profession. 
 I had made much progress with the pretty quakeress, 
 as I called her, and at the close of the season was en- 
 trusted with her heavy luggage to take by boat from 
 Hull to Newcastle, she going by coach to Newcastle. It 
 has frequently been my lot in life not to be thoroughly 
 understood, I think, from a sensitive and somewhat 
 reticent manner, which is, on an emergency, thrown 
 off and discarded, to my own surprise and that of 
 others. Like the oak, I have been slow in develop- 
 ment. I mean no praise to myself in the comparison, 
 but simply that I have ever, and universally, been 
 taken for being much younger and more delicate than 
 1 really am. Great was the cliafF of two members of 
 the company, all thinking I should suffer by a sea 
 voyage. I asked my landlady to prepare me some- 
 thing to eat on the journey; she kindly provided me 
 with a veal and ham pie, for which she would not take 
 a single farthing. Our passage to Hull was by canal ;
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 79 
 
 these, by-the-way, are fast receding in importance in 
 England, though I heartily wish they were popular 
 in Australia. I and my quakeress parted without 
 fuss, but the frank pressure of her hand, and the 
 kindly look in her eye, kept me in good heart. From 
 Hull we proceeded by sea. We had our wardrobe- 
 keeper on board, with his wife and child ; they were 
 shiftless bodies. I have observed that fair people 
 suffer the most at sea ; he had the reddest of red hair, 
 and was the thinnest and most bilious-looking fellow 
 1 ever saw. I had ensconced myself in a quiet nook, 
 after much chaffing at my supposed unfitness for such 
 a voyage. I noticed the wardrobe-keeper and his 
 wife, after five minutes on board, nearly helpless ; 
 so out of compassion I took the child on my knees. 
 They crawled to my side and laid their heads upon 
 each knee ; my chaffing compeers crept with two 
 stools they had found, and ensconced their aching- 
 heads on each shoulder. All four had joined in the 
 chaff against me, but I had them now at my mercy, 
 and laughing heartily, made a jolly meal, and then 
 retired to rest. We had a fearful night, and our 
 escape from wreck was a miracle. However, I rose 
 hearty and well ; and what a sight met 1113^ eye ! My
 
 8o RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 two sneeriDg lotliarios were one mass of black spots 
 (vvliite coats and capes were the fashion then), and 
 those of my bold heroes were covered with black 
 spots. It appears they had crept into the cook-house 
 for shelter ; they had placed white handkerchiefs on 
 their heads ; this, with their white coats and faces, 
 presented a forlorn and ludicrous appearance — comical 
 in the extreme. 1 laughed until I nearly rolled on 
 the deck ; they ground their teeth, but I observed 
 ever after they were very cautious of chaffing me. 
 The storm had been a terrific one, and that I braved 
 it tolerably I gathered from the fact that, excepting a 
 Cornish man, I was the only one who escaped sea- 
 sickness. We were obliged to put into Hartlepool, 
 and the captain was discharged for doing so, but ob- 
 tained damages and restoration of certificate, proving 
 victoriously that to have crossed the Tynemouth bar 
 in such a storm would undoubtedly have lost vessel, 
 cargo, passengers, and crew. 
 
 The season was a prosperous one. I had pro- 
 gressed steadily, true to my quaker-like inamorata, 
 both were re-engaged for the following year. We 
 parted — she to take council of her mother — I to my 
 family and friends. During the vacation my old
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 8i 
 
 employer gave me a commission to place his pictures 
 in a proper light in the Exhibition, given then in the 
 Louvre. I started for Paris, and we had a stormy 
 passage. One incident during the voyage struck me 
 as comical. I observed a young swell, evidently of 
 the cockney order, elaborately got up to astonish the 
 French nation. He wore a new white hat, and not 
 feeling well, he took off his hat and placed it beside 
 him. On the opposite seat a person sitting there 
 suddenly turned deadly pale, and seized the magni- 
 ticent " tile" of my cockney friend, and gasping, 
 pardonnez moi, to the horror of the fop, emptied the 
 contents of his stomach into the same. I have olten 
 thousrht how much Dickens would have made oF this 
 incident. We supped at Abbeville. I saw a large 
 dish of something which I at once took for frogs ; 
 turning with disgust from them, I satisfied the 
 cravings of hunger with a cup of cofPee and some 
 brccid and butter, but learned to my intense regret 
 afterwards that the aforesaid frogs, as I thought, were 
 tempting young split ducklings. After seeing all the 
 siffhts, dining on two franc dinners in the Pahice 
 Koyale, drinking cafe uoir and I'eau de vie, 
 roaming through the Boulevards and Passages, I 
 
 G
 
 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 thought I had reached heaven at last. I was for- 
 tunately witness to a sight not always seen, of the 
 celerity with which matters of art or amusement are 
 managed in France. One day I saw all the older 
 masters and other treasures of art exhibited in the 
 Louvre, and on the next day all the modern pictures 
 of that period. To clear the one away and give place 
 to the other was colossal labour, and yet all was 
 calm and thoroughly finished when the period arrived 
 for admitting the public. Business taking me much 
 to the Louvre, I had great opportunities of seeing 
 numerous celebrated artists ; one in particular en- 
 grossed my attention — the picture she was painting 
 was a Spanish Harvest Home with yoked oxen and 
 addenda, I was struck with its effective, j^et natural 
 tone ; she was in herself as striking as her picture, 
 and at that period wore a black silk handkerchief tied 
 under her chin — it became her, though I suspect it 
 was to protect her from the draught. She was an 
 earnest worker, and always had one or two subjects 
 which she would occasionall}^ touch up, as if to relieve 
 her intensity. " Who is that young girl ?" I asked, 
 "who is the first to come and last to go." " Eosa 
 Bonheur." " Then she will live to be famous as sure
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 83 
 
 as that picture will live in my memory," said I — and 
 she did. 
 
 By-the-way, there is a custom, common in Catholic 
 churches, of leaving them open to the public at all 
 hours in the day, and it would be well if all creeds 
 and denominations did the same. It struck me as 
 beneficial in all senses. I have seen bowed-down 
 widows, sorrowful husbands and children, enter 
 quietly and pray. There would I see the neat grisette 
 blanchisseuse, or market-woman, sit, resting quietly, 
 if not praying, and I myself have, in awe and reverence, 
 felt as heartily consoled by the scene as I could by 
 any possibility do in a temple of any creed. 
 
 
 (i 2
 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 1833 TO 1838. 
 
 T SAW in Paris, and spoke a brief space with 
 Louis, afterwards Napoleon III., who hap- 
 pened to be inspecting the infernal machine. I 
 looked at him with interest, never guessing his 
 future greatness and lamentable fall ; he conversed 
 frankly, with little trace of the foreigner in his accent. 
 When he was in Englandthe nation was much disturbed ; 
 petitions from all parts of the country poured into 
 London ; one from Manchester was most conspicuous, 
 drawn openly, and with immense sensation, in a 
 waggon to the Houses of Parliament. Every police 
 court in London was thronged with tradesmen 
 willing to be sworn in as special constables to protect 
 life and property. Amongst these Prince Louis 
 Napoleon presented himself. My cousin, a Mr. 
 Berks-Thompson, a coach-builder in Oxford Street 
 (now Holland and Hollands), was sitting on the
 
 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 85 
 
 Bench at the Marjlebone office ; being a good 
 French schohir, he addressed the Prince, asking 
 him why he, a foreigner, desired to enrolL " To 
 protect a great right," he said. " I have seen 
 massacred women's ear-rings torn from their ears, 
 and children butchered heartlessly ; and it is my 
 belief that as long as the tradesmen band with the 
 nobility the country is safe ; let them once turn to the 
 mobocracy and the country is lost." This, to my think- 
 ing, is a grand axiom. Most people, I dare say, have 
 heard that he was sworn in as a constable, but his 
 actual conversation on that occasion has never been 
 in print, and I vouch for its truth. 
 
 How grandly his nobility was shown in after 
 years by never noticing or evincing the slightest dis- 
 pleasure against the attacks of the Press. The Tmc's 
 and Punch were particularly hard ; yet their repre- 
 sentatives were ever received with the greatest 
 courtesy and attention, not stained with cringing 
 meanness ; and the defiling suspicion of bis falsity 
 generally entertained by all classes, was grandly 
 refuted by his steady adherence to England, and his 
 sound policy shown in his long and peaceful rule, 
 broken only by the one false step — compliance with
 
 86 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 the national war cry, " On to Berlin !" To preserve, 
 as he thought, the crown for his son, to please the 
 people, and extend his rule, he rushed without due 
 caution — to baptise his son in fire ; and thus by 
 treacherous Ministers, unstable financiers, and incom- 
 petent war councillors, shattered the hopes of a life. 
 But a day will come when his reign shall be 
 acknowledged as a brilliant and beneficial one for 
 France. 
 
 When in Paris I naturally visited the theatres. 
 "The Renaissance" was then popular, and beautifully 
 decorated, and the star of the moment, and for some 
 years after, was Anna Thillon, also Dejazet, with a 
 host of others. At a minor theatre in the Boulevard 
 du Temple, I saw a fat man act — I forget his name — 
 so fat you could scarcely see his ears — to me the most 
 active and the funniest man I ever saw; you understood 
 him intuitively. Madame Georges was then in her 
 declining days at the Porte St. Martin. This grand 
 actress and beautiful woman held the great Napoleon 
 in her spells ; then came her declension and retirement 
 from the Theatre Prancaise to a minor theatre — a fall 
 indeed, but in her fall grand to the last. She was 
 the only foreign actress, save Eachel and Eistori,
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 87 
 
 whom I could understand tUoroucjJdij. These three 
 possessed to perfection the charms of person, passion, 
 and intellect that never in the highest storm of con- 
 flicting feelings for one moment lost sight of Nature 
 or its tenderest phases, ever became puerile, or 
 elaborate — a charm that others very high in supposed 
 art lack often. In later days this Madame Georges, 
 I regret to say, became a collector of umbrellas, coats, 
 cloaks, &c., in the lobby of a theatre, a declension 
 pitiable to think of. Rachel, at the period I speak 
 of, was just rising, I saw her ia one of her first 
 parts (Phsedre) at the Theatre Fran^aise ; she did not 
 at first impress me favourably. Thin to a fault — her 
 arms and neck almost repulsive — the bones of her 
 elbows were painfully prominent, with enormous salt- 
 cellar hollows in her neck. But when she began to 
 act, an inward fire seemed to consume her ; her head 
 and face were magnificently classic, and her greatness 
 palpable. She, too, has departed, and that, too, at a 
 comparatively early age, in proportion to her fame. 
 With the forethought of her Jewish intellect, she 
 looked carefullv to Number One, thouirh her losses in 
 America and elsewhere touched her pocket somewhat, 
 liut her unselfish afl'ection for her I'amily was intense,
 
 88 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 almost poetical ; for, however exacting to others, she 
 was devotion itself to them. 
 
 I visited Versailles, and saw its celebrated 
 fountains, but considered it shamefully neglected. 
 This told a sad tale of the narrow policy of Louis 
 Philippe, that mean ruler ; and the ingratitude of 
 that fickle nation, ready to destroy what they 
 worship, or rebuild what they destroy without reason ; 
 witness for and against them every street monument, 
 veritable place, or palace. Yet they are a great 
 nation, whose want of stability you forget in their 
 taste and grace, marred only by its profuseness. 
 Their soldiers struck me as being little and poorly 
 dressed. 
 
 I saw, too, the "Mardi Gras," or Boeuf Gras, an 
 absurd institution, its principal feature being a fat 
 bull ; everybody seemed to be going mad about 
 nothing. The Washerwomen's Ball seemed to have 
 some sense in it ; at all events you found comeliness 
 and enjoyable propriety, a contrast to " Musards," a 
 dancing saloon then popular. Here I saw the " Can- 
 can '' danced by five hundred couples — a disgrace to 
 any sane or sensible nation. I must do them the 
 justice to say that if they were not ashamed of them-
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 89 
 
 selves they were of the police, who had by stratagem 
 been induced to leave the room. To the shame of 
 England, a version modified to be sure, some years 
 after, was introduced at the most fashionable theatres 
 in London, and unblushingly witnessed by the 
 highest aristocracy, male and female. Of a verity 
 John Bull is a slow animal, but when roused he has 
 as much passion, bad and good, as other nations, so we 
 need not brag. 
 
 I never had a taste for gambling in any form, but in 
 Newcastle-on-Tj'ne I made the acquaintance of Mr. 
 Orde, the owner of the celebrated Beeswing, the 
 winner of races too numerous to mention ; also of 
 Queen Bee. Beeswing was as successful as Eclipse, 
 whose skeleton I have seen, and who was asserted to 
 liave run a mile in a minute — pretty well for the old 
 slow times. I was on the race-course the last time 
 that Beeswing ever ran a race. I never shall forget 
 it ; a poor worn-out, jaded-looking animal with down- 
 cast head, and led by a groom. As the horse ad- 
 vanced, voice after voice murmured, " Here she 
 comes !" and when peal after peal of ringing applause 
 met her ear, she became erect, her body swelled, her 
 pace grand, every nerve seem called into play by
 
 90 RAND OM RE COLLE CTIONS OF 
 
 excitement. She won triumphantly. This reminds me 
 of a scene some years after witnessed by me, which is in 
 strong contrast. Before Madame Vestris " shuffled 
 off this mortal coil " she became enfeebled, but never 
 permitted the public to see this. A burlesque was 
 then enacting at the Lyceum in which she played the 
 principal j)art. A statue like Hermione in the 
 " Winter's Tale " was introduced ; I was by accident 
 at the wing, and Charles Mathews, seeing me intent, 
 leaned on my shoulder to look too. I saw an old 
 woman, concealed by curtains from the public, on the 
 platform, on which was placed a pedestal; she appeared 
 verj^ feeble, and a mass of clothes were huddled about 
 her in a grotesque fashion ; in fact, she looked like 
 some ancient washerwoman. She put her hand to her 
 ear, as if listening for her cue, she slowly adjusted the 
 folds of her dress, shook her hair into form, and 
 gradually all traces of wrinkles disappeared ; the bust 
 began to swell, the eyes to brighten and distend. 1 
 watched her closely; Charles Mathews was equally 
 intent, and when she had placed herself in full atti- 
 tude, and the curtain rose, she realised the ideal of 
 perfect beauty. " She has called up her charms in- 
 deed," said I. " By Jove !" exclaimed Charles
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 91 
 
 Mathews, "that's true." Beeswing came to my 
 recollection, and, though the simile is of a hrute to a 
 lovely woman, the aptitude, though ^distant, was 
 striking. 
 
 I have hefore said that Sims Reeves was a member 
 of our company. He was playing the Squire, in the 
 pantomime of " Old Mother Groose," and at the very 
 moment when he was walking off the stage singing, 
 
 " My wife's dead, there let her lie, 
 She's at rest, and so am I," 
 
 a man tapped him hurriedly on the shoulder, and 
 whispered, " You must come home directly, Mrs. 
 Keeves is dead." You may imagine the shock. As 
 soon as it was possible he hurried home, and found it 
 too true. He had not then risen to fame, nor was 
 his first wife in the profession, consequently few know 
 that he has been twice married. His first was much 
 older than himself. His parents were in humble 
 circumstances, his father being parish clerk of Foots- 
 cray. The boy John evinced a taste for music, and 
 became the organist of that church at an early age, 
 and there married. The thoughtless and sudden in- 
 formation of his wife's death affected him deeply ; he 
 wai so nervous that, at his especial request, the
 
 92 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 manager asked me to go and live with him. 1 thought 
 it my duty, under the circumstances, to comply ; and 
 hence sprang up an intimacy and friendship of long 
 standing. I found hira nervous, petulant, and irri- 
 table, and he could not bear to be left alone. I have 
 all my life had the character of being good-humoured 
 and patient, qualities tliat were severely taxed by him, 
 but somehow we got on pretty well together. He was 
 a capital musician, and both sang at sight and played 
 Avith great facility. As a proof of those faculties, I 
 may mention that he sang professionally at the 
 Catholic chapel in Newcastle-upon-Tyne. The head 
 priest there had a brother who was chapel-master at 
 the Vatican ; he had sent over a choice morceau which 
 was much approved of by the Pope, and the priest 
 much wished that Eeeves should sing it on the follow- 
 ing Sunday. He glanced it over and said, " I'll sing 
 it this morning if you like." " Oh, impossible to do 
 it full justice !" " Try me ; if Watson will play the 
 accompaniment, after looking it well over." It was 
 agreed upon, and I don't think he looked at it again 
 until a portion of the service admitted it to be sung. 
 He did sing it, and with that holy calmness of effect 
 which I'endered him so great in sacred singing.
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 93 
 
 I am now about to relate that which may be ques- 
 tioned ; but for its truth I have the authority of his 
 own words. " Fred," he said to me, one day, " people 
 say I have a fine tenor voice ; it's all humbug, mine 
 is a baritone ; but the secret is, that I defy any one to 
 tell iDlien I mount into my falsetto, because there is no 
 perceptible break." Tins may be asserted to be rank 
 blasphemy and falsehood, but it is true nevertheless, 
 if I am to credit his own words. In practising he 
 has often gone up to C in alt, to test if I could dis- 
 cover a break ; nor did I. Many years after, in 
 Exeter, I detected a positive break on two occasions ; 
 but his voice had begun to suffer from time, and wear 
 and tear. Speaking of his register — when young he 
 always played Hecate, in " Macbeth," usually, nay 
 always excepting in his case, assigned to the bass 
 singrer. A Miss Atkinson was then starrincp with 
 Templeton, in " La Sonnambula ;" he was assigned 
 the part of Count Rodolph, and Miss Atkinson 
 entered into a discussion with me as to his extended 
 register. I was enthusiastic about him, and ridiculed 
 Templeton as " not worthy to hold a candle to him. 
 "Why, he can sing Hecate from its lowest note, and yet 
 mount up to C in alt in the tenor clef." "Impossible,"
 
 94 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 she said, " no human voice can do it." This range 
 was then comparatively unknown — another hint at 
 progression, as many pupils of Verdi can testify. I 
 asked Bland to invite her to tea ; his apartments were 
 over ours, and we were all intimate. After a little 
 conversation I slipped out of the room, and running 
 down, I said, " Now, Jack (I always called him Jack), 
 practice a little, and then pull out your upper notes." 
 He was in a sulky mood, pacing like a caged tiger. 
 "Is that y<?//o?^ up there?" (meaning Templeton). 
 " Yes," I said, and ran Upstnirs. Shortly after I heard 
 a few roulades, and heard his fingers running up 
 several scales ; and then, as if the floor had been 
 pierced suddenly, the clear, full, and perfect C in alt 
 seemed to soar past us and upward. She listened, 
 spell-bound ; and, drawing her breath, exclaimed, 
 " Well, if I had not heard it myself I never could 
 have believed it." Shortly after Templeton vanished. 
 Talking of voices, it reminds me of a poor fellow — I 
 forget his name — belonging to the same company, 
 very ambitious to be a great singer; he was ever 
 lamenting the want of a note or two in his lower 
 register, convinced if he only had them it would con- 
 stitute him the greatest singer of the age, and he was
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 95 
 
 literally persuaded that it' he applied blisters to the 
 soles of his feet it would draw his voice down to the 
 required range, and the maniac was fool enough to 
 try it. 
 
 This again reminds me of a good bass singer in his 
 time, one Hambleton. The old fellow lived to a great 
 age, and latterly played old men in provincial theatres. 
 When travelling in a stage-coach he was once over- 
 turned, and rolled down an inclined bank into a ditch 
 below. The company all thought him killed ; they 
 descended hastily, in great terror, but found him on 
 his back running the gamut ; coming to the lowest 
 note, he exclaimed, "Thank Grod, my G is all right !" 
 Fear gave way to laughter, and he was lifted out of 
 the mud by light hearts. 
 
 I became more and more enamoured with my pretty 
 quakeress ; we nsed to quarrel sometimes, but Eeeves 
 was always the mediator. He would say, after putting 
 his feet upon the old-fashioned hob of those days, 
 " Now you are all right I'll give you a song ;" he 
 would troll out " The Thorn," " Tom Bowling," " Ye 
 Heavenly Powers," or, what he liked best of all, "The 
 Rose of Kildare." This song he never sang in public, 
 but when he did in private, he did sbifj U. Still, his
 
 96 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 " Pretty Jane," though so celebrated, was not a patch 
 upon poor Robinson, who used to sing at Evans's 
 Supper Rooms, Co vent Garden ; his trills and runs 
 in " My Pretty Jane," and " Sally in our Ally," were 
 never approached. And here allow me to remark 
 that, with but trifling exceptions, all matters I speak 
 of are from truthful and 'personal knowledge — not 
 hearsay. 
 
 While upon matters musical, let me say that 
 Braham came down to star in a now exploded opera, 
 called " The Devil's Bridge/' He, like Rubini, was 
 the last of the florid school. During the opera he 
 sang his celebrated picture song, " 'Tis but Fancy's 
 Sketch ; " at its conclusion, being rapturously 
 applauded, he advanced to the foot-lights, and said, 
 with a modesty that did that great man honour, 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, — At your request I have 
 much pleasure in repeating the song, for, candidly, to 
 my thinking, I have not sung it so well for the last 
 seven years, and I am proud to find my poor efforts 
 to please you are still appreciated." This, from a man 
 who had entranced the public for the best part of a 
 century, was as modest as I believe honest. I heard 
 Mario about this time, in the " Elixir of Love ;" it
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 97 
 
 was his first season in London, if not his first ap- 
 pearance. He was a remarkably handsome young 
 man. Grisi played the opposite part — I do not think 
 it was her first season. These, too, have departed ; I, 
 too, like the poor turtle, must sliortly wend my way. 
 Tamburini, another of the florid school, I heard ; and 
 remember Lablaclie, the great Lablaclie in every 
 sense ; beautiful in feature, ponderous in figure, 
 possessing a veritable organ voice — no one in my time 
 has ever approached him — his unction, if I may use 
 the word, passed all approach. Eubini was just 
 leaving: the stag^e — still wonderful. Mario took Ms 
 position in the musical world as Sims Eeeves followed 
 Braham. I lived to see the farewell of Grisi and 
 Mario — little did I dream of doing this — also Pasta's, 
 a wonderfully luscious voice of the florid school too. 
 Always an admirer of Sontag, this little wonder 
 startled me five-and-twenty years after by returning 
 to the scenes of her former triumphs. It is a pity to 
 think, for the sake of lucre, she should have been 
 hurried over continents and seas at her advanced age. 
 She died, I believe, far from her native land — in the 
 Andes, if my memory serves me rightly. 
 
 From the lyric we naturally, by declension, come 
 
 H
 
 98 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 to the terpsicliorean art. Madame Montesseau 
 Brignole, " the iron-toed," as she was called, Taglioni, 
 Cerito, the sisters Elsler, Lucille Grahu — adieu, 
 sweet memories of the past, never to be eclipsed. 
 Tired of a bachelor's life, I resolved to become 
 benedict — the married man. Hear this, ye fast 
 young men and women of a fast age. 1 had 1/. 5*. 
 per week, my intended had 306\ ; both well educated, 
 sensitively alive to the value of delicate living and 
 clothing, and yet upon this bare stij)end we honestly 
 contrived to pay our way and live respectably in 
 every sense. With this fragile capital we joined 
 partnership, and the result proved the soundness of 
 our calculations, for during the twenty-five years of 
 our married life she became the mistress of five well- 
 furnished houses, enjoyed every luxury, and taking 
 her from the stage when I could afi'ord it, I earned 
 more money in one twelvemonth than I ever thought 
 to possess in twelve years. So, young ones, do as we 
 did, and with that pure motive which actuated us, 
 do not fear the result. One of the most important 
 events in my life at last occurred, my wedding 
 morning, and one to be remembered. I had ordered 
 a new pair of trousers for the occasion, impressing
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 
 
 99 
 
 upon the tailor that they must be of the latest fashion. 
 I was up at six, the wedding was to be at eight. To 
 my horror, I found my trousers were Jlesh-tiglit , and 
 the tugs I had to force them on were horrible ; luckily, 
 they were of the best West of England cloth and 
 endured the strain bravely. Harcourt (ray " best 
 man ") and I started ; we arrived at the private little 
 gate I had bribed the sexton to open, in the church of 
 St. Andrew, Newcastle-on-Tyne ; but, horror! no 
 bride or bridesmaid; I hunted everywhere, and at 
 last found them quietly admiring the interior. As I 
 entered excitedly, I heard a murmur, and, looking up, 
 saw the gallery half- full of people. Imagine our dis- 
 may, to find our cunningly-devised plan had oozed 
 out. In due time we stood at the altar. I was told 
 that my ''I wUV rang resolutely through the build- 
 ing, and a clear whisper reached my ear, " Doesn't he 
 mean it !" We w^ere married on Saturday — another 
 hint at progression — there being then no performance 
 on that night ; now it is the best attended in the 
 week — see time's changes. We received many kindly 
 presents from all classes ; the carpenters of the 
 theatre presented us with a large travelling chest of 
 their own making ; even the aged door-keeper brushed 
 
 H 2
 
 loo RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 his wits and presented us with verses of his own, 
 wishing us joy ; even the little girl of the house 
 bought a large parcel of almonds and raisins out of 
 her savings, and was so overjoyed that before dessert 
 tirae came on she had eaten every one. These far-off 
 recollections bring tears to my eyes. And now let me 
 advise all about to marry never to take a bridesmaid 
 into your matrimonial confidence. Deeply impressed 
 with its sacred importance, I had many things to 
 say and a thousand schemes to propose for the future. 
 But Nemesis, in the shape of my bridesmaid, was 
 ever at our elbow. She had made up her mind for a 
 day, and a day she would have — the lady was Mrs. 
 Bellair, of Australian celebrity, then Miss Newton. 
 
 The following morning, about eight, I was aroused 
 by a tap at the door, and a voice said, rather mys- 
 teriously, " If you please, sir, two young women 
 want to see you ; one has a child in her arms." I 
 jumped gaily up, dressed quickly, my wife being ap- 
 parently asleep. 1 descended — when (how she 
 managed it has always been a m.ystery to me), no 
 sooner had I closed the sitting-room door where 
 stood the two young women, than the door was as 
 suddenly opened, as quickly shut, and my wife, ap-
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. lor 
 
 parently dressed, stood with her back to the door, and 
 firmly, but with a suppressed quiver, said, " Pray, 
 what do you want with my husband?'' It was tlie 
 first time I had been so addressed, and it sounded 
 deiiciously ennobling. " If you please, ma'am," said 
 the young woman with the child in her arms, " I 
 heard you were married to this gentleman yesterday 
 morning." " I was ; nobody can deny that I suppose," 
 was tlie tart reply. '' No, ma'am, for I see'd it 
 myself." " You did, did you ? Well, I'm sure !" 
 "Yes, ma'am, and I'm in hopes the master will buy 
 a gallon of the best smuggled brandy ever tasted — 
 and here it is," placing the bladder on the table. I 
 don't know what induced my wife to do so, but slie 
 seized the baby in her arms and covered it witli 
 kisses ; but to my delight, though somewhat to my 
 surprise at her reckless extravagance, she purchased 
 the brandy. As soon as they had left she threw 
 herself into my arms and burst into a torrent of tears. 
 I was in a complete mist, but soothed her as well as I 
 could. " Oh, my darling," she at last said, " I thought 
 the child was yours !" The cat was out of the bag, 
 and I roared. 
 
 By-the-way, a laughable incident occurred on my
 
 I02 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 wedding night. We had retired for the night, when 
 suddenly I heard Sims Eeeves singing, " Look forth, 
 look forth, ray Fairest !" and tipsily joined in by the 
 male portion of the company. I quietly raised the 
 window, and seizing the water-jug, emptied the con- 
 tents over them, exclaiming, " Here, take this casket, 
 it is worth thy pains !" We had played the " Mer- 
 chant of Venice " the night before ; they understood 
 it, and departed quicker than they came, their merry 
 laugh echoing through the silence of the night. 
 
 At the termination of the season Reeves went to 
 Drury Lane as second singer. He wrote to say he 
 had achieved a signal triumph. It seems that " Acis 
 and Galatea" was to be produced, and Allan (first 
 tenor) possessed a sweet voice, but with little power. 
 He failed in giving due effect in " Sound an Alarm." 
 The manasrer ordered it to be cut out. This the 
 leader protested against, when Eeeves stepped forward, 
 and said he was up in the music and would sing it 
 if they would allow him. They did, and he per- 
 fectly electrified them ; he sang it nightly, and from 
 that moment his star was in the ascendant. At the 
 end of the season, after playing Lubin, in " The 
 Quaker," &c., he was strongly advised to go to Italy.
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 103 
 
 A lady at Foots Cray lent or gave him the mone}'' (he 
 being without funds) ; he informed me of this by 
 letter, and terminated the same by adding— 
 
 " What is friendship but a name, 
 A charm that lulls to sleep ; 
 A shade that follows wealth and fame, 
 But leaves the wretch to weep !" 
 
 Adding, " This will never be the case with us, for our 
 friendship is eternal." He was a true prophet afjainst 
 himself ; for fame called him to brighter fields, and I 
 doubt if he ever bestowed a thought upon the writer, 
 who had to toil up the ladder of preferment, never 
 reaching the topmost round, tliough years after I 
 believe we honestly rejoiced to meet each other. 
 
 We removed to Birmingham on an increase of 
 salary, and for three years we remained there, each 
 year increasing in salary. Creswick was the leading 
 man, then growing up in years ; he afterwards became 
 a partner with Sheppard, of the Surrey Theatre, I 
 wished to settle in life ; in fact, I wanted to be a 
 householder — pardon my ambitious views. One 
 Sunday — " the better the day the better the deed " 
 — sickened with lodgings, I took a stroll, and, to 
 my surprise, 1 saw the following placard, " This house 
 to be let, four shillings and sevenpence per week."
 
 I04 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 The houses were small, to be sure, but neat and 
 genteel, with the imposing cognomen of "Victoria 
 Terrace." I could not believe my own eyes ; I asked 
 a neighbour if the announcement was true. " Yes," 
 replied the feminine, " and nice houses they are too." 
 This Aladdin palace consisted of a pretty garden in 
 front, a parlour, kitchen, and two bed-rooms, a yard, 
 back kitchen, and outhouse, with cellar. After an 
 arrangement with the landlord, for the first time ia 
 our lives we became master and mistress of an esta- 
 bUshneni. Nobly did we pinch, and nobly did we add, 
 for in six months we had a prettily-furnished residence; 
 so one day I invited Charles Webb and his wife (both 
 clever) to dinner. Charley said, " What a duck of a 
 place ! But where do you stow away the landlady ?" 
 " There she stands," I said, pointing to my wife. 
 " Ah, you dog," said he, " you have been left a legacy." 
 "No, every penny saved from my salary, and all 
 bought and paid for." " And I have been six years 
 here," said he, " and have not one pound in my pocket. 
 What a lesson !" It was a lesson ; for he started a 
 house upon no capital, feasted and revelled, and at the 
 end of six months was sold up. They were kindly 
 people, though without thought.
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 105 
 
 About this time auother horrible occurrence shook 
 Eugland almost to its centre ; I allude to the fearful 
 atrocities called Burking. They were so called because 
 committed by two murderers named Burke and Hare ; 
 these wretches used to get a horrible living by robbing 
 the graves of their dead and disposing of them to 
 doctors for dissection, and when the demand became 
 more than the supply they scrupled not to murder 
 living victims by Burking some and drugging others, 
 and afterwards immersing them head foremost in cold 
 water to draw forth the poison, then sell them to the 
 doctors. At last, to the relief of the nation, they were 
 discovered ; thus a sudden stop was put to such 
 degrading atrocities. Burke was hanged. Hare 
 escaping by turning Queen's evidence. 
 
 I have spoken much of the progression I have 
 witnessed in my brief day, but some appear to take a 
 retrograde movement. Fashion and manners, I note, 
 take freaks and antics, and that which appears be- 
 comino: and attractive in one asce in another seems 
 disgusting and repellant. Hair, in my young days, 
 was luxuriant and flowing, and the cause is obvious 
 ou reflection. For years and years powder and false 
 wigs literally stopped the growth of the natural hair,
 
 io6 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 and thus were mothers taught to give freedom to 
 their offsprings natural ornament, and it became as 
 fashionable to display the proper formation of the 
 head as before it had been studiously avoided. It 
 M^as scarcely possible to add false hair in the later 
 period of George the Third's reign, and this was 
 carried throughout George the Fourth's, William's, 
 and the earlier period of Victoria's rule. Hair became 
 luxuriant and flowing, and that which would be a 
 wonder now, excited no astonishment then. Towers 
 of false hair rise upon the fountain head of vitality — 
 the brain, and by its heavy pressure on the respiratory 
 organs of the head, put an end to all fertility ; and 
 many an ardent lover, in these days, would start with 
 horror to find bald patches where verdure should 
 naturally appear. When, again, will chignons make 
 way for Nature ? Lord Glengall, the author of the 
 " Irish Tutor," and other popular farces — one or two 
 were written for me and were popular — told me that 
 not only music, dancing, and riding, were taught in his 
 day, but also how to enter a room or carriage, flirt 
 a fan, or lioio to present and take snuff. The manner for 
 the due ceremony of taking snuff, thus — the box was 
 grasped by the centre of the left hand, fingers, and
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 107 
 
 thumb, the right arm was advanced archways, the 
 right foot pointed in the second position inviting a 
 pinch and salute; after acceptance, simultaneously, both 
 parties applied the snufF to nose, right hand and arm 
 extended straight from the shoulder ; the handkerchief 
 was then drawn out and passed gracefully over the nose 
 whilst performing the salute. Thus swearing, vulgar 
 coarseness, and the obscenity that was the ton in 
 Smollet's time, was banished, while stiff and stilted 
 ceremony became the rage ; this, in its turn, gave 
 way to the purified rule of natural grace which is so 
 distinctive under Victoria's rule. Thus changes are 
 accepted as wonderful in their effect as lucifer matches, 
 iron-clads, or Nasmyth hammers. It was a sight 
 indeed, before railways were fully developed, to see 
 the mail coaches assembled for the despatch of letters, 
 the only remnant of that stamp is to be seen in perfec- 
 tion when the Four-in-Hand Club turns out in full 
 force. Inventive powers are certainly more encouraged 
 and more eagerly accepted than formerly. Wlmt 
 years of patient perseverance under a great pressure 
 and difficulty, before tlie Peel's, Ackroyd's, and other 
 celebrated manufacturers could use, nay, even patent, 
 their inventions.
 
 CHAPTER VIT. 
 
 1835 TO 1840. 
 
 "VTOW came a strange turn in life. Who has not 
 experienced it ! Macreadj came down to star. 
 We had long and wearied rehearsals, and, being in the 
 vacation, receiving no salary, myself and wife 
 happened to sit for our portraits ; and, as few of the 
 company had attended, we, always being punctual, 
 thought we might miss one day. Ah ! fatal day for 
 us ! Simpson, the manager, a testy man (I speak of 
 the elder), dismissed us. I deliberately went to the 
 back of the stage, placed my foot upon a particular 
 jDlank, and solemnly pledged my oath I would 
 never tread those boards again unless T returned a 
 " star." Little did I think that pledge would be 
 fulfilled. One night we played a piece called " The 
 Sea, the Sea ; or the Ocean Child." I had to make 
 my appearance as coming from the mast-head by a 
 rope. They asked me to try it. " No," said I; " but
 
 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 109 
 
 if anybody else can do it, I'll do it." One of the car- 
 penters volunteered ; I watched him closely, and 
 coolly said, " All right." We played some piece in 
 which a large car had been used, which prevented 
 me coming down from the first gallery above the 
 proscenium, so I had to ascend another flight, which 
 greatly increased tlie difficulty. Imagine my terror, 
 seated on a narrow bridge and looking down into the 
 abyss below, above fifty feet. Luckily, the carpenter 
 was with me ; he twisted the rope carefully round 
 my leg. " Now, sir," said he, " for God's sake 
 don't untwist it, and go hand over hand ; for if you 
 try to slip down you will be dashed to pieces." At 
 last I heard my cue, and, with a silent prayer, I 
 commenced my perilous journey. I went on and on 
 until I thought I must have passed the stage and 
 was descending below the stage ; but the light in- 
 creased, the audience, when they saw my feet, gave 
 a cheer. I quickened my pace, the ap^^lause in- 
 creasing, and with a rollicking sailor leap bounded 
 down to the captain. My peril was rewarded by 
 three cheers, and I felt I could have come down 
 from St. Paul's. I have never tried it since, and I 
 do not want to do so.
 
 no RAND OM RE COLLE CTIONS OF 
 
 Wright, the celebrated comic actor, of the Adelphi 
 Theatre, London, came down with Paul Bedford 
 to " star \' they were both very clever, but inveterate 
 " gaggers." It so happened that they did not draw ; 
 and as Simpson, the manager, always looked sharply 
 after the pounds, shillings, and pence, he, to their 
 horror, put up " Itob lioy." Wright was cast for 
 Bailie Nicol Jarvie, and Paul Bedford for Captain 
 Galbraith. We could see from the rehearsal that 
 very little of the text would he said by them. Miss 
 H. Coveny, since then a London favourite, was the 
 maid ; she spoke Scotch perfectly, but Wright was 
 thoroughly abroad. Giving him a handkerchief, she 
 says, " Pet this roun' yer thrapple." " And what's a 
 'thrapple?' " said Wright. The idea of a Scotchman 
 not knowino; that it meant throat auoured well for 
 " the Bailie's hraid Scofch." In the clachan scene I 
 heard shout upon shout, and rushed to see what was 
 going on upon the stage. Wright had a red-hot 
 poker in his hand, and Paul Bedford was fully alive 
 to the business — no pantomimist in the world, not 
 even Grimaldi, could have revelled as they did. I 
 heard a whining voice behind me groaning out, 
 " Seeing what I have seen, seeing what I see ! Oh,
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. m 
 
 Lord forgive them, for they know uot what they do!" 
 It was Dickey Hughes, from Drury Lane, christened 
 "Miserable Dickey," for his general discon- 
 tentedness. He dined with us once upon goose, and 
 went to sleep immediately after ; on awaking, " Mr. 
 Hughes," said I, "how did you like the goose?" 
 "Middling," said he; "I'm partial to turkey." He 
 was an earnest hater of managers. " I hate the whole 
 set," said he, " the first 5/. note I ever saved I nailed to 
 the bottom of my box, and said with gusto, ' Now, I 
 am independent of the boiling lot.' " It would have 
 been wiser if he had put it in the Savings Bank. 
 
 Speaking of Miss Coveny brings the family to 
 mind. Thev were all clever, but cold. Jane would 
 play Juliet one night, or Nan, in " Good for 
 Nothing;" nothing came amiss ; Lady Macbeth, or 
 an opera part ; nay, I believe if asked to go on for 
 clown, pantaloon, or harlequin, she would have done 
 it. Never failing to be useful, she never achieved 
 greatness. I met poor Coveny soon after his wife's 
 death, and asking him how he was, he to\ichingly 
 replied, " I am walking about the world with one half 
 of me cut off!" And yet they led a cat and dog life. 
 So much for habit. Harriet, the younger, is clever.
 
 112 RAND OM RE COLLE CTIONS OF 
 
 Few know how severely the brain is taxed. Mr. 
 Harrison, Miss Eainforth, and Alfred Mellon, after- 
 wards a celebrated leader and composer (who, 
 unfortunately, died young) — well, they produced the 
 " Elixir of Love." Simpson one morning tapped me 
 on the shoulder, and said, " I want you to play 
 Sergeant Belcore on Friday (this was on Wednesday) ; 
 don't say you can't do it, because I know you can." 
 " Sir," I said, " Mr. Manly is a singer, I am not ; 
 and, besides, he has had the music for one fortnight ; 
 how can I do it in two days ?" They surrounded me, 
 palavered me, pushed the score into ray hands, and 
 there I stood dumb with astonishment. In my 
 despair I thought of Jane Coveny — " she reads well, 
 I will hear what it's about." Jane was at 
 dinner, but hearing the circumstance, replied, " What 
 a shame ! Don't despair, there's a piano in the green 
 room ; send us some tea, mother, and I'll pull him 
 through." We devoted every moment to it that night 
 — on Thursday, by the aid of the score before me, got 
 through it respectably ; on Friday I rehearsed with- 
 out it, and at night I so acquitted myself, that Webb, 
 who was in front, said, " You were as much at home 
 as any of them." But, to my deep mortification,
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 113 
 
 Miss Eainforth said, laughingly, " Ah, you have 
 phiyed it before !" Now comes the sequel. That 
 night I was writhing on my bed in agonies. " Oh, 
 my poor fellow," said the doctor, who had been sent 
 for, " who has been so cruelly torturing 3'ou ?" T 
 explained the circumstance. " Ah, no wonder," said 
 he, " but no relief for three or four hours, I regret to 
 say ;" so I had to suffer. This feat of playing and 
 singing the part of Belcore in two days may be 
 nothing to a singer and musician, but seeing I was 
 neither, it may be recorded without vanity. 
 
 Our next destination was Bristol, under the banner 
 of the celebrated Mrs. Macready, stepmother to 
 the renowned " Mac " himself Our salary was small, 
 and our savings 2/. 12-^. (with no salary for the first 
 fortnight), with ourselves and a hungry, healthy son 
 to provide for, yet our da3^s were passed in the fields, 
 laughing merrily and romping gaily. Ah, ye who 
 think llie actor's life is passed in idleness and dissipa- 
 tion, hear this truthful confession, and blush that 3'ou 
 should ever malign a profession that in the heavy 
 criminal calender is unknown. No actor yet was ever 
 hanged! What other profession, trade, or even creed 
 can say this ? Mrs. Macready was in the habit of 
 
 I
 
 114 RAND OM RE COLLE CTIONS OF 
 
 calling lier actors meii, commonl}' saying, "You manr 
 to them. I found her a most exemplary woman, 
 eccentric, but kind. At the end of the season the 
 company removed to Wales, reducing each salary to 
 \l. \s. per week. By this time I had become known, 
 and had little difficulty in finding an engagement, so 
 I would not go, I went to say good-by to her ; I 
 found her in the green-room, with lier bare arms, 
 washinfT a chandelier, then much used in theatres. 
 Telling her I was leaving, she said, " No, no, no !" 
 "Yes, yes!" said I. "You shan't." "I shalL" 
 " You won't." " I will." Eubbing her side vigorously, 
 and the last words I heard echoing through the theatre 
 were, " Come back, you man !" 
 
 The Bristol w^omen, as a rule (so people say), are 
 not handsome. Queen Elizabeth vented her spleen 
 upon them, for some offence given, by saying she 
 would not condemn her bitterest enemy to marry a 
 Bristol w^oman, they were so cold ; but I can record 
 one instance of affection unparalleled. The master of 
 the house where we stayed died ; he v^ras eighty-five 
 years old, his wife nearly the same age ; she, too, was 
 confined to her bed in another part of the house. The 
 news of his death had been carefully kept from her;
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 115 
 
 but just before placing him iu his coffin they thought 
 it right to tell her. Her ^^outh seemed suddenly 
 restored ; with lightning swiftness she ran to him, 
 clasped the corpse in her arms, pressed his lips fondly, 
 called him all the endearing names affection could 
 suggest, nursed him as she would a baby to her 
 breast — in sliort, it required all our united strength 
 to tear her from him ; and, with a last despairing 
 look and agonising cry, I shall never forget, we bore 
 her to her bed, from which she never rose again. 
 Fear not, Bristol men, to wed women of that 
 metal. 
 
 Our next move was to Manchester. What a world 
 of thought seems to rise at the mention of that word 
 — the whirring wheel, the bus}' shuttle, their progress 
 — not in measured track, but in gigantic march, 
 bringing into notoriety and wealth the nobodies of 
 yesterday. Veril}^, the Manchester people are the back- 
 bone of England, of which they are proud, but ra/Z^cr 
 too proud. It reminds me of an anecdote which fits 
 their feeling to a T. A celebrated merchant there put 
 up as a member of Parliament. His speech on the 
 hustings was brief, pithy, and to tlie purpose. '* My 
 lads," said he, '" I'm not much of a talker, but I stinks 
 
 I 2
 
 1 1 6 RAND OM RE COLLE CTIONS OF 
 
 o' brass, and that's enougli for theeP' The Brass 
 carried the day against brains. 
 
 Mr. Egerton, the manager of the Queen's Theatre, 
 made me an offer, and, to my astonishment, on my 
 arrival I found my name in large letters. Such 
 honours were then scarcer than they are now. A 
 tragical circumstance occurred which shocked me 
 much. One evening "Lillian, the Show Girl" was 
 announced, and during the piece a pistol had to be 
 fired. One of the company who played old man was 
 descending from his dressing-room ; the contents of 
 the pistol lodged in his heart, and he rolled dead into 
 the green-room. It afterwards transpired that the 
 property man (whose duty it was to charge the pistol), 
 not having any paper handy, crammed a piece of 
 calico as wadding into the barrel, hence the terrible 
 accident. 
 
 I found I was especially engaged to support Mrs. 
 Honey, the star of my admiration, whom I first met 
 at the Strand Theatre in the " Loves of tlie Angels." 
 I found her frank, good-natured, and without a spark 
 of pride. Mrs. Honey opened in " The Will," pla}^- 
 ing Amanda Manderville. When dressed as a mid- 
 shipman she found the stairs too steep to ascend or
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 117 
 
 descend easily, and one night she looked imploringly 
 at me — "You are a married man, and I may trust 
 you," she said ; " will you carry me down stairs ? for 
 I am afraid of these ' tliingamies,' " pointing to her 
 trousers. I laughingly carried her down — a dangerous 
 proceeding if I had not truly loved ray wife. As a 
 lad I should have thought much of it. 
 
 To be a celebrity was, I found, rather a dangerous 
 matter, for I received another tempting offer to play 
 " Mungo Park, the African Explorer;" but judge of 
 my horror when I arrived in Sheffield — it was to play 
 with Carter, '' the Lion King." In vain I implored 
 to be relieved from my engagement ; it had been duly 
 signed, and with a sad heart I assented. The theatre 
 for the nonce had been turned into a bear-garden, and 
 on visiting it I heard a succession of growls, shrieks, 
 and yells. The animals had quarrelled, and the scene 
 was one of the most terrific imaginable. I saw sud- 
 denly a commanding man appear amongst them, armed 
 with a whip, which he vigorously applied right and 
 left to their noses, his jirincipal aim. Soon all was 
 peace, and the rehearsal commenced, when I found I 
 must become veritably acquainted with these ferocious 
 animals. A leopard had to descend from a cave in the
 
 T 1 8 RAND OM RE COLLE CTIONS OF 
 
 ravine, which was in fact his cage concealed, lick the 
 face of Carter, a la Androcles, while I was to frater- 
 nise in the most approved form of intimacy by taking 
 his paw in mine. To my delight I found his claws 
 had been removed, so my fear vanished, for the 
 drugged beast was as tame as a kitten. A lady had 
 to stand upon the lion's back while I and Carter, one 
 on each side, were to prevent a hungry grab at the 
 lady. " In for a penny, in for a pound," said I, " 111 
 go in for the chances." To do the animal justice, he 
 did not take a fancy to either. 
 
 One night, Carter having to drive the lion across the 
 stage, harnessed to an ancient chariot, a piece of meat 
 was given him to keep him quiet, but, unluckily, it had 
 a bone in it ; this bone he clung to, and would not go 
 on. Carter unwisely struck the brute, who turned, 
 seized him by the thigh, and, by a miracle, was pre- 
 vented making his teeth meet, or all would have been 
 over. He led him forward, and I, unconscious of 
 danger, patted the animal ; but no sooner had the 
 curtain descended than Carter fainted, was carried off, 
 and for more than a fortnight his life was despaired 
 of He was a remarkably handsome man, full six feet 
 two inches high. I asked him if he ever felt fear.
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 119 
 
 " Never," said lie, " while performing ; but in the 
 depths of night and in silence I feel as if his fangs 
 one day will drag me to a horrible death." This, 
 luckily, never occurred, for he retired from such a life, 
 married a wealth}'' pawnbroker's daughter, and died, 
 I regret to say, young, from rapid consumption, a 
 disease you never could imagine would linger in a 
 frame apparently so strong. 
 
 I met in Sheffield one of the celebrities of the day, 
 and a remarkable man in many respects — -his name 
 was Daly. He had married a famous singer, called 
 Madame Castaglioni ; she had talent, but fell a victim 
 to his rapacity for gain. She was hurried through the 
 country ; posters flew in all directions ; and it was 
 usual with him to announce three concerts a day, one 
 in the morning, one in the afternoon, and the other 
 at night ; thus the poor creature, after giving one 
 concert, was hurried into a post-chaise dressed in her 
 finery, to be in time for the next — travelling fifteen 
 miles or more. Imagine the time left for repose or 
 food ! Being engaged to play Ariel at the Surrey 
 Theatre, in " The Tempest," she caught cold from a 
 damp stage, forced her voice beyond its power, lost it, 
 and thus closed a wretchedl}' brilliant career. Once
 
 120 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 on a trial a man was called to vouch for the 
 respectability of a criminal : " Upon what grounds do 
 you do so?" said the judge. "Why, my \q>y{^, because 
 lie owns a gig^ For some such reason, this man, Dal}^ 
 was most anxious to impress me with Ms respectability. 
 He was an Irishman. " What's the raison ye shun 
 me?" said he. "By jabers, you're mighty cool; 
 perhaps yer don't think I'm respectable ; wait till a 
 while ago, and I'll soon prove that." Presently he 
 returns, and, running his fingers through a bag of gold 
 and silver, screamed, " There's over 400/. in that bag; 
 doesn't that prove I'm respectable ?" 
 
 " God made the country and man made the town !" 
 I said, looking from the hills above Sheffield ; for a 
 lovelier valley could scarcely be imagined before it 
 was defaced by the hand of man. Now, instead of 
 verdure and charming undulations, belching chimneys 
 and muddy streams and general dirtiness render 3^ou 
 sick, and j^ou heartily wish that all could be swept 
 away that defaces such beauty, so that Nature might 
 again assert her sway and bloom in perennial glory. 
 Here, too, the cholera raged with unsuppressed fury. 
 Scarcely a house was untouched by the destroying 
 angel, or a heart uurent in that thriving cit3\
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 121 
 
 Happy days of innocent mirth and pleasurable toiling 
 were passed there. From Sheffield we went to 
 Wolverhampton, an uninteresting town with un- 
 interesting surroundings. The managers were Wid- 
 dicombe and Dillon. Widdicombe, one of tlie most 
 genuine comedians I have ever met with ; his facial 
 expression was something wonderful, and his chuckle 
 irresistible. The said chuckle, which set the table in 
 a roar, he inherited from his mother, a celebrated 
 black equestrienne. His father was the ring-master 
 at Astley's, and the vainest man I ever saw — or ever 
 shall see. He positively wore stays, and had pro- 
 minently painted cheeks, lips, and eyebrows ; this, 
 with a curled wig and outre dressing, rendered him an 
 objec;t of ridicule to all. His son, fortunately, had 
 no trace of it, being frank and free. 
 
 Astley's ! What a flood of r(3Collections pour forth 
 at the bare mention of its name ! The deliirht of 
 my boyish days, the acme of all perfected enjoyment, 
 to my youthful thinking — " Mazeppa," " Waterloo,'^ 
 the " Kyber Pass," who can forget, having once 
 witnessed them ? "Shaw, the Jjife Guardsman," and 
 "Molly Malone" — oh, ye powers of memory! But 
 somehow it struck me, even then, that there was a
 
 122 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 leelle too much firing, and I firmly believe it was the 
 cause of the decadence, for women and children don't 
 like to be bumped ofi" their seats by constant platoon 
 firing. Ducrow was the most graceful horseman I 
 have ever seen ; there was a poetry of expression in 
 his action never excelled. He was also an unapproach- 
 able stage-manager, having a great eye to the pic- 
 turesque distribution of masses. It was his custom 
 to purchase a new hat the last day of rehearsing a 
 new piece. He would craftily call attention to its 
 gloss, shape, fit, &c., enlarging at the same time upon 
 its cost. When he came to his grand effects and 
 anything went wrong, he would deliberately give his 
 hat a crushing blow, and cry, " There goes Is. Qd. !" 
 " Try again. ^' They generally did it better the 
 second time. Failing in another effect, he takes off' 
 his hat, and rubbing it furiously, growls, " There 
 goes 15*., darn it; try again." But when the climax 
 came, and all went wrong, he would dash the remnants 
 down, and vigorously jumping on them, yell, "There 
 goes 1/. \s. ; try again, and do it, or darn ye I'll 
 smash the lot !" — and they did try, and did it well. 
 
 Old Astley was a famous man in his day. He had 
 a celebrated trick horse called Punch, who, after a
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 123 
 
 variety of gambols witli the clown, would thrust his 
 head and neck through a napkin, made for the 
 purpose, then sit down to a well-spread table, knock 
 his hoof on the table as a hint to look sharp, and a 
 warnino- to the clown, who was his attendant ; he 
 would furiously seize with his mouth a bell-pull (beli- 
 pulls were then common in every house) ; he would 
 eat whatever was put before him., mock turtle — i.e., 
 bran mash — a bread fo'vl, beans, turnips, carrots, and 
 oats, &c., dignified by choice terms French dishes ; 
 then, taking a kettle in his mouth by the handle, 
 would "pour out some water in a punch bowl, seize 
 a trick bottle made for the purpose and marked 
 "brandy," pour it into the punch bowl, and de- 
 liberately lap, nodding — good health to the clown — 
 then waltz gaily, and finally fall down as a drunken 
 man would. This scene used to elicit rounds of ap- 
 plause — in fact, Punch was one of the stars of the 
 company. Old Astley concocted a scheme to send 
 some of his big people into the provinces, and amongst 
 them Punch, They exhibited with varied success 
 until they reached Belfast, where, from bad manage- 
 ment, they collapsed. Telegraphs were not invented 
 then ; bad weather and other causes prevented Astley
 
 124 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 hearing the sad news ; ruthless creditors seized the 
 effects and stud, and amongst them poor Punch was 
 hauled off and sold at a horse fair. All traces of him 
 were lost, but though lost to sight he was to memory 
 dear, for on Astley hearing Punch was not to be 
 traced, he advertised as largely as he could in those 
 days of limited inquiry. But Punch had vanished. 
 About eight years aftei", going into a low quarter of 
 the town, he saw in a costermonger's cart^ — a poor, 
 cast-down, abject creature, the bones protruding 
 throuo-h the skin — a wretched semblance of his lost 
 
 a 
 
 but beloved Punch. Astley paused in doubt, then 
 tremulously muttered, " Punch." The animal pricked 
 up his ears, stood up on his hind legs, upsetting the 
 costermonger and the contents of his cart, then 
 waltzed up to his old master. The meeting was a 
 strange one, but positively affecting. Astley 's " down, 
 sir," was instantly obeyed ; Punch's neck was as in- 
 stantly grasped, the caresses of the horse and the 
 manager blended, and the recognition was complete. 
 " Well, I'm dashed," said the costermonger, " he is 
 the devil, and no greens ; everybody swears it, and 
 so will I." "Will you part with the animal?" said 
 Astley. " Will I ? won't I ? and glad to get rid of
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 125 
 
 him. Ob, lord, sir, don't have anything to do with 
 him ; he's a born devil. The tales I've ^erd about 
 that there Uanm^^X is enough to take yer 'air houi 
 hy the roots; why, if ever he sees a kettle on the 
 fire he'll rush in, he'll seize it, and commence all 
 sorts o' games ; every bell-pull he sees, up goes his 
 'oof on to the table, and there he tugs and bangs till 
 table or bell comes to smash. If the band plays in 
 the street, he waltzes like a natarel Christian, and 
 then pretends to fall dead as a herring." He was re- 
 purchased by his old master for a live-pound note, 
 well fed and tended, and in less than a month Punch 
 was at his old post, ringing bells and drinking brandy- 
 and-water daily.
 
 CHAPTEE VITI. 
 
 1821. 
 
 ^HOSE who for the first time come upon the 
 starthng fact that Mrs. Wigan was the daughter 
 of Mr. Usher, the mountebank, will exclaim, that's not 
 true ! He was a man of an intense love of money, and 
 it was his habit to go with his assistants about 
 fifteen miles from the town he was starrina- at to 
 exhibit his feats in the daylight to the country people, 
 thereby making a lot of money. The pantaloon, 
 who, by the vvay, was a character, told me that he 
 had chalked the rope she was in the habit of dancing 
 upon hundreds of times, and many admirers of that 
 talented lady will be as startled as I was, when I 
 learnt that her first introduction to a London 
 audience was as the ape in "La Perouse." Her 
 subsequent rise in her profession, which made her 
 famous and respected, was as justly due to her
 
 RAND OM RE COLLECTIONS. 1 2 7 
 
 talent, and equally justified Mr. Alfred Wigan's 
 choice. Those who think I wish to lower them 
 are egregiously mistaken ; for the very difficulties 
 they had in their struggles to light gives a peculiar 
 interest and charm to their elevation, which interest 
 becomes the more intense by its peculiarity. 
 Suffice it they became world-famous, and they 
 deserved it, for, subsequently, the highest in the 
 land patronised them, and many noble friends visited 
 them in {)rivate. Alfred Wigan was rather reticent, 
 with excellent taste and tact ; he was much petted 
 by the nobilit}^, and this he owed principally to 
 his father, who was a popular courier and famous 
 for his enlivening manner, which gave him great 
 influence with his titled employers. Naturally, he 
 would talk of his boy, then rising into notice as 
 an actor of growing fame. This led to an interest 
 in him, afterwards an introduction, wliicli ripened 
 into intimacy. He used to give petite suppers, but 
 never offended his titled friends by dispUiy ; they 
 were of Spartan simplicity, impromptu, and ap- 
 parently without preparation ; the cloth was laid, 
 delicious bread and butter in profusion, and bottled 
 stout, lobster salads, and a tub of oysters ; a man fault-
 
 128 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 lessly dressed in white linen, would open the juicy 
 bivalves, and all was merriment and content. Miss 
 Pincott, so-called to hide the Usheronian descent, was 
 a great favourite of Madame Yestris from her 
 unspotted conduct and ability. Her only fault — 
 her longing for high society — which was fully gratified 
 when she attained eminence ; this was at times carried 
 to a ludicrous extent. I was with them when at 
 the Olympic under Watt's management. One 
 morning she said to me, " I am really at a loss what 
 lio-ht refreshment to g"et Alfred for lunch durinj]: 
 rehearsal." " Wh}^," said I, " let him pop into 
 Short's and get a glass of sherry and a bun." " And 
 where is Short's ?" she asked, with wonder. " Oh, 
 just opposite Somerset House, and very resjDectable." 
 " What !" she almost screamed, " my Alfred enter a 
 public house — never ! Drink tavern wine ! Oh, dear 
 no ! He never drinks any other than Duff Gordon's 
 sherry ; we do that out of compliment to him. You 
 are aware he is godfather to my boy." At another 
 time we were discussing a point as to whether 
 Shakspeare meant the Forest of Arden in England, 
 or Ardennes in France. " Oh, / can settle that 
 point," she said, with confidence, " for my darling
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 129 
 
 friend, Sarah, you know, the Duchess of , gave me 
 
 some Brussels lace made in that very forest." Her 
 love of fine friends was her only fault, for she would 
 drag them before you head and heels, by hook or by 
 crook ; but you forgot all in admiration of her talent. 
 About this time died one of the most rapid and 
 vivacious dancers I have ever seen. Her sword dance, 
 hornpipe, &c., were of lightning rapidity. The 
 nearest approach to it was Lydia Thompson, but far 
 distant. With her the old style may have been said to 
 die. She retired early, having attracted the Duke of 
 Brunswick's attention. She died young, to the regret 
 of her many admirers. Her father played old man 
 in Manchester, and, though a ratlier temperate man, 
 earned for himself, from his social habit, the unen- 
 viable title of the "King of the Drunkards." 
 
 Being somewhat ambitious, I resolved to become a 
 manager, so fixed upon a little theatre at a place 
 called Stourbridge. I collected a very clever company. 
 We had the theatre thoroughly cleansed — for I am a 
 great believer in soap and soda ; our decorations were 
 inexpensive, consisting principally in whitewash and 
 rose pink, with a few flowers, and a good deal of 
 Dutch metal. This bold attcmi)t to look respectable 
 
 K
 
 I30 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 obtained the good-will of the Stourbridgeans, which 
 will I retain to this day. Jenny Lind was the 
 popular vocalist of the day, and a piece had been 
 written called " Jenny Lind at Last." We announced 
 for our opening pieces, " Don Csesar de Bazan," and 
 " Jenny Lind at Last." I had in my company a 
 pretty young girl, with a mass of golden hair — now a 
 popular favourite in London — she was to be the Jenny 
 Lind. I was sitting in a disconsolate mood, fearing 
 the failure of my scheme, when a rapid knock startled 
 me, and some one said, " For goodness sake tell the 
 master to come and open the doors, or they'll pull 
 the theatre down ; there's such a crowd." I rushed 
 through the crowd, who cheered me ; no time for 
 checks, so I took the money in my pockets as best T 
 could, until all quieted down. Both pieces went off 
 to perfection. And wonder upon wonders, everybody 
 believed it was the veritable Swedish Nightijigale. I was 
 cautious neither to admit or deny it, and to this very 
 day many believe they heard Jenny Lind. The lady in 
 question is the mother of MissIrvin,thepopular actress. 
 Dillon came down to star — a very clever man, but 
 then fearfully careless ; his opening piece was 
 " Othello." Being my first start as a manager, you
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 131 
 
 may believe that my stock of dresses was not elabo- 
 rate. Dillon came in late, and whistling. " Where's 
 my dress ?" said he, with great nonchalance. " Yonr 
 dress !" said I, aghast ; " Stars always find their own 
 dresses." " Haven't one," he replied, coolly stroking 
 his moustache ; there was nothing to be done but 
 make the Duke's dress do duty for Othello, the Duke 
 shifting as he could ; and after splitting the dress, 
 and bursting a pair of crimson velvet shoes, 
 which I valued, worked with gold and costly, 
 the piece went oif with general satisfaction. After it 
 was over I expostulated with him about bis remiss- 
 ness. "Oh, my boy," said he, "that's nothing; I 
 once played Don Caesar de Bazan in tights and a 
 blanket. The manager had no spare room, so, out of 
 courtesy, he divided one with a blanket ; he had no 
 dress to spare, so, being without, I twisted the blanket 
 round me toga fashion, and I never knew a piece go 
 better." So much for high art culture and careless- 
 ness. This I had from Dillon's own lips. I had many 
 in that company since celebrated — ^Irs. Davenport 
 (then Miss Fanny Vining) at a salary of 30.'?. ; George 
 Vining (her cousin, and the celebrated manager of 
 the Princess's, London), at 25s. ; Miss Charlotte 
 
 K 2
 
 132 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 Saunders (since then a universal favourite) at 1/. \^.\ 
 Robertson (the celebrated author of " Caste," 
 " School," &c., for " second heavies "), at 1/, per week ; 
 and many more who would now turn up their noses 
 at twenty times that sum. Thus the whirligig of 
 time brings in its revenges. Poor Robertson died 
 young, and on the threshold of fame ; his death was 
 a sad loss to literature, for had he lived doubtless a 
 great future was before him. 
 
 An engagement for Glasgowintroduced me to a great 
 celebrity, Alexander, or " Alic," as he was familiarly 
 called. I opened as Edgar in " Lear;" and Jeremiah 
 Bumps. The low comedian has to come on singing, 
 " Here the conquering Hero Comes." To my conster- 
 nation I heard two voices, and I saw a tall gentleman 
 arm-in-arm with the General. As Newton approached 
 the wing the strange gentleman retired, bowing, and, 
 with pompous dignity, he said, "Welcome to my pro- 
 perty!" This was the first taste I had of that cele- 
 brated man's eccentricity. This brought to my mind 
 the renowned Simpson, of Vauxhall, who, with toe 
 pointed and hand extended, used to walk round the 
 different refreshment boxes, and exclaim, " Welcome 
 to the royal property !" It was so ludicrously like
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 133 
 
 him that I roared witli laug^liter. Soon after comlncr 
 off the stage he slapped me on the back ; I dug him 
 under the ribs with my thumb. " You'll do," said he ; 
 and from that moment we became fast friends. His 
 wife was a treasure and a blessing to him, and both 
 were bent on saving money. Gras was a heavy item, 
 and prayed upon his mind ; if he could slyly put a 
 burner down he was delisrhted. Once, seeing^ a liirht 
 flaring in an out-of-the-wa}^ passage, he tried to reach 
 it, but to no purpose ; in vain he jumped in despair ; 
 seeing his wife approaching, he pointed to the light, 
 exclaiming, "Make a back, ma'am;" she obediently 
 did so, he as quickly jumped up, lowered the light, 
 and was satisfied. Once, before he rose to fortune, he 
 had a rival in the same building, he on the lower 
 floor, Seymour (his rival) above. The " Stranger " was 
 a favourite character with him. They had quarrelled ; 
 so for spite Seymour put up " Der Frieschutz,'' and 
 when Alexander most desired silence for the develop- 
 ment of the pathos tlie row commenced above, crash- 
 ing of bullets, screams, chains, drums, trumpets, and 
 goodness knows what culminating in hullabaloo. Alic 
 could stand it no longer ; coming down to the foot- 
 lights, and in the broadest Scotch, he said, " Scotch-
 
 134 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 men, if you love your country uphold my dignity, and 
 expel \X\dX foreigner!''' Now Seymour was an Irish- 
 man. Do you see the joke? 
 
 At one time there was a strange mania for dog 
 "stars." Coney and Blanchard, pantomimists, had a 
 celebrated dog called " Nero," whose talent they in- 
 troduced in a piece called " The Dog of Montargis." 
 They were announced in Glasgow at the Eoyal, and 
 great was the excitement ; but from some accident 
 tliey did not arrive from Liverpool. A great house 
 had assembled, and Alicknew well that three parts of 
 the house would demand their money back. But he 
 was up to the emergency — rushing into the street he 
 seized hold of a lank and miserable sheep dog, tied a 
 rope tightly round him, and passed the rope across 
 the stage to the cottage the dog was supposed to run 
 to, barking, to attract attention to a murder just com- 
 mitted. The dog should ilienpidl the hell-rope, out comes 
 an old woman, the dog seizes her by the ajDron, 
 snatches the lantern from her hand, and forces her to 
 follow him. In the previous scene the audience had 
 been worked up to an immense pitch of excitement, 
 and all were eagerly waiting to see the wonderful dog 
 that had been so much talked about. Suddenly they
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 
 
 135 
 
 heard A lie's voice, which they well knew. " Bark, 
 
 sir, bark. Denna ye hear your cue ; ye fool, 
 
 bark, sir." Not a note would he utter. " Ye blather- 
 skins, but I'll make ye." Suddenly they heard a kick, 
 vigorously applied, and a howl that shook the build- 
 ing ; this sounded well and elicited a tremendous 
 round of applause, which subsided — and laughter took 
 its place. On hearing Alic in great excitement scream, 
 " Pull, Mary Dallas, ye dromedary ; pull ye deevils, 
 where's Jock ? Pull for your lives." They heard a 
 suffocating whine, and saw a lanky, miserable dog, 
 slowly dragged across the stage, and barking with all 
 his might — then literally hung up to the door. The 
 bell was violently rung behind the scenes — out comes 
 the old woman — but by this time the audience saw 
 the sell — screams, laughter, hisses, catcalls, &c. " Ah, 
 Alic," the gallery boys exclaimed, " up to yer tricks 
 again ;" he briskly steps forward, gave them a laugh- 
 able speech — a bit of the Tullochgorum, with Alic's 
 celebrated step, and all was well — and, what was better, 
 not a shilling demanded back. 
 
 Mrs. Ternan, nee Miss Jarm.an, could not get dressed 
 quick enough. She sent to say so. " Nae waits for 
 me," said Alic, and, seizing a carpenter, screamed out,
 
 136 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 " Mary Dallas, bring me a sailor's jacket ; quick, ye 
 dromedary." He as quickly sent a boy to tell the 
 leader to play up a hornpipe. The carpenter became 
 tremblingly alive to the situation. " Pit on the 
 jacket, Jock," said he. " Ech, sir, I canna dae it." 
 " Houd your tongue, ye limmer, and pit it on," and 
 forced the jacket on him. " Eing up," said Alic. Up 
 went the curtain, and giving the carpenter a push 
 that sent him reeling on, from sheer fright, and the 
 threats of Alic, he improvised a wild hornpipe ; the 
 curtain descended with roars of laughter. His 
 purpose accomplished, Alic was happy. 
 
 He could never bear incompetence or want of life 
 in male or female ; if so, he would use his arm as if 
 turning a mangle, saying, " Wind 'em up." In play- 
 ing Young Eapid to his Old One, nothing pleased 
 him so well as when I was driving him round the 
 stage, jumping over the table when talking, or over 
 his head when making my exit ; he would cry all the 
 time, "Wind 'em up, you'll do, you'll do." One 
 evening on coming off he turned to me seriously, and 
 said, " Whenever you make your appearance in 
 London I'll be there," and he kept his word ; and 
 what was more strange, being fond of money, he paid
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 137 
 
 for a private box, though one was at his disposal 
 gratis. He amassed over 60,000/., besides the pro- 
 perty and theatre, which brought something like 
 another 100,000/., bought for a railway station, being 
 central. Thus from nothing he rose to independence. 
 Born to be a worker, rest killed him ; for soon after 
 his retirement good Alic departed for a better land ! 
 Peace to his manes. 
 
 In Manchester I opened in Mercutio, the sisters 
 Cushman being the Romeo and Juliet. There were 
 many clever people in that company, amongst them 
 Hoskins, who has achieved honour and profitable 
 repute in Australia. Knowles, the manager of the 
 Theatre Royal, Manchester, had a nickname of " It 
 mun be done." I was cast in a farce I did not like, 
 and appealed to the stage manager ; he said, " It mun 
 be done, and so you'll find." There is nothing like 
 the fountain-head, thought I — Knowles crossed the 
 stage — 1 explained. "Doesn't 'e like the part?" 
 " No," said I, emphatically. " Then thee shan't do it." 
 His " mun be done " from that moment was a m3'th 
 to me. " The Tailor of Tamworth " was the farce, 
 and that reminds me of Alexander once more. He 
 and Charles Kean differed upon some point. Alic
 
 1 3 8 RANDOM RE COLLE CTIONS OF 
 
 terminated the dispute with a sarcastic smile, and 
 with a withering look, said, " There's nae doot ye 
 can play Hamlet, sir, better than me ;" then elevating 
 himself", he grandly added, " but ye canna touch me 
 in ' The Tailor of Tamworth.' " Kean rushed to 
 Mrs. Kean, exclairaiog, " Ellen, Ellen, who's ' The 
 Tailor of Tamworth ?' I must study him ; I cannot 
 be beaten by a fellow like that." He learned, to his 
 dismay, it was a farce. This also reminds me that I 
 once announced — not knowing the piece — " The 
 Spectre Bridegroom " as a highly-exciting and heart- 
 rending melodrama — whereas the piece is full of 
 laughter and as old as the hills. My work in that 
 theatre was terrific, studying in one week Ferment 
 in the " School of Reform," Frederick in the " Poor 
 Grentleman," and four other long comedy parts, 
 besides farces. My work was so intense that I used 
 to put wet towels on my head, my wife saying it 
 would kill me. " It tiliall kill me," I replied, " or I 
 will kill it ;" and I did, for I got through marvel- 
 lously. Whoever says an actor's life is an idle one 
 knows nothing of the matter. 
 
 The season being over, I engaged for the York 
 circuit, managed by the once celebrated Pritchard ; he
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 139 
 
 was eccentric and illiterate, but very honest. He had 
 a fine appearance, spoiled, unfortunatel}^ by a cast in 
 the eye. He obtained an engagement to play Ttob 
 Eoy at Drury Lane. All the old actors of that cele- 
 brated temple of the drama were at the wings to 
 listen to the new attraction. Great masses of " supers," 
 actors, singers, and chorus were on the stage, when, 
 to the horror of all, the Star, grandly waving his 
 hand, said, " Gentlemen and ladies, stand a little 
 backer." " Shades of Drury Lane !" exclaimed 
 Harley, stealing off with the elder listeners. 
 
 Fate took us to Cambridge ; the manager was 
 another notability called Davenport, the original of 
 Charles Dickens's " Crummies," and his daughter the 
 original " Phenomenon." Mrs. Davenport was a 
 grand old lady, very kind-hearted, with a palsied 
 twitch of the head and neck ; she was of the old, old 
 school. " Jane Shore " was selected for the opening 
 night, the daughter playing Jane, the mother, Alicia. 
 The piece proceeded dolefully until the mad scene, 
 when, with a terrific yell, she screamed, " Something 
 cracks above !" A boy cried, " Hold on, old 'un, or 
 you'll crack your voice !" She defiantly repeated the 
 line ; her tormentor replied, " Or you'll crack the
 
 140 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 roof." The next night the play was repeated, and in 
 the bills, to our astonishment, " By General Eequest." 
 We waited for the memorable cracks ; but, grown wiser, 
 she exclaimed, sofio voce, " Something cracks above !" 
 when a grulf voice grumbled, " Let out a reef and 
 speak up, old croaker !" This settled the business ; 
 she vowed from that time she would never play again 
 — and, to my belief, she never did. Davenport was 
 in manner blandly grand — a second Micawber — 
 always on the look-out for something to turn up. 
 Sickened with the ''Phenomenon," who would play 
 everything, we resolved to leave ; but before doing so, 
 I was walking in the principal street in Norwich — 
 it was market-day, and therefore a good opportunity 
 for display, as the streets were crowded — I met 
 Davenport, who started, paused, drew out an enormous 
 pocket-handkerchief, and, with a loud outburst of 
 grief, rushed over, seized my hand, and blubbering, 
 said, " God bless ije," he departed, one hand waving 
 adieu : he applied the other to stanch the coj^iously- 
 tlowing tears, artfully hid from view. I never saw 
 him more. 
 
 Oh, days of youth, ye are fleeting ! I had entered 
 life's trials ; I was shaking off' its last clinging
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 141 
 
 cerements ; tlie mem was about to be born, to start 
 from chrysalis existence into active life. I well remem- 
 ber waking one morning, so sad, and saying to m}^ 
 wife, " I liave a presentiment that my youth has 
 flown." Who has not felt this ? Another guardian 
 had entered on his duties, mysterious, yet to me 
 veritable ; a third stage would come, when I might 
 be more severely tried, perhaps to arouse my energies, 
 stimulate my action, and purify with iron hand the 
 shortcomings of my youth. 
 
 Our beloved Queen, surrounded by Palmerston, 
 Derby, and Wellington, assumed the reins of Govern- 
 ment, gently but firmly ; still the nation yearned to 
 see her properly mated, and, fortunately for England's 
 future. Prince Albert was the lucky chosen husband. 
 Never, perhaps, were so many graces and virtues 
 mingled, and never, perhaps, w'as a human being so 
 adapted to the trjdng position he was forced by cir- 
 cumstances to hold — a king, but a subject; a 
 husband, yet a friend ; a father, but a guardian^ — ^iu 
 all phases of life an utter abnegation of self, and a 
 total resignment of position distinguished him ; and 
 yet amongst these conflicting duties he bore himself 
 so gently and firmly that he reigned more absolutely
 
 142 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 than any monarch of his time, for the people loved 
 him for his gentleness, revered him for his piety, and 
 respected him for his business habits, his sound 
 judgment, and the clock-like regularity of his move- 
 ments. Their marriage was simple, though the sur- 
 roundings were all that a great nation could desire in 
 solidity and becoming state ; and I think most minds 
 will agree with me, that never, save during the 
 Commonwealth, was England on so sure a basis, or 
 more sincerely respected, than under the guiding 
 hand of Palmerston, the Iron Duke, and Albert the 
 Good. But, as I am not writing a political treatise I 
 will proceed with ray narrative. 
 
 Myself and wife, as we progressed in our profession, 
 advanced socially, often being invited to the best 
 tables. I merely mention this to prove that if actors 
 will only respect their position, the good and the great 
 are ready enough to patronise them. 
 
 Being about to leave Bury St. Edmunds, I wished 
 to show my wife a charming view in Sir Thomas 
 Cullum's park. While we were admiring it, I saw 
 some one hurrjang up the hill, and exclaiming, almost 
 out of breath, " I allow no one on this portion of 
 my grounds, as it disturbs my tame plieasants, who
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 143 
 
 are broocliDg." I iiisiantly apologised, and he as 
 instant!}^ said, " You played Gratiano in the ' Mer- 
 chant of Venice ' last night, did you not ? Come in, 
 and ril introduce you to my wife, who is much 
 pleased with yours." With the true spirit of a gen- 
 tleman, he would not allow us to open or shut a gate, 
 but did so himself, with his hat off. 
 
 Adieu to such courteous days, for they, too, are de- 
 parting ! We lunched with himself and his wife, and 
 shortly after, seeing him take out his watch, I made 
 some apology as to intruding. " Not so,'' he said ; 
 " I hold a living, which is rather valuable, by preach- 
 ing once a year, and I shall devote to you the last 
 possible minute." We saw them often on our return 
 tlie following season, and they were ever the same. 
 
 From constant travelling, worry, and study, ray 
 system was shattered — in fact, my constitution broke 
 down under it, and I resolved to settle, more especially 
 as my brother, who had been for some years in the 
 service of the Imaum of Muscat, wished to reside 
 with us, having lost his wife. The manner of her 
 death was peculiarly sad. Her little one la}' upon 
 her lap, as she sat under the verandah. The floor 
 was marble. My brother returned unexpectedly from
 
 144 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 the Red Sea. Starting up, the baby fell upon the 
 marble floor, and was killed. The mother, who had 
 Indian blood in her veins, never cried, or even moaned, 
 but gradually settled into a melancholy which nothing 
 could remove, and shortly died. Mine and my 
 brother's first greeting was anything but friendly. 
 " What an infernal ass you have made of yourself — 
 a play actor, indeed! If your poor mother knew it, 
 it would break her heart; it's a nsercy she's dead." 
 So much for the world's idea of our profession, which 
 has done more for the advancement of progression, 
 and has more steadily held its way at all times and in 
 all ages, than creeds, rules, or fashion itself. The 
 minds who write, and we who illustrate^ surely must 
 do much to elevate ours! What sage, politician, or 
 preacher of note has not written in our cause, or what 
 nation has not followed our motion, expression, and 
 pronunciation ! Bachel was once complimented : 
 " Ah, madame, you have saved the French language !" 
 " Have I ? It was by accident. But no wonder, for 
 I am an actress, and was bred among actors and 
 actresses," was the reply. 
 
 We fixed upon a house in Gloucester Crescent, 
 Regent's Park. Youth is elastic, and my health im-
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 
 
 MS 
 
 proved. I received an offer again for Glasgow. Our 
 beloved Queen was invited to visit the city. I had 
 a long part to study, so I went ten miles into the 
 country to avoid temptation, and be perfect in the 
 words. So much for an actor's idle life. The Queen 
 must have been highly gratified with Glasgow, for 
 everything was substantially grand ; the triumphal 
 arches were most beautiful; one, an imitation of 
 granite, was like to a degree of nicety. Eeturning 
 to London, I was engaged by Mrs. Warner, a fine 
 actress and a beautiful woman. On her last illness 
 the Queen used to send a carriage for her to take 
 an airing — a delicacy of attention as honourable to 
 her Majesty as it was deserved by the actress. I 
 was successful ; so far so, that Oxenford, the well- 
 known critic of the Times, wrote a piece for me whicli 
 ran for a length of time. From thence T went to the 
 Olympic, rebuilt for a Mr. Watts, who was a partner 
 in the Globe Insurance Office. We had a fine com- 
 pany, Gustavus Brooke, Davenport, Vining, Wigan, 
 Mrs. Mowatt, &c., &c. ; nevertheless the venture was 
 a failure from private extravagance and large salaries. 
 At last Watts forged largely in tlie firm's name, but 
 being a partner they could not convict him. Happen- 
 
 L
 
 146 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 ing, however, to write a cheque upon a piece of paper 
 not the }3J'operty of the firm, hut of a clerk belonging 
 to the house, value one penny, he was sentenced to 
 transportation. Not having moral courage to bear 
 the degradation, he hanged himself in Newgate — a 
 sad termination to a reckless course of living. 
 Luckily for the profession he was not an actor. 
 
 About this time death claimed as its victim the 
 Iron Duke, an irreparable loss to our beloved Queen 
 and to England generally. The nation seemed to 
 have received a sudden shock — all was calm, awfully 
 calm. But a leader in the Times, magnificently 
 written, aroused the people to their duty, and amply 
 did they make amends for the indignities heaped upon 
 him from political excitement. The Iron Duke lay in 
 state at Chelsea Hospital ; I went the first day, and, 
 to my surprise, I had no difficulty in gaining easy 
 access ; I therefore was emboldened by its quietude 
 to take my wife the second day. I never shall for- 
 get it. I imagine the dread of a fearful crush kept 
 the people away the first day, so my wife ventured 
 on the second ; but we soon found ourselves in a 
 crowd. Barriers had been erected, and as soon as the 
 first barrier was withdrawn another mob were ad-
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 147 
 
 inittecl ; then the shrieks, cries, and yells were terrific. 
 When our turn came to rush to the next barrier, 1 
 felt that to stumble or fall would be death. Tliis I 
 explained to the mob, and good humouredly cried, 
 "Back, back !" to keep the pressure off, and "Heave 
 a-lioy back !" became a popular phrase for the nonce. 
 I really believe it saved us from fearful consequences. 
 When we entered the hall my entire suit was one 
 wringing mass, as if saturated thoroughly with water, 
 and my wife's dress in ribbons and entirely spoilt. 
 This was the first mob-squeeze I ever experienced, and 
 I trust it will be the last. On the day of the Duke's 
 funeral we secured seats in a grocer's window opposite 
 Nelson's pillar in Trafalgar Square. The sight was 
 one of the most beautiful and picturesque I ever saw ; 
 every available space was occupied, even to the roofs 
 and chimney-pots. One poor fellow, clinging to a 
 chimney-pot, fell from a terrific height, near where 
 Northumberland House then stood, and was dashed 
 to pieces. As the different regiments marched past 
 (for all available were represented), attended by their 
 bands playing the " Dead March in Saul,'' the proces- 
 sion appeared endless. This, with the heaving mass of 
 spectators in solemn silence, was most impressive. 
 
 L 'Z
 
 148 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 Presently whispered murmurs of " Here comes the 
 Duke !" met our ear, and every eye was strained 
 to gaze for the last time upon the ponderous catafalque 
 beneath which all that was mortal of him rested. 
 Slowly it approached — passed, and no emotion was 
 shown ; but when his favourite horse, led by his 
 favourite groom, appeared, with the heads both of 
 horse and man bent as if in deep grief, and the 
 saddle, to which were appended his boots, then 
 mentally the eye filled out the picture, and the form 
 in spirit-like essence seemed to rest there. Then sobs, 
 sighs, silent tears, and grief-laden expressions told 
 solemnly and truthfully upon all hearts ; then all 
 realised the immensity of the loss, and not till then 
 came the reflection how great an influence and how 
 large a place he filled in the hearts of the British 
 nation. What but greatness could have attracted the 
 millions assembled to do honour to his memory ? 
 Inwardly I said, " This is indeed to live for fame !" 
 Such sights are well for a rising generation. 
 
 After the close of the Olympic, I went with 
 Grustavus Brooke for one fortnight to my old quarters, 
 the Marylebone. I found myself in large letters ; it 
 was summer — dreaded summer — for to our profession
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 149 
 
 it is a dreaded period. I had applied everywhere, and 
 could get no engagement ; my only hope was in the 
 fact that Charles Kean had taken the Princess's, 
 Oxford Street, and had also entered into partnership 
 with the Iveeleys. The well-known fortune of the 
 two men, strengthened by their talented wives, 
 threw such a halo over the prospect that to be 
 connected with such a scheme was in itself a 
 repute. One night " The Wife " (by Sheridan 
 Knowles) was put up, and, to the company's 
 terror, we were informed that Mr. and Mrs. Kean 
 were in the boxes. The performance ended, and I 
 went home with a sad heart. My brother, having 
 again married, had taken an establishment for him- 
 self, and we found the house in Grloucester Terrace was 
 too large for us. I reflected, as I journeyed home 
 through the park, what hope had I of an engagement ; 
 for I had that night played Charles Kean's original 
 part in the play — namely, Leonardo Gonzaga — 
 Sheridan Knowles having played St. Pierre, and! felt 
 that Mr. Kean could never be satisfied with my rendi- 
 tion or conception. The next morning, as I entered 
 the theatre, Mrs. Seymour, now, alas ! departed, one 
 oi' the best-hearted and impulsive women I have ever
 
 I50 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 met with, rushed up to me, and, shaking my hand 
 heartily, said, " You are all right for the Princess's ; 
 my husband sat behind Mr. and Mrs. Kean last night, 
 and you were unmistakably the subject of their 
 remarks, and all were favourable ; don't write 
 to them, they will be sure to write to you, and 
 you can get better terms." However, my wife 
 advised me to write, and by return of post 
 nn interview was appointed, and an engagement 
 followed. Charles Kean's voice immediately re- 
 minded me of his father's — the grand Edmund. I 
 had seen the elder Kean twice in my life, the first 
 time at Dowton's benefit at the old Coburg, on the 
 Surrey side, now called the Victoria. On that occasion 
 Mr. Kean, the elder, played Richard the Third. There 
 was an overwhelming house, as may be imagined, 
 and I, then a lad, could see nothing, owing to the 
 crowded state of the theatre. A good-natured man, 
 hearing my sobs — for it was in the gallery, my slender 
 purse not allowing a higher price — lifted me upon 
 his shoulder until the termination of the second act; 
 then he exclaimed, setting me down, " Now, my 
 lad, thee's seen enough for thy money, cut whoam ;" 
 and I went. The second occasion was two or
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. i^i 
 
 three nights before he finally retired from the 
 stage. I well remember him in his short, spangled, 
 white tunic and crimson velvet Greek jacket. But, oh 
 dear, that horrid voice ! it was harsh and untame- 
 able ; the son had it in a less degree. The elder 
 Kean's success sprang from his intensity and volu- 
 bility, his facial expression, and that wonderful eye. 
 The Kembles (John and Charles), Young, Van- 
 denhoff, and actors of that age were all ponderous, 
 measured, and " tea-potish ;" even the exaggeration 
 is evident in Mrs. Siddons's attitude in that splendid 
 picture, the Trial of Queen Catharine, in " Henry the 
 Eighth ;" the pressure of the bosom by the one 
 hand, and the unnatural elevation of the other, points 
 evidently to it. Cooper, a very admirable actor, the 
 last of that line, was tainted with the same style — 
 profuse and measured pantomime being the rage. 
 For instance, in " Midsummer Night's Dream," when 
 describing a pack of hounds, he used to count them, 
 as in imagination, with his forefinger, as low as 
 possible, and then run up his voice to its highest 
 elevation ; he would point to his heart if in love, or 
 run his hand over Jiis face if speaking of a lady's 
 beauty. Edmund Kean swept all this away as if by
 
 152 
 
 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 magic ; Ills free, natural, and hurried impetuosity 
 came flashing, and was welcomed unanimously. 
 The greatest tragedian after Kean was Macready, 
 who became justly famous, following the same 
 style.
 
 M 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 1850 TO 1857. 
 
 ESSRS. KEAN and Keeley opened the Princess's 
 with the beautiful play of "Twelfth Night;" 
 the chastity of its production was something wonder- 
 ful, and the cast embraced the choice names of the 
 day; Mrs. C. Kean played Viola, with that wonder- 
 ful tenderness for which she was world-famous ; Mr. 
 Kean did not play in the piece. A little personal 
 vanity may be excused when I recall the past. As I 
 entered the green-room, Wigan exclaimed, " Doesn't 
 he look as if he had stepped out of a picture painted 
 by Vandyke ?" I had mounted the ladder after years 
 of toil, study, and privation, trials of agony but too 
 well remembered, and I at last found myself in a 
 recognised position, and surrounded by the highest 
 talent at that time procurable. After eulogising the 
 piece and its production, every paper spoke well of me, 
 and a few nights after I had the honour of hearing
 
 154 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 that I had been spoken of graciously by her Majesty, 
 which was proved by a command, after a lapse of 
 some months, to play the same part at Windsor 
 Castle, and that, too, in her own hand, as I had then 
 seceded from the Princess's and was at Drury Lane. 
 My success induced Mr, Kean to cast me a fine part 
 in a piece by Slaus, called " The Templars," in which 
 I was called before the curtain every evening for 
 fifty-two nights, almost the first long run of a piece 
 known there. Prince Albert applauded me heartily 
 and publicly, leaning from his box to do so, which 
 drew tears of joy from my wife, who was a spectator. 
 One night during its run Mr. Kean told me the ball 
 was at my foot, and added, " but take care how you 
 kick it" — which advice I regret I did not take. 
 
 1851! What wondrous recollections spring to life 
 at the mention of that date. The First Great Exhibi- 
 tion — never to be surpassed at any time. I have 
 always been an admirer of elevation in public building. 
 1 remember hearing that Alfred the Great, when the 
 first Westminster Hall was built, said, "You think this 
 a lofty room, do you ? If I had my will it should be a 
 mere lobby to my bedroom." I must confess when 
 I first saw the Glass and Ircn Palace I exclaimed,
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 155 
 
 " Is this a building erected for the Exhibition, to 
 hold the art treasures of all nations ? it is more fitted 
 for a sheep-pen. Pat it down ; fence it in ; make it 
 nice and comfortable — that's England all over." 
 But I am bound in honour and truth to say that, 
 once inside the building, the eflect was grand beyond 
 description, whatever the exterior might have seemed. 
 The gorgeous tropical plants, the well-arranged series 
 of flags, the judiciously-appointed sections of the 
 various nations and their contents, every conceivable 
 invention in all branches of trade, commerce, and art, 
 were nobly represented. Luxuries were as rife as 
 utility, and ploughs were as plentiful as fans and 
 diamonds ; the poor man's cottage as fully represented 
 as the rich man's palace. Amongst the countless 
 host of wonders, the stuffed animals in the Grerman 
 division were most laughable ; the lion in his rage ; 
 the tigress in her love ; the watchful hen sheltering 
 her brood, looking defiantly at tlie hovering hawk ; 
 the frog daintily stepping through the rain sheltered 
 by an umbrella ; the fox sitting in judgment upon 
 the captive hare, who is led to the bar by her gaoler, 
 while she, with paw in mouth and downcast eye, 
 pleads unavailingly, her captor, with tongue out, eyes
 
 156 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 lier as greedily as does the judge, lier fixte is decided 
 beyond question even before the trial begins. But 
 the rabbit warren — what a world of fun even for 
 grown-up children ! See the rabbit who, finding a 
 gun pointed at him, falls back in fear, with legs 
 upraised and a glance of horror in his eye ; the fat 
 old father, scampering with ears down and eyes cast 
 back ; the mother peering out of her burrow with her 
 little brood around her, and the entire group in every 
 conceivable attitude of terror and perplexity, is really 
 worth a memory. In every direction music was 
 floating ; in fact, a week of untiring energy would 
 not serve to examine its contents. Other Exhibitions, 
 and in nobler buildings, have since arisen, but none 
 like the great and original Exhibition of 1851, started 
 and perfected, I believe, by Albert the Good — in itself 
 a monument of glory to his beloved memory. 
 
 It was Prince Albert, I believe, who suggested, 
 and, aided by able hands, originated those charming 
 Windsor Castle dramatic performances. By the aid 
 of Charles Kean's consummate knowledge of stage 
 business, refined as it was by educational research, 
 assisted by Grieves's skill as a painter, and Planche's 
 brilliant sketches of costume, a completeness unrivalled
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 157 
 
 was attained. The scene for these perfected repre- 
 sentations was the Vandyke Room at Windsor Castle. 
 A stage was erected, and so constructed that it could 
 be put up or taken down in a brief space of time. It 
 was customary to select an entertainment from one 
 of the principal theatres, in which all the members 
 belonging to that theatre assisted. The arrangements 
 were complete ; a first-class ticket was placed in your 
 hand for Windsor by train, and, on arrival^ private 
 carriages were in waiting to take you to the palace. 
 On entering the castle you presented your ticket, and 
 were passed on to where servants in livery were ready 
 to offer you all kinds of refreshments, intoxicating 
 liquors alone excepted ; you then proceeded to your 
 dressing-room, duly arranged for your reception. 
 Punctually the curtain rose, the play proceeded, and 
 duly terminated. After dressing you were ushered 
 into the supper-room, where every luxury awaited 
 you ; wine flowed plentifully, and mirth, wisely 
 chastened, abounded. On one occasion, after playing 
 Tom Hayday in the " Prisoner of War," I had dressed 
 quickly, and wanted to look about. I ascended the 
 stage from my dressing-room, and found no one about. 
 A sudden impulse seized me. The dais on which her
 
 158 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 Majesty, Prince Albert, and the Ducliess of Kent (the 
 Queen's mother) sat was before me ; in a moment I 
 jumped over the orchestra, ran lightly up the steps 
 of the dais, seating myself in her Majesty's chair, and 
 throwing my legs out thoroughly at my ease, ex- 
 claimed in a loud voice, " Now I am King of England!" 
 Suddenly a side door opened, and the then Colonel 
 Phipps, with horror depicted in his countenance, ex- 
 claimed, " Do 3^ou know, sir, where you are ?" " Very 
 well," I said; "in her Majesty's seat." "Come 
 down, sir, come down ; you ought to be ashamed of 
 yourself." " What for ?'^ I said. " No one, sir, is 
 ever permitted to sit on any chair her Majesty has 
 once sat upon." I descended, somewhat crestfallen 
 at the enormity of my sin, reflecting what a vast 
 quantity of useless chairs there must be in the palace 
 if her Majesty was not particular where she sat. 
 
 This brings to mind the ceremony then used. 
 Three chairs were placed on the dais, her Majesty's 
 a little in advance. All stood until the Queen was 
 seated, who, after sitting, turned to her mother and 
 husband and motioned them to advance their chairs 
 to a level with hers. The beautiful Duchess of 
 Sutherland and other ladies-in-waiting stood during
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 159 
 
 the performance. The invited guests ranged on 
 each side, but below the dais ; the Royal children 
 were arranged on the steps and seated. On one occa- 
 sion the play was " Henry the Fourth," and in the 
 scene where Falstaff boasts of his bravery with his 
 shield and buckler, a laughable incident occurred. 
 The Royal heir to the throne of England became so 
 engrossed with the comicality of the scene (admirably 
 played by Bartley) that he was carried away com- 
 pletely. He wore a tartan dress, and as tears of 
 laughter rolled down his cheeks in his ecstasy, he 
 rolled up his tartan and at the same time rubbed 
 his knees with great gusto. His sister, the Princess 
 Eoyal, saw with horror the innocent impropriety, 
 and never shall I forget her terrified glance round 
 the room. However, finding that all were intent 
 upon the scene, she gave one vigorous tug at 
 the tartan, which restored propriety and brought 
 the happ3^ boy to a sense of the situation. At 
 another time I remember a pretty incident. Prince 
 Patrick (if my memory serves me rightly) had been 
 permitted to view a portion of the performance, being 
 then too young to remain the entire 'evening. At a 
 given period between the acts a servant stepped
 
 i6o RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 forward ; the young Prince, understanding the signal, 
 rose without any apparent regret, though, doubtless, 
 he suffered from the privation. He turned gracefully 
 to his Royal mother, who extended her hand, which 
 he kissed reverently, then turned to his father, who 
 stooped as if to whisper some direction, but I saw a 
 loving kiss imprinted upon the boy's cheek. The 
 young Prince, bowing to the guests, went his way, 
 without looking back, out of the door, and disappeared 
 most charmingly. These are bright memories to me, 
 and I trust to be pardoned for recalling them. 
 
 We produced " Henry the Fourth " afterwards at 
 the Princess's ; I was the Prince Hal. I was sup- 
 posed to fence tolerably ; but, as Mr. Charles Kean 
 was renowned for his skill in the art, he, with a 
 generosity that did him honour, arranged with the 
 Angelos (then celebrated teachers of fencing in St. 
 James's Street) to give me lessons. I had the great 
 favour conferred upon me of taking lessons from the 
 three— grandfather, father, and son. The result was, I 
 believe, so successful that the fight between Hotspur 
 and Hal was considered something to be looked 
 at. The innate repose and grace of Mr. Charles 
 Kean was consummate.
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. i6i 
 
 I also received an invitation to visit Mr. Bartley, 
 and in his residence I received many valuable hints, the 
 more treasured because they were spontaneous marks 
 of kindness to an almost unknown actor. He 
 possessed a valuable and life-size portrait of his wife, 
 a beautiful and stately woman, as Lady Macbeth. 
 The old man told me, with the fond garrulity of age, 
 the great loss he sustained by the death of a beloved 
 daughter and son, and of his presentation of two 
 stained-glass windows in memoriam at Cambridge or 
 Oxford, I forget which. His later days were ended 
 in comfort and dignified retirement. I mention this 
 to illustrate that the better portion of our profession 
 are strongly imbued with strict principles of piety and 
 honour. Those were the last of the palmy days, 
 when to be engaged at Drury Lane or Covent Garden 
 was a residence and position for life. Adieu to a host 
 of loved and respected ones long since passed away — 
 the Bartleys, the Harleys, the Buckstones, the 
 Keeleys, the Coopers, the Vinings — ah me ! sad, yet 
 rejoiceful memories, of the really respected artists. 
 
 How things are changed now ! A piece is written, 
 and actors specially engaged for it ; indeed, they often 
 run with the piece and end with it. Nay, it would 
 
 M
 
 i62 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 not surprise me if actors did a turn by the hour, as 
 concert hall singers do in London, and play at two or 
 three theatres per night. Indeed, I have known a 
 tall man, a short man, a fat man, and a thin man, a 
 black-bearded or a white-bearded one engaged, with 
 little reference to ability, but simply because he 
 looked the author's ideal of the part. When will this 
 folly have an end ? In " Babil and Bijou" a fine 
 woman was engaged, at a large sum per week, to 
 march and look grandly, whose very husband said 
 that five shillings was more than she was worth. A 
 gentleman in that piece was paid 8/. per week to go 
 on and say nothing, but whose attraction was, that 
 he looked like a popular favourite. Now, legs kick 
 brains to the mischief, and boldness elbows modesty 
 out of the road. When will Government take these 
 matters in hand, and provide a well-appointed school 
 and trainers, give adequate remuneration for the fall 
 provision of mental, moral, and refreshing feasts for 
 the public, and sternly banish exhibitions that de- 
 moralise the youth of either sex ? I feel sure that 
 out of impurity we shall yet pluck the better fruit, 
 which again grafted will grow vigorous and return to 
 the true flavour of the parent stem. Minds like
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 163 
 
 Shakspeare only rise to the occasion, and that at long 
 intervals, and surely some David in mind will slay 
 this barbaric Goliath. My readers may smile, but my 
 prophecy will be verified. 
 
 Speaking of Mrs, Bartley brings to recollection 
 Mrs. Bunn, wife of the celebrated manager of Drury 
 Lane, and tauntingly called " the poet Bunn," he 
 having written the libretto of several operas, " When 
 other lips," &c. His end was a sad one. He 
 was courted by the highest in_ the land for his 
 conversational powers, and was so familiar with 
 them that he would keep two or three lords waiting 
 while he would converse with some mediocre 
 person about indifferent things. His wife deserted 
 him to live with the celebrated Colonel Berkley, 
 who, in his turn, ill-treated her. She passed her 
 days in cheerless pomp and continued quarrels with 
 a rival. Bunn's pride sank under the blow, and 
 he who had been the gayest of the gay, the admired 
 of every one, ended his days as a monk of La Trappe, 
 I believe, the strictest monastic order. Punch had 
 been very severe upon him and his poems. Now 
 Bunn happened to know the lives and career of all 
 the contributors to that journal so intimate!}' that 
 
 M 2
 
 i64 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 after lashing them ironically, he ended by saying, " A 
 second edition to follow, if needed/^ This silenced 
 satire and revenged Bunn. 
 
 The first year at the Princess's drew near its ter- 
 mination, having made pronounced success. For 
 some reason I was not cast so strongly as it seemed 
 reasonable, Mr. Kean, doubtless, having other interests 
 to look after, which to me appeared neglect ; so that 
 when Mr. Ellis, the stage manager, came to offer me 
 an increase of a guinea a week, I haughtily answered, 
 " If Mr. Kean would offer me ten guineas per week 
 increase it would not induce me to stay." This was 
 a great and lamentable error on my part. If we 
 could see into the future, and judge dispassionately 
 of surroundings and their bearings, we should avoid 
 much error. Mr. Copeland, the celebrated Liverpool 
 manager, wished to introduce his wife to a London 
 audience, so he took the little Strand Theatre, and 
 christened it " Punch's Playhouse." Douglas Jerrold, 
 being the brother of Mrs. Copeland, was induced to 
 write a piece for the occasion, but his sarcastic nature 
 seized the opportunity of lashing the members of the 
 Press of that day, and they, to revenge themselves, 
 resolved not to notice the theatre. Mr. Copeland,
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 165 
 
 hearing I had seceded from the Princess's, offered me 
 good terms, which I accepted. I opened in a broken 
 French part, in a piece called " The Artist's Wife," 
 which the Times kindly noticed. The next morning 
 Bayle Bernard called upon me at the theatre, and said 
 that, as the Times had taken oif the ban by noticing 
 me, the general Press would follow suit. I may be 
 pardoned, I trust, for speaking of this, as it is some- 
 thing to be proud of, especially to one who never aspired 
 to more than fair repute, and ever held firmly to the 
 maxim, " Wait until bidden to go higher." Every one 
 thought I was mad for leaving Mr. Kean ; but fortune 
 still favoured me. Morton, the great farce writer, 
 author of " Box and Cox," and numberless successful 
 pieces, was at that time acting manager at Drury Lane, 
 Bunn's last season, and he offered me an engagement ; 
 so that at a jump I doubled my Princess's salary. 
 Still, for all that, it would have been wiser had 1 
 never left the Princess's. I was engaged at Drury 
 Lane for Wallack's business — a celebrated actor in 
 his time. The pieces were of the past, though the 
 Press did me the honour to say I kept manj- of them 
 before the public which would never have been seen 
 before the footlights a second time but for my exer-
 
 i66 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 tions. Then there were " Eomeo and Juliet," 
 " Macbeth," &c., hastily got up, for the purpose of 
 introducing Miss Helen Faucit to Drury Lane, with- 
 out the addition of splendid scenery, accessories, &c., 
 which made Mr. Kean s productions world-famous, 
 this under the old system failed to attract, even with 
 Mr. Macready in addition. 
 
 One day I received a note from George Ellis, inti- 
 matino; that Mr. Kean wished to see me. I went 
 haughty and inflexible. Mr. Kean met me very 
 kindly, and told me that her Majesty had ordered 
 " Twelfth Nidit," at Windsor Castle, and added, " You 
 may, indeed, be proud, for her Majesty has intimated 
 that, hearing you are now at Drury Lane, it is her 
 wish you should play the part of the Duke Orsino, as 
 she has seen you with pleasure twice in that character, 
 and wishes you to complete the original cast at the 
 Castle." You may imagine my delight. I went to 
 Bunn to gain permission. " You do nothing of the 
 kind," said he ; " if the Queen wishes to see you let 
 
 her come to Drury Lane, but by you don't go 
 
 there." It appeared that on one occasion the Queen 
 had gone in state to Drury Lane, and had been 
 annoyed by a favourite lady of Bunn's staring per-
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 167 
 
 sistently with an opera-glass at the Queen. Her 
 Majesty asked who the rude lady was, and Colonel 
 Phipps informed her. The Queen said decidedly, " I 
 will never again visit Drury Lane," and 1 believe she 
 never has — certainly not in my experience. For I 
 remember some time after great exertions were made 
 to induce her to patronise a performance for the benefit 
 of the Widows and Orphans of those killed in the 
 Crimean war ; she also withdrew her nsual hundred 
 guineas for a box each season formerly given. If I 
 had gone in defiance of Bunn, and in obedience to 
 her Majesty's wishes, my loyalty would have been my 
 excuse, and if discharged, the affair would have raised 
 my name and fortune. Oh ! youth, youth. 
 
 I had a large elocutionary class, and took some 
 rooms once occupied by Dion Boucicault, near Soho 
 Square. In addition to my house, the situation being 
 more central, I was very fortunate, and introduced 
 many talented people to the stage, also numbers to 
 the pulpit and the bar. News of the disasters in the 
 Crimea roused England's philanthropy — my beloved 
 wife was not slow in adding her quota — we fitted out 
 a large box of necessaries, and to them I afterwards 
 added valuable assistants, such as cholera belts,
 
 i68 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 numerous diamond editions of Goldsmith's works, 
 Bloomfield, Cowper, &c., and other homely and faithful 
 writers, snuff, tobacco, Child's night lights, lint, plaster, 
 chamoise leather gloves, &c., too numerous to mention, 
 and all that ingenuity could remember in the way of 
 usefulness. We knew no one to send them to, but 
 at last we selected the Inniskillen Dragoons, simply 
 because the son of an organist in Birmingham hap- 
 pened to belong to that regiment. But how to send 
 it that it might go direct to its destination, after such 
 blundering in high quarters ? Luckily I remembered 
 a clergyman who had been my pupil, and had 
 published his thanks in the clerical papers ; his name 
 was Bruce, and his father was connected with the 
 Government department at Deptford; he used his 
 influence to get the box forwarded to them by the 
 Baltic, a Government vessel — and it arrived safely at 
 its destination. When tlie war was over my wife 
 received a reticule worked in gold with some Turkish 
 coins, and I, a handsomely bound edition of Long- 
 fellow's works; they imagined me a poet, as I had 
 sent a lot of blatant trumpet words set to popular airs, 
 as "The English and French are United," to the 
 "Red, White, and Blue;" it amused them, and the
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 169 
 
 song was sung by many, I was told. These simple 
 incidents are nothing compared to the million and one 
 services done by private individuals, and far out- 
 topping our poor efforts of sympathy. 
 
 The sergeant who brought us the regiment's token 
 of good-will told us many an anecdote. One I will 
 here relate, because it is to the honour of that pluck 
 and coolness, ever the attendant of true breeding. 
 The Inniskilleners received orders to retire from the 
 battle, and give place to fresh troops ; they retired, 
 and gladly, especially as bullets were buzzing around, 
 and he graphically described the impatient snort of 
 the horses, whose fidgetty ears were indicative of 
 their desire to escape from the strife ; by degrees the 
 walk changed to a slow trot, then quickened, not a 
 fast one, to what would have been a canter or 
 even a gallop, but for the intrepidity of a young 
 officer, who, probably, saw danger from a panic, in a 
 clear ringing command said, InnisJdllens, walk. He 
 described the regiment's shame at being rebuked by 
 a mere boy for their weakness in such a moment. A 
 young Russian officer, whom the sergeant described 
 as being exceedingly handsome and graceful, rode out 
 from the lines and gave a challenge of attack to the
 
 I70 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 English — it being a practice, he said, during lulls. 
 An English officer rode out accepting it. The 
 Eussian was gaining the advantage, the Englishman 
 being in imminent danger ; at this crisis his body- 
 servant rushed out and cut the brave young officer 
 down, the yell of execration from all sides was fearful, 
 and the cowardly hound had to seek refuge in flight. 
 Bunn's last management of Drury Lane ceased, 
 and E. T. Smith was to succeed him. I had been 
 told by officious and unjust advisers that the old 
 glory had departed and fi'om thence meagreness would 
 be the rule. Had I remained, I should have been 
 placed upon the funds^ when youth no longer gave a 
 charm, or age, even though polished by experience, 
 gave the warning hint of declining power. But I 
 was young still — full of vigour — and youth listens 
 not to the prompting of age — and in its fiery ascen- 
 sion sees not the darkening clouds that ever hover 
 round success. Being somewhat in repute I was imme- 
 diately offered a position, and made an appointment with 
 Benjamin Webster for the Monday. But on Sunday 
 (fatal Sunday — let me advise all, never to transact 
 business on Sunday, there's no good in it), suffice it to 
 say, Mr. Butler, a theatrical agent, called, and, after
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 171 
 
 much pressing, I promised I would see Mr. Charles 
 Mathews at 10, previous to meeting Mr. Webster 
 at 11, on Monday morning. Charles Mathews hailed 
 me from a cab evidently on the look out for me. 
 Charlie was a wheedler, and as accomplished in that 
 art as he was unapproachable in his own. The wily 
 comedian offered me such terms that I thought I 
 must be safe — ten guineas per week, and the refusal 
 of parts ; thus did I throw myself into the power of a 
 man whose sole object was to weaken his neighbour 
 at the Adelphi. I opened in the " Chain of Events" 
 — it proved so to me, and was successful. Still the 
 part was a serious one, and the play was in eight 
 acts too. He afterwards tried a piece with eleven 
 acts, and never after went over five. I saw his object 
 too late. I stayed with him under varied success, 
 and the upshot was that little was paid to any one ; 
 and I, being easy, found out my mistake, my unpaid 
 salary being £150. I never knew the secret of their 
 failure in money matters ; and as his bankruptcy so 
 often is patent to the world, I do not in any sense 
 wish to be anything but a faithful chronicler in 
 things theatrical. 
 
 One thing is certain, that Madame Vestris was
 
 172 RAND OM RE COLLE CTIONS OF 
 
 somewhat extravagant, and this he might have 
 checked. On one occasion while I was there, Madame 
 Vestris had rooms built for her aecommodation, for 
 which, I was told, they paid the proprietor £500 per 
 annum extra, and every day a sumptuous repast was 
 sent in from a neighbouring hotel, and a waiter was 
 in full dress to attend, and this at a time when salaries 
 were not paid ; perhaps her failing age rendered 
 moving to and from the theatre, save at night, 
 impossible. By a stratagem I got £70, and left. I 
 did not put my further claim into his schedule, not 
 wishing there should be unpleasant comments — but 
 attended when he received a fourth class certificate ; it 
 was all they could do owing to his previous failing. 
 The Judge complimented him, hoping that, as his 
 path was once more clear, a competency for the future 
 would be secured, which I heartily hope was realised. 
 His talent was of the highest possible class of perfec- 
 tion ; his early association did much to impart tone to 
 his movement and diction — his intimacy with Count 
 D'Orsay and Lady Blessington's surroundings gave a 
 taste for luxury, while their tone — not the purest — 
 was at least refined. Once on examination he, with 
 his usual volubility, replied, " Well, I can't help it. I
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 
 
 173 
 
 always lived up to a hundred a week, and always 
 shall." At another time, when the Judge complained 
 of one item of £8 per week for cabs, his reply was 
 " Well, I never walked a mile at a time in my life, and 
 I'm not going to try it now." He elicited shouts of 
 laughter on each occasion. Oh, see the struggling 
 talent that trudges miles four times a day, and perhaps 
 goes to bed supperless ere the week is out, not from 
 extravagance, but inadequate salary, or long vacations.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 1857 TO 18C0. 
 
 Q TOKENED of the L3^ceum I returned to Drury 
 Lane, where I remained two more seasons. 
 News of a great theatre just built in Boston, Massa- 
 chusetts, reached the profession ; it had been built by 
 a company of merchants, and was said to be the 
 largest and best appointed in Europe or America. I 
 had an oflfer to join made me by Mr. Thomas Barry, 
 for the first season. I declined ; but on his arrival in 
 England, on the eve of his second season, he inciuced 
 me to close with him, on handsome terms, for a two 
 years' engagement as Stock Star ; being at the head of 
 the bill with Mrs. Barrow (formerly Miss Julia 
 Bennet, of the Haymarket), Mrs. John Wood (for- 
 merly of Theatre Boyal, Manchester), and dear old 
 John Gilbert, famous as " First Old Man " of 
 America. The passage for myself and wife in the 
 best saloon cabin was also paid. On leaving, Mr.
 
 RAND OM RE COLLE CTl ONS. 1 7 5 
 
 Barry promised he should be the first to greet me on 
 my arrival in New York, and he kept his word. In the 
 Broadway no less than three people hailed me within 
 the space of five minutes, so you may imagine I felt 
 myself at home. After luncheon we departed for 
 Boston — without inspecting the capital of America — 
 this being Mr. Thomas Barry's wish. The first 
 thing that struck me was the luggage system of 
 leaden labels, which relieves your mind of all re- 
 sponsibility — having an actual voucher for correct 
 quantity. Oh, England ! with all our boasted 
 superiority we are a slow people. Telegraph wires 
 over the houses were common matters in America — 
 though unknown then in England ; the system, too, 
 of dividing into wards the various quarters of a city 
 is valuable. If a fire happens, the fire bells toll the 
 number of the ward it is in, so that people with 
 property in any part of the city can be warned to 
 look after their own, or quieted with the knowledge 
 they were safe. Fashions, too, from Paris are 
 adopted there before they are dreamed of in England. 
 I like their system of education, save and except 
 their utterly ignoring our vowels, without which the 
 Saxon tongue cannot be spoken intelligibly. Printing,
 
 176 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 agriculture, and general machinery are much in 
 advance of ours. Their steamboats and hotels are 
 beyond all comparison with ours. 
 
 We rattled out of New York merrily — too merrily, I 
 thought, for safety — and arrived in Boston about 1 2 
 o'clock at night. Never shall I forget it. All 
 theatrical people are proverbial for their excess of 
 luggage, and we were not an exception, ours being 
 frightful ; for in addition to our personal and profes- 
 sional requirements, my good wife had carefully 
 treasured our household gods in the shape of bisque, 
 china, linen, plate, and glass, all stored in the large 
 box presented to us by the carpenters of Newcastle- 
 upon-Tyne. A large old-fashioned coach had been 
 sent from the hotel ; this was packed carefully in every 
 available part, in spite of the remonstrances of the 
 porters, who wanted to get to bed (for the Americans 
 are early birds) ; and at the back of the coach — sup- 
 ported, luckily, by irons — this terrible chest was 
 stowed away. All settled, my wife deposited herself 
 in content — and then commenced my terror. The 
 night was furiously hot ; all was strange, wild, and 
 unaccountable. At last we came to the foot of a hill, 
 and as the cumbrous vehicle commenced to ascend my
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. itj 
 
 dread increased. Three of us, with our shoulders to 
 the terrible chest, pushed with all our might to keep 
 it in its place, the perspiration pouring from us like 
 water. At last we gained level ground, and in the 
 distance I heard a bell, and slowly advancing with 
 lanterns I heard a measured tread of cumbrous 
 vehicles, reminding me of De Foe's phigue cry, 
 " Bring out your dead !" Taking the procession for 
 something of the sort, "Good gracious!" I exclaimed, 
 " send us safely out of this abominable country ! I 
 am sure we shall catch it ; the plague must be raging 
 frightfully in Boston." " The what ?" screamed my 
 wife. " Put your head in and shut the window," I 
 yelled in reply. " Here come the dead carts." " The 
 what ?" shouted the driver. " Don't you hear tlie 
 death-bell ?" " Lord save us !" cried my wife, shutting 
 the window with a slam. " Bunkum," said the driver ; 
 " it's the Fire Brigade." I could have gone down on 
 my knees in thankfulness. 
 
 We arrived at last at the hotel. " Take our 
 luggage to our rooms," said my wife, authoritatively. 
 Remonstrance was in vain ; all went up but the 
 terrible chest — they one and all refused to take that. 
 " Let us have some supper," said I. " You can't," 
 
 N
 
 178 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 said tlie sulky porters; "all's locked up." "Then 
 you must unlock," said T, resolutely. " I don't intend 
 to go without my supper." "What? go without 
 supper !" said my wife. " Who' ever heard of such a 
 thino"?" He retired, and we heard him mutter, " The 
 darned consarned Britishers ! Another mad bull, too, 
 and she's the maddest." " My love," said my wife, 
 " we are in a land of savages and horrors ; let us go 
 back at once." "Not," said I, "till I've had my 
 supper." It was supplied plentifully, and we de- 
 parted to our rooms. The hotel was a large one, at 
 the corner of Boston Common, called Winthross 
 House. We reached our rooms, a really beautiful 
 suite. " Well, this is comfort and elegance," I said 
 to my wife, flopping down, " I never could have be- 
 lieved it ; but mark my words, we shall have to pay 
 smartly for this," at the same time throwing up the 
 windows. The lights were brilliant and everything was 
 gay. " Bless me, what a lot of moths ! I shall have 
 to buy plenty of camphor." Yawning sleepily she 
 then retired to her bedroom, the windows of which 
 she also threw up ; I remained smoking a cigar. 
 "Good gracious!" screamed my wife, "the bed is 
 full of buCTs or stino^ino^-nettles — we shall be eaten 
 
 ^•O^ ^'- ""''""0""C5
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 179 
 
 alive." After a bit, she screamed, " I can't stop here, 
 give me a sheet and a pillow, and I'll lie on the 
 trunks." But soon she tossed about, scratching and 
 groaning : " I can't stand it," she said, and rang the 
 bell. Up came the porter, grumbling, " What's the 
 matter?" " What's the matter !" said my wife, who 
 had hurried on a dressing-gown, *' the place is swarm- 
 ing with fleas." " Have you got the windows up ?" 
 "Everyone of them," said my wife, sharply. "Then ^ 
 shut 'era down, it's only mosquitos," And we heard 
 his retiring step. "Only mosquitos," said my wife, 
 slamming down the windows, " vampires you mean." 
 Again we retired — to rest ? Ah, no ; for suddenly 
 we heard bells furiously, but measuredly, tolling, 
 then stop, then go on again. " The Indians are 
 attacking the city," said my wife, " we are nearly 
 half-eaten by the mosquitos, and we are going to be 
 finished by the savages." Suddenly we heard a sharp 
 ringing sound upon the pavement, and the terrible 
 word, " Fire ! Fire !" under our window. " Merciful 
 heaven, we shall be burnt in our beds !" screamed my 
 wife, ringing furiously and screaming lustil}'. It was 
 some relief to hear the porter flying up the stairs. I 
 looked out in the corridor anxiously for his arrival. I 
 
 N 2
 
 1 8o RAND OM RE COLLE CTIONS OF 
 
 heard doors slam, and saw heads popped out in all 
 directions. "What's the matter?" demanded the 
 porter. " Oh, who's murdered ?" " Nobody yet," 
 said I, " but we soon shall be. Don't you hear that 
 thoughtful man telling us the house is on fire ?" 
 " Bosh ! go to your beds, there's no danger," and he 
 coolly turned down stairs. 
 
 Sleep at last visited our weary eye-lids. How long 
 we had slept I know not when we were again startled 
 by the clash of bells, and the renewed clatter on the 
 pavement of some iron-like stick, and the terrible 
 word, " Fire ! Fire !" " Oh, my beautiful dresses and 
 my Honiton lace !" said my wife ; it's all your fault 
 coming to this abominable country, and insisting 
 upon having my luggage brought up-stairs ; it was 
 only mij forethought in leaving the china and plate 
 down stairs." " My fault !" said I, meekly ; "it was 
 / who wanted to have them all left heloio, and now you 
 want to lay it all on me, my love." " Me, my love T 
 said my wife, furiously. " Ring the bell, if you are a 
 man, and go for the fire-escape. I'll be bound the 
 house has been burning for the last hour; but no 
 matter, I'll write a full account of your conduct to 
 my mother, and the Times shall hear of it too, or
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. i8i 
 
 I'm no woman. What do they care if we're burnt 
 in our beds? for we've heard that these lazy 
 Americans never care about a lire — no, not even 
 move until they feel the walls getting hot." Up 
 came the porter, gnashing his teeth and cursing 
 audibly. " In the name of thunder what's the 
 matter?" " Matter, indeed ! I'll report you in the 
 morning to the President, if I'm alive ; I'll see if 
 people are to be burned in their beds and not com- 
 plain." "Tarnation snakes! the fire is not in our 
 ward." He then explained the modus operandi, and 
 peace once more reigned in the house. This is a 
 veritable detail of our first night's experience in 
 America; doubt it if you will, but it is truthful and 
 uncoloured. 
 
 The next morning my wife's face presented a pitable 
 appearance. In my ignorance and fidget I sent for a 
 first-rate doctor; one of the highest in the city hap- 
 pened to live in the house, and up he came. On 
 seeing the case, he said, " You have insulted me — 
 sent for me to cure a paltry mosquito bite, indeed." 
 "Paltry, indeed; look at ray face," said she. "Savages," 
 I replied, soothingly. " Savages, born savages," she 
 said, sinking on the sofa in a flood of tears.
 
 i82 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 I made mj first appearance in America as Benedict, 
 in " Much Ado About Nothing." On my entrance 
 T was cordially greeted; after that nothing could 
 rouse them, and my wife was horrified, expecting a 
 fiiilure. But at the termination of the second act, 
 when I exclaimed, "I will go get her picture," I 
 never shall forget the excitement; ringing cheers met 
 me on all sides, the ladies in the boxes rose, waving 
 their handkerchiefs — they had been sitting in judg- 
 ment on me, and were satisfied ; my thankfulness was 
 sincere. I grew in favour, playing such parts as 
 Young Eapid and Charles Surface, " Marble Heart," 
 " Eetribution," and other popular plays. 
 
 I had been told tliat the American climate was 
 latal to teeth or hair. My teeth stood the test, but 
 my hair, which was never very strong, begaii to fail ; 
 so for safety's sake I had a magnificent wig made, and, 
 proud of my borrowed plumes, wore it for Claude 
 Melnotte. The play went merrily as a marriage bell 
 until close upon the termination of the 4th act, 
 and just as Pauhne exclaims, "Claude, take me, I am 
 thine 1" she advanced with open arms, and, to my 
 horror, swept off my wig. Quick as lightning I dis- 
 appeared behind her flowing skirts. Where was
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 183 
 
 Claude ? But when they saw my arm slowly ex- 
 tended, then clutching the wig, and as suddenly 
 disappear, such a roar of laughter ensued that it 
 seemed as if the very rafters shook. I appeared 
 cunningly and sheepishl}^, for I knew that was the 
 only way to hit them ; another thundering round of 
 laughter supplemented by applause greeted me, and T 
 knew all was rig-ht. The season terminated success- 
 fully, and I resolved on spending the vacation in 
 seeing the wonder of America, Niagara Falls. 
 
 IN^ew York, then Albany, was the route we took 
 to leach the Falls. The Albany River is most 
 beautiful, like a succession of lakes. The captain 
 pointed to^a spacious mansion, and told me that was 
 the residence of their greatest tragedian Forest ; of 
 course I became interested at once. I had met him 
 in England; he was undoubtedly a fine actor. " The 
 Gladiator" was not, to my thinking, a first-class pla}^ 
 nor " Metamora" — these, with " Damon," constituted 
 his chief attractions on which to found his name. 
 The Enfrlish thouiiht him a little too loud and 
 prononcc ; but, strange to say, though stout, I thought 
 him unapproachable in Hamlet. When I saw him 
 he was dressed in a long shirt, to hide his figure ; but
 
 1 84 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 his conception of the character stamped him in my 
 mind a great man : it was gentleness personified, tender 
 without mawkishness, manly without bluster, melo- 
 dious, divested of rant, with tone and bearing most 
 princely. He was deservedly popular, but unfortunate 
 in marriage. He married a Miss Sinclair, daughter 
 of the once celebrated vocalist of that name, they 
 differed — parted, and through j^ars of vexatious law 
 proceedings they pursued each other with virulence. 
 It ended in excessive damages to the lady, which no 
 doubt embittered his latter days, though T believe 
 he died very rich. 
 
 At length we reached the railway bridge which 
 spans the Niagara river and divides the United States 
 from Canada. We all naturally turned to view the 
 world's wonder, and my first words -were, "Bitter 
 disappointment !" " A great swindle !" But I soon 
 reversed my judgment. The great elevation of the 
 bridge takes off, at first sight, the grandeur of the fall 
 of that vast body of waters. The bridge combines in 
 itself a via for foot passengers, vehicles,, and railway, 
 and is in itself a wonder, doing honour to the wealth 
 and importance of both nations. We stopped at 
 Clifton House, on the Canadian side, and I speedily
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 185 
 
 took my wa}^ to the neighbouring Falls. As I descended 
 to the bank of the river opposite the United States Fall 
 its grandeur gradually developed itself to my senses ; 
 but when I came to the Horseshoe Fall, on our side, 
 wonder gave way to awe, and thence ascended with 
 reverence to the Creator and his works. I stayed 
 at the hotel three days, and my infatuation increased. 
 I would have stopped here six weeks at least, but for 
 the hotel expenses, the charges being beyond ray 
 reasonable means. I inquired, and tried to obtain 
 apartments, having more than myself and wife to 
 provide for, without success. However, not far from 
 Mr. Zimmerman's (a celebrity at the Falls), I saw a 
 pretty verandah cottage, " Ah," said I, " if I could 
 but live there I fancy I could stay for ever." 
 
 At last I took my way to the post-office. " Does 
 anybody let lodgings here," said I, shouting to a 
 female inside. " How ?" was the reply. Simple reply 
 as it was, it staggered me. " How," I afterwards 
 learnt, was a common expression with Americans ; it 
 has an expansion of meaning equal to its pronuncia- 
 tion. They sing the word " H-o-u-g-h " ii'om the 
 throat, near the ear, and carry it through the nose 
 to the back of the head, with a long final screech. It
 
 1 86 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 means, " What did you say ?" or " Speak louder, you 
 fool ;" or " You tarnation Britishers, why don't you 
 pronounce your vowels ?^' or, in short, anything you 
 like but its proper meaning or sound. I repeated my 
 question in ahirm, and was civilly answered by a 
 cleanly pleasant woman. After thinking for some 
 time, she explained that an elderly couple resided at 
 the much -coveted verandah cottage, near Zimmer- 
 man's, who had a son just married, and had left for 
 England. "They were lonely," she said, "and probably 
 such people as yourselves," looking kindly at my wife, 
 " would be welcome." We departed in high glee, were 
 received coldl}^, then kindly, then a complete thaw, 
 and after some conversation admitted as members of 
 their family, with a proviso that we should take our 
 meals with them. Suffice it, I think none of us re- 
 gretted the arrangement. To show how use may 
 deaden the sense of sound, for some time, to our 
 thinking, the house used to shake, and I have often 
 thought a torrent of water, of vast body, ran under the 
 house ; yet after I got used to it, many a time have I, 
 in the stillness of night, aroused my wife with a 
 nudge, exclaiming, " My dear, the Falls have stopped." 
 By -and- bye the rumble has gradually come back to
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 187 
 
 my ear, and its solemn roar become perceptible. So 
 millers lose the sound of their mill-clack — the Man- 
 chester girls can converse together quietly when 
 visitors are stunned and deafened by the clatter of 
 the machinery. I never saw the Falls alike at any 
 time — they were ever different ; sometimes a dead mass 
 of water, again like rippling rows of crystal ; at others, 
 moved by the wind's influence;, as if struggling up- 
 wards. 
 
 The Sunday evening before our departure I was 
 with a party of English and Americans ; one said, 
 " You have a powerful voice — sing the Evening Hymn, 
 and try if we can hear you." Just as I concluded, an 
 exclamation attracted my attention, and looking over 
 at the American Fall I saw, for the first time, a lunar 
 rainbow — the arch transversed and beautified as it 
 played on the descending body of water ; the sight 
 was transcendingly grand, the impression beyond 
 description. That verj' Sunday I had been invited to 
 visit an American village, some eight or ten miles 
 from Niagara. We went in a hired vehicle \ the day 
 was beautiful, and in due time we arrived. A number 
 of enclosed paiiings evinced the propinquity of the 
 savage race, but ah, how different to what I expected.
 
 i88 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 On a knoll, a rude and simple chapel had been erected ; 
 the tolling of the bell gave us to understand the 
 worshippers were assembling ; a few rude carts, from 
 which descended men and women in neat Sunday 
 attire, and but for their straight hair and colour 1 
 should never have suspected they were natives. At 
 last the chief arrived in a neat spring-cart ; he was 
 dressed in a black frock coat — in fact, en suite as a well- 
 to-do man might. He shook hands with the mis- 
 sionary — a short, plain, unpretending man, and the 
 contrast was singularly to tlie advantage of the chief. 
 The missionary was accompanied by his wife and a 
 little girl ; the men ranged on one side of the chapel, 
 the women on the other. The only indication of 
 difference to any other congregation was a rich 
 farmer's daughter, whose blue cloth dress was orna- 
 mented with a fringe of ten cent, pieces, to show, I 
 presume, to her young suitors, that she would not 
 be dovverless. A hymn, sung in parts, and accom- 
 panied by a fiddle, violoncello, flute, and harmonium, 
 was harmony itself; their voices were peculiarly soft 
 and rich, and the impression was strictly of a de- 
 votional character. The missionary would speak a 
 few sentences in English, and the chief would in-
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 189 
 
 terpret. The chief's manner and voice was in itself 
 a wonder — both picturesque and sonorous. The 
 service being over, I complimented the chief, and told 
 him I was more impressed with his interpretation 
 than the missionary, Avhen he, with a modesty that did 
 him honour, remarked, in very good English, and 
 strangely enough without the slightest twang, " You 
 see, sir, our language is a very poor one : we 
 have comparatively few words ; so that slow action is 
 necessary to impress the meaning ; but ah, sir," he 
 added, " if our missionary is a plain and simple- 
 speaking man, he is a very good one." Oh, savage, 
 thought I, you are on the road to salvation, and a 
 lesson even to those much more civilized than I. My 
 friend and I retired slowlj^, and in deep thought and 
 thankfulness. And the impression left on our minds 
 in that lonely temple of God will never be effaced 
 while memory lasts. We left Niagara at length, to 
 return to our duties, and I sigh even now, and wish 
 to hear once more the roar of its waters. 
 
 Our friends in America, now growing numerous, 
 welcomed us back gladly, and our second season 
 sailed on prosperously, until taken ill; then tlie kindly 
 feeling of the American heart showed itself in a sub-
 
 1 90 RAND OM RE COLLE CTIONS OF 
 
 stantial form : baskets of fruit of every description, 
 and flowers of every hue ; fowl and game poured in 
 with warm-hearted and sincere abundance ; and the 
 more singular for my general outspokenness, which 
 had become proverbial — at times, I fear, almost to the 
 extent of rudeness ; but their good sense was the 
 nobler, inasmuch that they never resented it. If, as 
 usual, I was attacked with the question, " Well, what 
 dae yeu think of our institutions?" I would reply, 
 " Wall, not much ;" and that with rather an offensive 
 twang. But Jonathan would nobly return to the 
 charge. " Waal, but our educational system is far 
 before yours, yeu must admit." " I will admit it, 
 when you learn to pronounce your vowels ;" and 
 Jonathan would good-naturedly collapse. A friend 
 of mine in the hotel had a severe illness ; he was a 
 really good fellow, and a general favourite. I ran up 
 one evening to see him in his room, and found half-a- 
 dozen friends with him. The weather was beautiful, 
 and in the glowing sunset the distant surroundings 
 of Boston looked beautiful. As I leant out of the 
 window one young fellow laid his hand on my 
 shoulder, and pointing, " Do you see Bunker's 
 Hill? that's where we licked you Englishmen."
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. . 191 
 
 There was a general laugh, followed by a long and 
 awkward pause. I don't know what possessed me, 
 but I went to the door, turned the kej^ in the lock, 
 and setting my back against it, I said, " I entered 
 this room in the best possible spirit to see an afflicted 
 countryman of 3^ours, and one I greatly respect. 
 Without cause, that I know of, I have been de- 
 liberately insulted. Now there are half-a-dozen 
 capable men present : you may all murder me, if you 
 can ; but if that man does not apologise to me and my 
 country for this uncalled-for insult, I'll do my best 
 to thrash the lot." What might have resulted I 
 know not, but a few sensible words from my sick 
 friend settled the business. For they, one and all, 
 held out their hands freely, and a firm friendship was 
 cemented, and we passed the evening in a happ}^ 
 spirit. I mention this to prove (and I could do so 
 in numberless ways), that there is a rough nobiUty 
 about them which other nations would do well to 
 copy. My wife's health had gradually suffered from the 
 climate, and at the teruiination of the second season 
 I resolved to travel, after concluding a successful 
 fortnight's engagement at the Metropolitan, then 
 under the management of Burton, their celebrated low
 
 192 RAND OM RE COLLE CTIONS. 
 
 comedian. Some notion of his popularity may 
 be gathered when I tell you that every Friday 
 the standing dish was " The Serious Family " and 
 " Toodles." He was of the broad type, but very 
 clever. America possesses many actors and actresses 
 of great ability, and save and excepting the scenic 
 department, then sadly neglected, they were neck- 
 and-neck with us. I have little doubt they have re- 
 formed that. Now to a case or two without parallel, 
 which is but simple justice to that noble nation to 
 mention.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 1856 TO 1859. 
 
 A FTER my first farewell benefit in Boston, full of 
 pleasurable recollections and kindly demon- 
 strations, I strolled down town to make inquiries as to 
 my course of travel. I wished to see Canada, having 
 received an offer to appear at Toronto, Montreal, &c. 
 I mentioned my views to a jolly fellow connected 
 permanently with the entire route, and to my 
 utter surprise he presented me with a free pass for 
 myself and wife by rail and boat with return to Boston. 
 " The trip will cost you nothing sav^e a memory of your 
 northern friends." It was strictly carried out to the 
 letter, not omitting bed and board, accompanied by 
 every courtesy and attention. The many agreeable 
 incidents during that tour are too numerous to men- 
 tion ; so I may be pardoned for introducing them 
 heterogoneously. I shall not easily forget the White 
 Mountains, the Lake of a Thousand Islands, and the 
 
 o
 
 194 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 Eapids — never. We were aroused at sunrise to witness 
 that beautiful sight, the Thousand Islands. It was 
 ffiiryland itself; the tropical plants, trees, birds, &c. — 
 for birds were then getting plentiful — with the calm, 
 glassy water, over which we glided in misty, dreamlike 
 motion, through a world of beauty. The Eapids, too, 
 are unsurpassable in sensational wonder. Approaching 
 the Great Rapids, as if conscious of its grand descent, 
 all was death-like calmness ; the cattle on the banks of 
 the surrounding waters, mills, trees, &c., were re- 
 flected as in a sheet of glass. The pilot, an Indian, 
 came on board, and the descent I shall never forget. 
 Instantaneously, and as if by magic, the vessel, with 
 swallow-like swiftness, curved round a world of troubled 
 waters, your feet clinging with tenacity to the deck, 
 but your mind soaring into space. When over, my 
 wife, who stood by my side, each clutching the other 
 as if preparing for flight, brought me back to sub- 
 lunary things by remarking in breathless wonder, 
 " What have I done to be thought w^orthy to see such 
 sights ?" Twenty years have passed, and my simple 
 description makes me blush for my w\ant of expres- 
 sion. 
 
 Before going, I had intimated to my patron, Thomas
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 195 
 
 Barry, Esq., who bad merged from master into friend, 
 my intention of becoming lessee of Montreal Theatre, 
 if possible. " My dear friend," be replied, " you bave 
 made monev in Boston, and bave been received 
 v^ritb mucli kindness from all classes. Do, tben, in 
 return, scatter your notes in Boston Ba}'-, rather than 
 away from it ; then some here may benefit by it." 
 Luckily I thought I would venture, and made up my 
 mind to be a manager once more. This same kindly- 
 disposed Thomas Barry, who was over sixty years of 
 age, but a remarkably fine silver-haired old fellow, 
 married a young lady of the name of Biddies, a 
 daughter of Mr. Biddies, who once kept the Bower 
 Saloon, London. The latter had two beautiful and 
 good daughters, such as not every father is blessed 
 with ; the other married Mr. Calvert, many years 
 stage-manager of the Princess's, Manchester, one of the 
 cleverest actors, and the most erudite conversation- 
 alist it has ever been my good fortune to meet. In 
 creed he was a Unitarian, in universality of thought 
 immense, and his wife is worth}^ of him. But to my 
 tale. The younger married that good old man, and a 
 more happy union could scarcely be conceived : casting 
 her youth as it were aside, her dress, manner deport 
 
 o 2
 
 196 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 ment, and general beauty toned in with his, and for 
 years, when decUning age and strength left him help- 
 less, she bravely and cheerfully toiled for him. The 
 last time I saw Thomas Barry he was nursing his 
 first-born and healthy cherub, his young wife leaning 
 lovingly on his shoulder, a perfect picture of happi- 
 ness and content. Peace to his ashes ! 
 
 I concluded to take the Montreal Theatre for ten 
 weeks, and proceeded to fulfil a starring engagement 
 at Toronto, ^fy luggage was very expensive and valu- 
 able. It was placed for safety in an upper room 
 at the hotel when I arrived, and I departed for a week 
 to visit a relative some miles distant. One morning 
 I read that the hotel where I had deposited my 
 luffo-ao-e in Toronto had been burnt to the ground, 
 with eidit other houses. I started for Toronto, and 
 found, to my horror, the account was too true. 
 Nickenson, the manager of the Toronto Theatre, met 
 nie and actuallv burst into tears, for he had remarked 
 the extent and value of my property. He at once 
 insisted upon my stopping at his house during my 
 stay. " What is to be done ?" said he. " Why, go 
 back to Boston and work for more." " What," he 
 shrieked, " do you think the people of Toronto would
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 197 
 
 let you ? " "I have no wardrobe." " Then play as 
 you are." I laughed at the absurdity, for m}^ range 
 of business was extensive, and required great changes 
 of dress, and I knew that good generous Nickenson's 
 wardrobe would never fit me ; and now for another 
 unparalleled wonder of that wonderful land. News 
 flies fast in America, and what they do they do 
 promptly and well. In due course I received an un- 
 expected telegram of condolence from Barry, with an 
 addenda, " Wardrobe by first train ;" and truly he kept 
 his word. In a letter accompanying the clothes, he 
 said, " Knowing your favourite characters, I have par- 
 ticularly dressed them ; nothing has been forgotten, 
 not even white wigs, silk stockings, buckles, swords." 
 But, wonder, past wonder ! shortly after another tele- 
 gram. '' We have had a meeting on 'Change ; draw on 
 us for 500 dollars for present use. Come home to your 
 Boston friends." These are facts worthy of recording 
 to their honour, for I, who never had the ability 
 to render myself a great man of mark, found in the 
 hour of distress, princely munificence, and a proof of 
 that indomitable pluck which, even in that land, 
 helps the struggler on : " go ahead " is the motto lor 
 that nation truly.
 
 1 98 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 The people of Toronto liaving sympathy with me, 
 as my case was somewhat singular — my wardrobe 
 might have been saved, but the landlady being ill, 
 and supposed to be delirious, no attention was paid to 
 her wanderings. " Oh, that Englishman and his 
 luggage, he will be ruined !" was her repeated cry, 
 until carried out of the house. The fire had not 
 then reached the hotel, so that my wardrobe might 
 have been saved had those around paid attention ; 
 but all was confusion, and the stranger was forgotten. 
 
 The theatre was crowded nightly, and, with a 
 benefit each Friday night to add to the receipts, the 
 sum total was more than flattering. On my last 
 benefit, being, as usual, called before the curtain, I 
 thanked my friends briefly but heartily. I was on the 
 eve of retiring, when Nickenson stepped from the 
 opposite wing, and, holding out a handsome silver 
 cigar-case, as I thought, begged my acceptance in the 
 name of a few sincere well-wishers, trusting that I 
 should approve of its contents. I grasped it lightly, 
 but its weight made me nearly drop it. Instead of 
 cigars, it was a large portemonnaie crammed with 
 twenty-dollar gold pieces, and a cheque for 350 dollars 
 besides. The delicacy of the gift was enhanced when
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 199 
 
 I learned that tlie twenty-dollar gold pieces were 
 given by separate individuals, who wished me to 
 possess some specimens of that coin. They are, in fact, 
 the handsomest coin issued from any mint, and I 
 have never, before or since, seen so many at one time. 
 
 Forrest was celebrated for short speeches. On 
 one occasion, when called out to speechify, he said 
 — for I heard him — " Ladies and gentlemen, I am 
 worn and tired, tired and worn, good night !" 
 
 Mr. Forrest had a wide-spread reputation in 
 America ; and, when you reflect on the immense 
 number of populous cities, it may be easily imagined 
 what an extent of income may be reaped by the 
 idol of such aland. Young Booth, in Forrest's latter 
 days, was a successful competitor ; but until Forrest 
 departed from the scene of his triumphs. Booth 
 must have felt that he was not emperor. Flushed 
 with his immense popularit}', Forrest wished to 
 grasp two hemispheres, and visited Europe for the 
 purpose. But tastes differ in countries where a less 
 distance than the broad Atlantic divides them ; and 
 Macready being the reigning iavourite in England, 
 the public looked somewhat coldly on the brawny 
 American, whose gladiatorial form and stentorian
 
 200 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 voice — thou"'h it fitted him for the arena of the 
 Colosseum — gave them no idea of Metamora or 
 Hamlet. Hence his want of that immediate success 
 which had grown with his growth and strengthened 
 with his strength in his native land, and where 
 memory of the It ad been stood him in good stead. 
 Macready brought to the field immense thinking 
 powers, a lithe figure, though an unpleasant face, 
 unless when lighted by genius, then Lytton Bulwer 
 imparted refinement, and Sheridan Knowles toned 
 down his natural impetuosity ; such aids tended to 
 give him a superiority of style in his interpretations. 
 Indeed, I have never for general completeness met 
 his equal in William Tell, Virginius, Eichelieu — nay, 
 even in Evelyn (in "Money"), or Claude Melnotte, 
 His Werner unquestionably died with him, as did a 
 host of pieces written especially for him by Westland 
 Marston and other great writers. Now, unfor- 
 tunately, Forrest took it into his head — and utterly 
 without cause — that Macready had determined to 
 crush him ; hence his bitter hatred and after-revenge. 
 Macready, unconscious of any evil brewing, accepted 
 an engagement for America, and Forrest's friends 
 resolved to dim the lustre that had eclipsed their
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 201 
 
 star. The tocsin of war, in the shape of fire-bells, 
 was sounded on his entering a city ; this culminated 
 from open insult to brute force, and a riot ensued in 
 which I believe seventeen men were killed, and 
 Macread}'- was obliged to fly for his life. 
 
 The good people of Toronto having behaved so 
 liberally to me, I thought it right to spend money 
 where T had earned it. A new wardrobe wa> im- 
 perative, and, to my surprise, wherever I went they 
 would take nothing but cost price. I purchased 
 velvets in all shades, satins and silks (by my wife's 
 advice), cloth, &c., for professional use ; and, with a 
 well-filled purse, packed-up merrily and prepared to 
 return to Boston. On the journey a gentleman said 
 to me : "I am afraid you have not done a wise thing, 
 for I hear that you have purchased largely in 
 Toronto." "I have," said I. "Don't you know 
 that, at the frontier, they will seize all, or charge 
 heavily for duty ?" I was startled, but set my wits to 
 work. The moment we were entering the terminus 
 I popped my head out, and bawled out — " Searcher !" 
 " Here, sir," was the reply. I threw my keys to a 
 good-natured officer, and jumping out, said, "I have 
 had no breakfast — I am an actor — don't expose me
 
 202 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 and my theatrical rags to the people, but do it quietly, 
 out of sight." " Oh, I've seen enough of spangles, 
 and have had too much bother with you professionals 
 before to-day; keep your keys— I'll pass 'em." I 
 hurried over the bridge joyfully, and swallowed my 
 breakfast with great gusto. 
 
 My Boston friends did not forget me on my benefit. 
 A large wreath, to which twelve presents, with twelve 
 names, were attached ; and a bouquet, of great cost, 
 were sent, by order, from New York, by General 
 Taylors's family. He distinguished himself greatly 
 during the unhappy war which sundered for a 
 time brothers that should never be parted. Re- 
 })lenislied in purse and wardrobe, I returned to 
 Montreal, to commence my career as manager once 
 again. It was the travelling season ; the houses 
 were crowded nightly. I had a small but good 
 company. Kate Reynolds, my leading lady, was a 
 gem ; nothing came amiss to her, from Lady Macbeth 
 to a chambermaid. I was my own stage- manager, 
 acting-manager, and treasurer. And so hard did I 
 work, that often before going on for " Hamlet," 
 " Richard III.," and such heavy pieces, I have been 
 obliged to improvise a shower-bath, by the simple
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 203 
 
 process of a colander and a pail of water, to enable 
 me to find strength for the work before me. Who 
 says now that an actor's life is an idle one ? Literally 
 I was glad when the season was over, though it was 
 immensely successful. But I paid dearly for it. 
 Though my wife did not act (as for some time she 
 had given up the profession), still the climate had so 
 shattered her constitution that ice had frequently to 
 be applied to her head, and the doctor told me nothing 
 could save her but a return to England. Before 
 quitting America and Canada, it is but justice to 
 remark that the drama was in a healthy condition 
 there ; many of the actors were exceedingly clever, 
 and the tone of its general management high class. 
 Wallack's could then, and I have no doubt can now, 
 vie with any theatre in any kingdom. The elder 
 Wallack was world- renowned for ability, especially 
 in melodrama — his Shakspearian renditions never 
 mounting to the higher regions of excellence. The 
 younger was an exceedingly clever light comedian, 
 and also celebrated not only for talent, but his general 
 bearing, dash, and style — together with personal 
 requisites and form. The younger Booth was then a 
 star; now, I believe, he is a bright luminary.
 
 2 04 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 Perhaps the most extraordinary actress who ever 
 rose to fame in her profession was Charlotte Cushman. 
 Actresses have become famous in this and every other 
 age; but as a general rule they owe their rise to 
 beauty of person, resplendent elocution, feminine 
 bearing, or a sweet low voice — " an admirable quality 
 in woman," as Shakspeare says — or some essential 
 gift dear to man and to his memory. But Charlotte 
 Cushman had no such aid from Nature — possessing a 
 face almost repulsive in quiescence, a voice harsh and 
 broken, a bad figure, in bearing most masculine — in 
 short, lacking the general attractions that appear 
 necessary to complete a wonder in the art she fol- 
 lowed. But in spite of these serious drawbacks, she 
 became more remarkable, and more generally followed, 
 than the long list of her confreres, whose attractions, 
 one would have thought, should overtop and com- 
 pletely put in the shade the manly, forbidding 
 Charlotte; but her towering mind swept these im- 
 pediments to the winds, and left her dominant and 
 peerless in a profession which, though not sensual, 
 is essentially sensuous. I well remember one morn- 
 ing, in Birmingham, after having the pleasure of an in- 
 troduction to her. She wore a common brown stuff
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 205 
 
 dress, a black velvet bonnet, and a Paisley sbawl 
 wrapped, or rather huddled, on her. She came for- 
 ward witli a snake -like glide, then, swoopin^^ like an 
 eagle, pounced upon me, giving me some liurried 
 explanation of business connected with the different 
 scenes. I naturally supposed, at first, that it was the 
 mother of the coming star — and mother professionals, 
 as a rule, are objectionable when doing duty for their 
 daughters. I was cast for Sir Thomas Clifford, in the 
 " Hunchback," the lover of Julia in the same play, 
 and soon found I had no common metal to deal with. 
 I felt at home, but puzzled and startled. I mentally 
 reflected behind the scenes, " She never will dare — 
 the vain old creature — to go on as Julia ! Still, she has 
 a devilish deal of stuff about her !" thought I. " Well, 
 well ; twelve o'clock at niglit must come — that's 
 one comfort, and by that time we shall see what we 
 shall see." This is an actor's general soothing syrup 
 when doubting or puzzled. 
 
 At night, when dressed for my part, and ready to 
 go on v.'ith her as is usual in the garden scene, I saw 
 a graceful girlish figure, with a profusion of delicately 
 flowing locks, in a broad-brimmed garden hat, white 
 muslin dress and broad pink sash, glide to my side.
 
 2o6 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 I gazed witli startled admiration ; mind had mastered 
 face, form, figure, and voice. Through the entire 
 play I was so carried away that the following result 
 occurred in the fourth act : — In those hurried instruc- 
 tions given me at rehearsal in the morning, Miss 
 Cushman had asked me if T had a tolerably good 
 ear, sufficiently so to reach an octave above her 
 when she asked me the following question : " Can 
 these nuptials be shunned with honour ?" My reply is, 
 "They can." When I reached this climax at night, 
 I replied in an octave above ; she then ascended an 
 octave above that, with the repl}'-, " Then take me !" 
 The applause was loud, long, and rapturously re- 
 peated ; in m}'^ excitement through this, I held her 
 in ray arms " like grim death," and was only recalled 
 to my recollection by a gruff whisper in my ear more 
 like a coalheaver than a love-lorn damsel, " If you 
 squeeze me so tight I shan't get breath for my next 
 speech." This was a settler, and " Richard was him- 
 self again." The great parts that made her name 
 were Nancy Sykes in " Oliver Twist," William in 
 " Black Eyed Susan," and, of course, " Meg Merrilies." 
 And it is as wondrous as it is true that from such 
 material she should found the basis of that statue
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 207 
 
 which rose to such an ehwation as her Queen Cathe- 
 rine, Lady Macbeth, &c., will testify. Meg Merrilies 
 can never be forgotten by those who witnessed it, and 
 stands side by side with Charles Kean's Louis the 
 Eleventh for excellence beyond compare. In this 
 character she fully developed the gliding serpent and 
 the swooping eagle ; her death was terrific, but her 
 appearance before the curtain after it was startling; 
 the withered hag had disappeared, and she came before 
 them with delicately tinted features ; in short, the 
 gipsy had vanished, and Charlotte Cushman stood 
 before them triumphant. 
 
 Shortly after my first appearance in Boston, Mass., 
 I was seated in the parquette, much wishing to see 
 tJie dehid of a friend, when I was accosted by a tall 
 and, even then, apparently old man. Addressing me 
 by narae, he asked me if I knew Charlotte Cushman. 
 "Very well," I replied; "we are old friends." "I 
 knew that, from her having mentioned you fre- 
 quently," he said. Now, as I was then a stranger in 
 Boston, I felt I ought to be wary, and I curtly replied 
 that I was interested in the play. lie rose, evidently 
 annoyed at my rudeness, and left the theatre. Shortly 
 after, a gentleman tapped me on the shoulder and
 
 2o8 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 asked me if I knew who the tall stranger was. " No, 
 indeed," said I. " That is the celebrated poet, Long- 
 fellow.'" I hurried out, pained to the extreme at 
 having missed such a golden opportunity. I searched 
 for him everywhere without success. Many a time 
 have I stood upon that quaint wooden bridge he has 
 rendered so famous, repenting my rudeness. Often, 
 too, have I paced round his house at Harvard, for the 
 chance of apologising ; fate was against me, and he 
 only remains in reverential memory. 
 
 I was taking a stroll one morning when in Boston, 
 Massachusetts, with a naval officer. We stepped 
 upon a landing-stage of one of the wharfs, when my 
 friend remarked, " Now you will see a sight that 
 rarely, if ever, happens. Do you observe that small 
 steamer to the right?" "What," I replied, "that 
 bulky, clumsy, dirty river steamer ?" " Yes," said he, 
 " but from that dirty river steamer sprang a new era in 
 art, science, and advanced civilization — where is the 
 loftiest vessel in the wide world that can boast so much? 
 That was the first steamer that ever crossed the 
 Atlantic ! Now, in contrast, look to your left — that 
 was the last Cunarder turned out." " The brave little 
 pioneer is hero no longer, and looks to me," I said,
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 209 
 
 "like a coal-barge, with clumsy paddle-wheels 
 attached ; indeed, it is literally a coal-barge now." 
 I turned to the last Cunarder, and there towered a 
 monster steamer. Here was, indeed, matter for 
 reflection ; the first adventurer was old, ill-fashioned, 
 inconveniently small, and filthy to a degree ; the last, 
 was all that science and refined art in that department 
 could effect. Its showy sides, its beautiful form 
 adorned with masts and rigging, were the pattern of 
 neatness and utility; its interior decorated with mirrors, 
 carpets, and every social comfort, as if all nations had 
 combined to render it a travelling palace of ease and 
 luxury. A contrast, indeed, to the dirty tub before 
 me, and yet, on reflection, the vast impetus it has 
 given, not only to America but all lands, made me 
 look with reverence and respect on that worn-out 
 utilitarian, and I sighed to think of the ingratitude 
 of nations, and wondered why the veteran was not 
 laid up in port, or stored for inspection as one of the 
 marvels of a " past age." 
 
 When in Boston, one day, we received a note from 
 a lady, whose very name was the synonym for hos- 
 pitality and refinement. Social herself, she had the 
 happy knack of placing her guests so immediately at 
 
 P
 
 2IO RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 home, that they became for the nonce, hke spiritualists, 
 en rapport. Amongst the guests we were to meet 
 Mr. William Warren, for many years a celebrity at 
 tlie Museum, Boston, and well-known through the 
 States as a popular low comedian ; also Miss Emma 
 Stanley and her mother. Having seen Miss Stanley 
 some years before at the Princess's, Oxford Street, 
 London, and being astoundingly impressed with her 
 ability, I anticipated that which I fully realised, an 
 agreeable evening, I also heard she gave an enter- 
 tainment entirely by herself, called the " Seven Ages 
 of Woman," and being at liberty the evening before 
 the party came off, I and my wife resolved to witness 
 the performance. The fir.st of her series of sketches 
 was an old nurse, with a supposed child in her arms, 
 an admirable and wonderful imitation of her mother, 
 who was a popular actress in that line at the Ha}^- 
 market, and an exceedingly clever woman. This pic- 
 ture was so life-like, that nothing could persuade me 
 it was not so, but for her own assertion to the 
 contrary. Amidst a variety of charming impersona- 
 tions, the two which pleased me most was a laughing 
 tenor, and the variety of laughs and chuckles she in- 
 troduced while singing " When other lips and other
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 211 
 
 hearts," convulsed the audience, and nearly sent me 
 into fits. The next was a coquette, flirting with her 
 lover, supposed to be singing a song to him, and 
 brilliantly accompanied by herself; she had a chain- 
 work of coins encircling her hair, and falling com- 
 pletely round her face to her bosom, and the novelty 
 of this adornment was piquante and striking. She 
 also possessed most expressive eyes, with regular and 
 beautiful teeth ; with a figure and arm any woman 
 would be pardoned for envying, and any man must 
 admire, her acting in the scene was unparalleled. 
 Myself and wife were glowing with praise as to her 
 incomparable beauty and talent. The following 
 evening we were introduced, and if ever I had to call 
 up any portion of my art (that is, if I possess any), and 
 succeeded, it was requisite to do so tlien. Being a . 
 cold evening, both were wrapped up on entering, but 
 the face, the horrible face that met my astounded 
 gaze, was beyond all anticipation ; seamed, unmerci- 
 fully seamed, with the small-pox, which left no 
 spot untouched by its ravages, she left the room with 
 her mother to remove the wraps, and the look of 
 horror expressed in my wife's face, and reflected in 
 mine, was instantly understood by our genuine 
 
 p 2
 
 2 1 2 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 hostess. " It is frightful, isn't it, my dears," as if 
 answering our thoughts, " but then her intellect, my 
 loves — her intellect — we musn't forget that.'' I con- 
 soled myself loiih tJiat, and before the evening was 
 over, we were as thoroughly her admirers as before, 
 and considerably increased into the bargain. See 
 what soul and intellect can do; she soon after entered 
 simply and charmingly attired. Nature had spared 
 her bust and figure, and left untouched her luxuriant 
 hair and beautiful teeth. Full of vivacity, manner, 
 and variety of thought, she rattled so merrily from 
 one phase of topic to another, now tears and smiles, 
 and again uncontrollable laughter, that I never re- 
 member a more agreeable evening than the one we 
 passed with Emma Stanley.
 
 CHAP TEE XII. 
 
 1859 TO 1865. 
 
 TN America I met the once celebrated Clara Fisher, 
 the c/iild -dGiress, a homely, Idndly, common-place, 
 reputable woman, with not a scintillation of that 
 ability which had startled tlie world in her youth. 
 Digressing, I remember, several years previously, 
 Mrs. Nisbet, then Lady Boothby, came down to star 
 in Newcastle-on-Tyne — a charming creature, full of 
 vivacity and heart. One night she came into the 
 green-room and laughingly said, " I have had such 
 a delicious fowl for dinner, so I sent the liver away, 
 by post, to my darling Flo" — this was her pet lapdoy. 
 I afterwards learnt, with regret, that grief ibr the 
 death of her brother caused her own. 
 
 Leaving Quebec we passed the Montmorency 
 Falls, much higher than Niagara, but a silver thread 
 compared to it. Near the mouth of the river we fell 
 in with a wreck, and the captain hospitably received
 
 2 14 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 the crew and passengers. A subscription was got up 
 for the poor. I was deputed to go round with the 
 captain, because I had the ''gift of the gab," he said. 
 I avoided a lady plainly dressed, because I thought 
 her poor, but we should never judge by appearances. 
 " May I ask you, madam, to contribute a mite for 
 these unfortunates ?" " Cheerfully,"" she said, while 
 a sweet smile irradiated the worn features. " Put me 
 down ' a friend,' " and she handed me a couple of 
 sovereigns. On the voyage I read for them, by request. 
 And on Sunday I did duty, by the captain's wish. On 
 landing in England, Mr. Copeland presented me with 
 a couple of private boxes for some passenger-friends, 
 and on the following morning I started for London, 
 some of the passengers accompanying me. I had 
 been the life and soul of the vessel they said, but 
 what a change there was when we neared home. 
 They knew not the cause. The sight of England, 
 with its fresh green verdure, absorbed all my atten- 
 tion. And " Oh ! my beloved land," was all I could 
 say. I arrived in London just in time. An American 
 actor of the name of Roberts had arrived, and I was 
 to support him. He opened in " King Lear." I 
 played Edgar, as I had done often before in Drury
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 215 
 
 Lane, singing the music, wliicli few actors do. Mr. 
 E. T. Smith did me the honour to place m)^ name in 
 star letters, and I found the Times and other papers 
 hfd not forgotten me. London appeared wonderfully 
 improved. 
 
 I witnessed that heart-stirring evidence of England's 
 glory — the distribution of the Crimean medals ; and 
 never did our beloved Queen, during her busy life, 
 work harder. I remember well seeing her throw off 
 her shawl in a business-like manner, and go to work 
 in reality for more than two hours, handing medals and 
 accompanying the gift with kindly words of praise 
 and encouragement. One soldier, rendered nervous 
 by the scene, or the excessive heat of the weather, 
 dropped the medal on the ground ; an officer picked 
 it up and handed it to him. But the sturdy and 
 loyal soldier said " that if his Sovereign did not hand 
 it to him, he would rather go without the medal than 
 lose the honour." The Queen laughingly and cheer- 
 fully gave it to him amid ringing cheers. To see a 
 Sovereign thus, in homely fashion, doing her duty, 
 endears her to her people, and the various touching 
 incidents on that day will never be erased from the 
 memory of that assembled host.
 
 2i6 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 Not getting as good terms as I desired, 1 resolved 
 to settle down, so took the Halifax Theatre. There 
 I saw the first instance of what is call combinatior, 
 which has grown so fearfully since, I was invited to 
 go over different establishments in Halifax, and 
 amongst them Colonel's Ackroyd's, as he was familiar!}' 
 called. He showed me the advance of the machinery, 
 remarking, " This takes three men, with other assis- 
 tants, to do the work usually done some years since 
 by a thousand men ; but so strong," he said, " was 
 my dread of combination, the effects of which the 
 Peels and other families have felt, that it took me 
 more than one year to draft off that thousand men — 
 some to emigrate, others to better positions in life; and 
 no one knows the anxiety and cost I endured before 
 I dared place it in working order, though its value to 
 the community is now acknowledged by the men them- 
 selves. But so strong is prejudice against new-fangled 
 notions, that my life and property were in jeopardy." 
 
 In my time I have seen evidences of the truth of 
 Colonel A.ckroyd's remarks. Look at Middlesbrough, 
 in Yorkshire. Little better than fifty years ago, 
 where that town stands was a barren waste. It rose 
 rapidly, and collapsed as soon. A speculative and
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 217 
 
 clever Grerman stumbled upon unmistakable evidences 
 of rich ore beneath the surface. This Grerman had 
 some capital and more brains. Works were erected 
 and labour employed ; cottages arose, great orders 
 arrived, and this German founder, after seeing 
 churches, public buildings, railways, theatres, and 
 concert-rooms arise, and principally through his 
 foresight, took it into his head one morning to 
 present the people with a park that cost him 
 one hundred thousand pounds — from that moment 
 the generosity that prompted this gift to the 
 people poisoned the stream of gratitude. " aye," 
 says one, " if he can gie us a P-a-a-r-k costin' such a 
 soiglit o' money ; he must be bet t her off than eoi otif/ht 
 to be." " Aye, aye," says another, " It a' comes out 
 0' we's pocket. What .sitd we sweat for / sud loike to 
 know f we're betther nor he." " Aye," say hundreds 
 and thousands, " Doivu wi unr It resulted in a 
 strike. The master yielded. Better terms were 
 asked and given, and then another great Grovernment 
 order, then another strike, until six, seven, and even 
 eight pounds per week were demanded and acceded to. 
 Then they held out., for all went merrily, and money 
 was so Hush that after a drunken debauch nothing
 
 2t8 random recollections of 
 
 less than champagne would do to recruit exhausted 
 nature. These are facts. They held out until the 
 smile of contentment had left the face, and from the 
 hearth of the once happy workman, beds, bedding, 
 tables, chairs, ticketed for sale filled the streets— for 
 they became their own brokers. This I myself saw. 
 A good woman will hold on to her wedding-ring with 
 tenacity, but there were so many of them offered that 
 the pawnbrokers refused to take more in, there was 
 such a glut. This was told to me by the mayor of 
 Middlesbrough, who added that he was the first 
 apprentice that signed articles in that town ; his name 
 was Watson. 
 
 I remained in Halifax two years, with little of 
 interest to relate. Stay, I do remember a personal 
 anecdote concerning a village near Halifax, which 
 surpasses all to be imagined in civilized England. 
 They have, it seems, a language of their own, and 
 habits to match. Their intermarriages are so great 
 that names are confounded there, and nick-names be- 
 come a necessity. They are said, also, not to be over 
 particular in their household arrangements, and, for 
 convenience, have a hole in the wall, so that if any 
 householder happens to be short of any domestic
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 219 
 
 article or utensil, the article short in one house is 
 supplied by the other, when wanted. A friend of 
 mine had occasion to go to this same village, some 
 property being concerned. He inquired for one 
 William Horsefall. In vain did he search ; but as it 
 was a matter of monetary importance, much stir was 
 made, and all the women assembled, the men being at 
 work. At last, after a general cry of " Nay, nay, 
 there's na' sic name here," one woman, wiser than the 
 rest, cried out, " It moigltt be Bill o' Tom's!" And it 
 was proved to be " Bill o' Tom's," meaning Bill the 
 son of Tom. Moreover, my friend learnt that there 
 were many Horsefalls in that village who did not 
 know their own names. 
 
 I had with me a clever " first old woman,^' who had 
 been a celebrated " leading lady ;" she was going to 
 take a benefit, and wished to have the " School for 
 Scandal." 1 also had with me a " leading Lidy," 
 3'oung, clever, and pretty, and saw my difficulty. "I 
 ivas thinking of playing Lady Teazle myself,"" she 
 said, with a simpde and girlish air, " but it is so long 
 since I have played the party " Then why not let 
 Miss Heraud play it, and then we can make a great 
 feature of Mrs. Candour ; though, to be sure, no one
 
 220 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 can play Lady Teazle like you !" Her amour propre 
 was satisfied, and a row avoided. This reminds me 
 of Mdlle. Mars, a celebrated actress who retained her 
 youth and beauty to an extraordinary age. In the 
 days of passports she was asked what age should be 
 inserted, she replied " Forty-one ;" her son, who stood 
 by her, was asked his ; he replied, " Just one year 
 older than my mother." On some one remarking they 
 should have liked to have seen her play Juliet when 
 young — -" Then I could look but not play the part," 
 she said ; "now I can both play and look it." 
 
 There is no particular merit in being respected, or 
 making the trade or profession you follow respected as 
 well ; still it is every man's duty to strive to do so, 
 and when striven for, the respect is generally attained ; 
 for when a man strives to jump ten feet he generally 
 jumps better than those who never try. 
 
 Having heard of Wakefield and Dewsbury, and as 
 I wanted towns to go to, I resolved to try them. I 
 was warned against going to Wakefield, for every- 
 body said that all companies had begged their way 
 out of it for the last twenty-six years. My reply was, 
 " T am not much of the begging sort, nor shall my 
 company have such a stigma while I have a shilling
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 221 
 
 in my pocket." We opened with the " Lady of 
 Lyons," well cast^ well dressed, with good appoint- 
 ments. Nobody would take the box plan, and at 
 night there was not a soul in the jjit or boxes, and only 
 thirty-five shillings in the gallery. During the 
 second act I observed a gentleman make a dart for 
 the private box, but never showed himself to the 
 audience ; he saw the end of the piece, and darted out 
 as he came in. This puzzled me. The next day I 
 was in a music-seller's trying in vain to get him to 
 take a box plan. The gentleman I had seen the 
 night before came, and at once spoke in the highest 
 terms of the performance, and so spoke that the pro- 
 prietor of the shop consented to take the box plan. 
 " There is one obstacle," he said, " I fear you will 
 never remove ; the gallery are in the habit of calling 
 out to those in the boxes, and alwaj^s pelt those in the 
 pit." On that night, and for some nights after, I 
 addressed the audience cheerfully and kindly, pointing 
 out the injury such proceedings would inflict ; and 
 the result was, the next week I obtained a bespeak 
 from one of the principal families — order was restored, 
 and the pit became well attended. At the end of the 
 season, on m}^ benefit, an old lady came in, but drew
 
 22 2 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 back, sajdng, " They are all in full dress !" " Cer- 
 tainly/'' a friend replied, " that's the style now." 
 " Then I will go back and dress too," and she did. 
 This goes far to prove that cleanliness, taste, order, 
 and management render any profession or trade 
 respected. 
 
 Our next town was Dewsbury. This promised 
 better things, though in a monetarj^ sense not more 
 profitable than my second season was in Wakefield. 
 This town has since become wondrously thriving, 
 owing to " shoddy ;" the fortunes that have been 
 made by this manufiicture are almost fabulous. It 
 seems that all the old rags that can be bought up — 
 all the old blankets, rugs, curtains, and bell-puUs-- 
 are torn to pieces by a machine called a " devil," then 
 washed, dashed, and smashed into a kind of pulp ; 
 this, by the addition of better material worked in by 
 machinery, and dj^ed, turns out the magnificent- 
 looking articles of attire so beautifully ticketed and 
 advertised. I found the people — even the wealthiest 
 — jolly. One night, after playing something that 
 evidently pleased a stout old gentleman, he said, 
 " Wilt 'e come and ha' a bit o' lunch wi' me to- 
 morrow ?" He named his factory, and the next
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 223 
 
 morning I went by appointment. To my surprise, 
 he was in the yard of the factory, a very large one, 
 with an apron on and sleeves tucked up, sweeping it. 
 " Welcome, lad, come int'e house." It was a neat 
 but homely room, where a substantial lunch was ready 
 laid, and, to my surprise, plenty of silver, with napkins, 
 &c., in excellent taste. " Wliat'l 'e tak to drenk ?" I 
 replied, modestly, "A glass of ale.'" "My lad, the'ste na 
 yeale here ; that's wisliy washy stuff. Bring in, lass, 
 sherrj', claret, and champagne ;" and, to my surprise, 
 they were brought in. After a hearty lunch, he said, 
 " Art 'e fond o' picters ?" I said I was. He opened 
 a door, and, to my astonishment, there was a veritable 
 picture gallery in the best taste, with many valuable 
 pictures, some a little gaudy, but the general tone 
 was correct. I noticed two I had seen exhibited in 
 Manchester ; one called " Remorse,''^ if I remember, 
 the other " Lady Jane Grey reading, and her tutor 
 rebuking her for being solitary while all around were 
 gay." I had been struck with them, and though 
 small, I knew their worth. " These were in the 
 Exhibition?" "Aye, lad." "You must have paid 
 heavily for them." " Well, I give eight hundred for 
 t' one, and a little moor for t' other." This is a
 
 2 24 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OE 
 
 simple evidence of the money made by "shoddy." 
 The manufacturers live in very homely style, until a 
 larger house is built and their family educated ; and 
 when valuables and choice articles of vertii are collected 
 they remove, and begin life in style and earnestly. 
 I have been told as a truth that none of that class 
 will look at a piano under 100/., though, until their 
 sons and daughters learn, they have hardly heard the 
 sound of one. These revelations are strictly true, and 
 can be vouched for by any one familiar with manu- 
 facturing people of that class — good, honest, kindly 
 people, well remembered at the best hotels in London 
 and Paris. 
 
 Hearing that the Exeter Theatre was to let (which 
 embraced a list of theatres called the Western 
 circuit, as Barnstaple, Torquay, Weymouth, Tiverton, 
 Taunton, &c.), by my wife's advice we journeyed 
 tliither, and liking the appearance of the " faithful 
 city," I took the tlieatre and cir(!uit for three years, 
 which I never regretted. This was extended to eleven 
 years' residence, and all recollections of that city, 
 saving the death of my beloved wife, are pleasurable 
 ones. Politics ran rife there, even to the verge of 
 madness on certain occasions ; for " Eeds " and
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 225 
 
 " Blues," as tliey are called, look upon each other 
 with jealousy and almost hatred. It so happened 
 that a Poor Law Guardian had to be elected. A 
 reverend gentleman, who was a Conservative, put up 
 as Gruardian, and a Radical opposed him ; he was a 
 most respectable and competent man, but hard and 
 worldly. The reverend gentleman I selected for my 
 vote, knowing him to be of a benevolent nature. 
 Approaching the hustings, and being then known by 
 all, some of the poorer classes in the mob cried out, 
 " Don't vote for the ' Blues,' Squire " (a name I was 
 universally called) ; "vote for us !" "I am going to 
 vote for your best interests," I said. Just then a 
 vulgar fellow passed rudely by and trod fearfully on 
 my corns, saying, " I knew he would vote for Mr. 
 
 " meaning the tradesman. Smarting with 
 
 pain, on being asked which side I voted for, 1 
 
 screamed, "Why, for the Beverend Mr. "(the 
 
 before-mentioned tradesman^I had confounded their 
 names). The vote was recorded amid shouts of 
 laughter, and, to m}^ surprise, I found I had voted 
 for the Badical. This was a standing joke for many 
 a day on both sides, but none bore me ill-will for it. 
 A celebrated man of the city during election time
 
 2 26 RANDOM REC0LLEC2I0NS OF 
 
 sent to London for three prize-fighters (he was himself 
 a great biillj). When the election, which had been 
 smartly contested, was over, ending to the advantage 
 of the Conservative party, this incensed the other 
 side, and the Half-moon Hotel was attacked. " I 
 have been waiting for this,^' said my bullying friend ; 
 " now for my reserve forces !" bring forth the prize- 
 fighters. " Now, my lads, go in and win ; pitch into 
 'em right and left ;" and, unfastening the little wicket 
 of the large gate, which had been carefully barricaded, 
 the three sallied out. They did pitch in, but alas ! 
 they were pitched into, for a little fellow tackled the 
 principal man right and left, and so belaboured him 
 that he left him in the gutter, to crawl out as best he 
 could ; the others were bitterly ill-treated by the 
 mob, and ultimately sneaked off", guarded by the 
 police. But settlement was at hand; they naturally 
 demanded of my bullying friend pay and passage, 
 together with compensation for blows. This he did 
 handsomely ; but to his horror he found he had met 
 with a second Frankenstein^s creations, for the 
 mon'iiQY^ pitched into him, and not until he had been 
 well hunted, bumped, and thumped, did he satisfy 
 their rapacity.
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 227 
 
 These were merry days. It was no uncommon thing 
 after returning thanks for a bespeak given by some 
 great family, to find the head of it would rise and 
 answer. Such an honour was accorded to me by Sir 
 Stafford Northcote, Mr. Nation, and other wealthy 
 and influential families ; indeed from the Earl of 
 Devon, Lord and Lady Poltimore, Sir Lawrence Palk, 
 the member, Mayor, &c., yearly proofs of their bounty 
 poured in. I need scarcely say the best talent of every 
 description periodically visited me, as Mr. and Mrs. 
 Kean, Madame Celeste, Brooke, Sothern, &c. 
 Madame Celeste ! what a host of recollections flood at 
 the mention of her name ! Her chequered career 
 must be a memory indeed. When first I remember 
 her she was playing at a minor theatre in Liverpool, 
 living in one room, and content to wash her spangled 
 dresses. She did not live happily with her husband, 
 who was a wild American, and much addicted to 
 extravagance in all things, more especially in speech. 
 " Wall, strain (J cry he would say, " did you ever hear 
 tell of my father?" "No." " Wall, that's strange; 
 he was the richest man in our State I Once we went to 
 visit him, but it happened thar was a herd of buffaloes 
 coming out of the park gates just as we drove up in a 
 
 n "-^
 
 2 28 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 carriage and pair. And, would ^e^^ believe it — we had 
 teu sit in that blessed carriage three whul days before 
 the lot cleared out." But soon Madame's fortunes 
 brightened, and when next I saw her she was at 
 Covent Garden, in the full bloom of her expressive 
 beauty and the zenith of her fame. She was 
 announced as the only danseuse in the world that ever 
 turned 120 pirouettes without stopping; at all 
 events, she somehow turned the heads of half London. 
 The next time I saw her was in Brighton, and large 
 letters greeted me, " Madame Celeste has arrived, and 
 will appear in her world-famous piece of ' Prediction,' 
 being the first time she has ever attempted to speak 
 English !" She played admirably in a sensational 
 concoction, where she gets into all kinds of scrapes, 
 and at last shoots her own child, and is then carried 
 away in apotheosis form. I waited for the English, 
 but it did not come until the end of every scrape and 
 every act, and then it was a breather — " Oh,pra-dick- 
 say-oimi " — a novel but agreeable way of getting over 
 " prediction !" It was announced that between the 
 pieces she would address the audience ; she came for- 
 ward, and in her curt but sweet way said, " Ladis and 
 gentle maans, wis your pare-mess-e-on zis piece will be
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 
 
 229 
 
 repjjetit.'^ She was a grand woman, full of impulse 
 and talent, and has hardly ever been approached by 
 any living actress in her line of business. I have seen 
 her in the parts of Miami in the " Green Bushes," 
 Wept, of the " Wept-ton-Wish," and a host of more 
 refined and varied parts. For years she was the great 
 feature in the Adelphi pieces, and for many years to 
 come her name will be associated with it in play- 
 goers' memory.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 1839 TO 1871. 
 
 11 /TY intimacy with Mr. Charles Kean grew until it 
 ■ ripened into friendship. I went with him to 
 give readings — for he was an immense man of business, 
 and never missed a day or an opportunity of making 
 money. We were travelling from Barnstaple, when 
 a member of Parliament asked permission to enter the 
 carriage occupied by Mr. Kean, Dr. Joy (his friend, 
 physician, and man of business into the bargain), and 
 myself We were chatting merrily, when our political 
 friend (who, by the way, had a very red nose), re- 
 marked that he always had a glass of milk before 
 breakfast. Dr. Joy observed, " You have forgotten 
 one thing, you have left out the rum." I knew by 
 the look and laugh that he was right. The disease 
 Kean suffered from, and wdiich eventually carried him 
 off, diabetes, rendered him excessively nervous. On 
 one occasion we were at Taunton, and it was
 
 RAND OM RE COLLE CTIONS. 2 -^ i 
 
 o' 
 
 announced that Mr. Kean requested the audience 
 would be seated before his commencing^. It so hap- 
 pened that a party (one of tlie most distinguished 
 people in the county) were delayed. Mr. Kean had 
 commenced, and both I and Dr. Joy, in the politest 
 manner, requested they would have the goodness to 
 wait a few minutes, as the reading was not a long 
 one. " Indeed I shall do no such thing," said an 
 imperious lady. Finding remonstrance vain, we 
 opened the doors, and to our horror, and the per- 
 plexity of Mr. Kean, the before-mentioned lady, in 
 the loudest possible tone, marched down to the front 
 seats, exclaiming, " Weil, I'm sure, to be kept out in 
 the cold, indeed ! Oh, how do you do, I haven't seen 
 you for an age ? (to some friends). Would you believe 
 — such an insult! Dear me! Are you at home? 
 Come and see us soon. Dear, dear, who ever heard !" 
 &c. &c., until she finally subsided, and again Mr. 
 Kean commenced. It was my custom, and his wish, 
 that at the end of each reading I should visit him, to 
 hear the opinion of the audience, &c. He, like his 
 father, had an eye, and he could use it. " So, my 
 gentleman " (he always honoured me by using that 
 expression). "Who on earth is that low woman that
 
 232 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 disturbed the audience aud upset me ?" " She belongs 
 to one of the best families in Somersetshire," I said. 
 " But why did you admit her ?" " Because I could 
 not keep her out." " Why didn't you send for the 
 
 police?" "What to Lady ?" "Yes, I would 
 
 have had a posse of them, and carried her off liolus 
 bolus!' The idea was so rich that I retired laughing 
 heartily. Fate destined me for mistakes that night. 
 I was very anxious to hear one piece that he recited 
 grandly. The doors in the entrance were central and 
 opened witli a slide, so I softly opened them a little 
 way, then popped my head in and closed them as 
 tightly as I conveniently could. At its termination 
 L went gaily to his room. " So, ray gentleman, I 
 always said you were born to vex me ; you have not 
 forgotten the Princess's yet, and I feel sure you'll be 
 the death of me some day." "What have I done?" 
 I asked. "What have you done? You knew I 
 wished to concentrate my mind and energies on that 
 particular effort, and you were resolved to murder it." 
 " Good gracious, what's the offence ?" " What's the 
 offence !" he replied. " Didn't you stick your head— 
 wooden-head, I should say— in at the door, and grin 
 like a fiend at me ? In vain I looked right and left,
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 233 
 
 in vain I strove to concentrate my thoughts ; nothing 
 could I see but that infernal nicl-nad-noddle of yours." 
 A more gentle, kindly heart never beat in man's 
 breast, unless goaded by the malady that was destroy- 
 ing him. Liberal to the poor, lavish to a degree when 
 travelling — as railwa^^ porters, cabmen, waiters, and 
 hotel-keepers can testify — in society (when he chose 
 to unbend) charming to a degree, and brilliant. His 
 amiable and revered partner idolised him, as did all 
 who were intimately acquainted with him. He left 
 his widow, daughter, and niece amply provided for, 
 nor did he forget me, for, to my surprise, he left me 
 his immense and valuable wardrobe, chains, crowns, 
 jewels, robes, dresses, and swords, with the request 
 that, if none of them were good enough for my ac- 
 ceptance, he wished me to destroy them — thus in- 
 creasing their value by a compliment as delicate and 
 refined as he was great and polished. 
 
 After a second marriage I entered into a great 
 speculation — the Prince of AVales Theatre, Glasgow, 
 destroyed by fire, but rebuilt for me. I took a twenty- 
 one years' lease of it, and a sad day it was for me. I 
 opened brilliantly, and " all went merry as a marriage 
 bell." Previously I had been a walking cheque-book,
 
 234 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OE 
 
 but I found, to ray cost, the tlieatre was gloomy from 
 the absence of ornament, and the walls, not being 
 dry, would admit of none. In short, it was a wilder- 
 ness of a place; it was capable of holding from 3000 
 to 4500 people ; there was a stage you might drive a 
 coach and six upon, with twenty-four private boxes, 
 and everything extensive and expensive. There were 
 twenty in the orchestra, a fine company, and no end 
 of supernumeraries, ballet, &c. I struggled on with a 
 heavy weight upon" my shoulders, and my best people, 
 foreseeing a fiasco, left for more congenial climes. 
 Blow followed upon blow. My master-carpenter and 
 chief scenic artist quitted me, and I stood with 500/. 
 in my pocket to carry me through my pantomime, 
 and onlij one month to Christmas ! Those only who 
 can realize my position can guess my pain. I had 
 engaged eight superior principals for my pantomime 
 from London. Never was I so depressed, and never so 
 resolute. Pacing rapidly up and down, I heard one of 
 the scene-shifters say, " There's Bob down on his 
 back again with delerious trimmings!^ " Bel. trem., 
 call it," said the other scene-shifter, " as the more 
 vulgar, having more sense, call it." I listened, with 
 my heart almost in convulsions, for I had heard oi the
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 235 
 
 talent of that reckless but clever man. I shouted 
 out, " Do you mean to tell me that Bob is in 
 Glasgow?" " Yes, sir, I've seen him this morning, 
 and he's very bad — been a goin it awful, sir." " Do 
 you know where he lives ?" " Yes, guv'nor." 
 " Take me to him." In ten minutes I was by his 
 bed-side. In less than a quarter of an hour after, one 
 of the cleverest doctors in Glasgow was with rae. A 
 hurried explanation of my fearful position ensued ; he 
 quietly grasped my hand, and I knew, masonically — 
 oh, holy and pure tie of man to man ! — if anything 
 could be done it would. An excellent nurse was 
 provided and every requisite, and in three days he 
 was sufficiently recovered to direct the necessary pre- 
 parations. Misfortunes, they say, never come singly, 
 but on this occasion I had the ^ood fortune to reverse 
 the adage, for, within three hours after finding Bob, I 
 received a telegram from Liverpool, and from the man 
 of all men I would have selected, applying for an 
 engagement as master-carpenter. I immediately 
 posted money at the office, with offer of a liberal 
 salary and orders to start at once. " Money makes 
 the mare to go" — I had plent}' of scenery, new can- 
 vased — he came, and my two chefo set to work bravely.
 
 236 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 The work progressed, and in due time my artists began 
 to arrive. One morning I received a note intimating 
 that the Sisters Guiness (my danseuses) had arrived — 
 well known and clever they were. They came, but, 
 horror of horrors, a tub rolled instead of my expected 
 enchantress ; she had grown awfully stout, and, being 
 winter, she was heavily laden with wraps. I gulped 
 down my disappointment and cheerfully bade them 
 welcome, hurried out of the room, and fairly broke 
 down. The day after I was requested to go down to 
 the theatre, as my principal singer had arrived, upon 
 whom I chiefly depended. Miss Marion Taylor — who 
 (theatrically) has not heard of her? — a good star 
 singer of repute. I hurried down delighted. In the 
 door-keeper's room, crouched over the fire, I saw a 
 miserable bundle of humanity, with a visible declen- 
 sion on one side and a veritable hunch on the other. 
 She turned her head, and I gazed upon her face, which 
 was not very prepossessing, from her long journey 
 and her unkempt liair. She growled in my ear, 
 " Gruv'nor, I've come, but you mustn't expect me for 
 your pantomime ; I haven't sung a note for this last 
 fortnight." " Merciful powers !" I exclaimed, "why 
 am 1 thus afflicted ? My two principals useless, and,
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 237 
 
 to m}' eyes, unpresentable at all." I gave them two 
 days for rest and study, telegraphing everywhere to 
 supply their places, but without success. My other 
 artists arrived, and were all I could wish. 
 
 On the morning of the first rehearsal there was a 
 decided improvement in both. My dameme was 
 vigorously at work in a short muslin dress and pink 
 silk jacket. Miss Marion Taylor, too, presented 
 herself in the height of fashion, and looking wonder- 
 fully improved — the growl was changed to a whisper, 
 the " hump" was marvellously lessened. She said, 
 " I shan't attempt to sing, but let me hear the 
 accompaniment, and let the prompter read for me." 
 " Yes, and I fear," I thought, " he will have to do so 
 if /produce the pantomime." I found, to my delight, 
 that I had three admirable voices in the additional 
 talent engaged. But my golden canary, on whom the 
 entire weight of my pantomime rested, was absolutely 
 mute. Mv danseuse at the back of the sta^e was 
 whirling with lightning flexibility and thundering 
 power. She was evidently " going in for a sweater" 
 — all worked with a will. I was earlier at rehearsal 
 the next morning than usual, when 1 heard a firm 
 and brilliant touch on the piano I had hired for
 
 238 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 practice ; liquid notes followed in succession, and a 
 flood of roulades sent me flying to discover the 
 silvery source. To my surprise it was Marion Taylor, 
 now in full song and work. She had been wise in not 
 using ber voice until its capability returned. The 
 night came, and she looked charmiugly captivating 
 as Tom Tucker ; the " hump " had disappeared, 
 her shape was perfect, and in various scenes where 
 I lavished all the refinement and sparkling wit 
 I could gather, she sang and danced with such 
 vivacity that she never sang to less than three 
 encores. My danseuse had grown, from great exer- 
 tion, marvellously thin by comparison, and before 
 the week was herself entirely. And here let me 
 mention one merit in this lady I have never seen 
 approached. In her slow movements, before com- 
 mencing her ra^iid ones, she used to show an attitude 
 of prayer poetical in the extreme — elevated on one 
 toe, with one arm extended and eyes elevated, the 
 other hand placed pensivel}'' on her bosom, with 
 finger pointed up, she looked the very picture of 
 embodied devotion. My pantomime was pronounced, 
 on all sides, to be infinitely superior to the production 
 which had heQnJive months in preparation at the rival
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 239 
 
 theatre. My painter was so overjoyed at its success 
 that he got gloriously drunk. I gave him three 
 weeks' holiday, with salary, and my parting words 
 had such an effect that he returned himself, in his 
 right mind, with added health and strength. 
 
 I found it utterly useless to support my white 
 elephant, so prepared to give up my lease, having 
 endured torture and loss. My system broke down 
 with the added weight of one of the severest colds 
 man, I think, ever had — caught while playing 
 " Ingomar " with bare arms, and in a thin merino 
 dress. It first attacked my body, so that I was 
 nearly losing the use of my limbs ; then it lied to ray 
 throat. Five times in one night did I battle for life. 
 The horror of strangling I shall never forget, it was 
 exactly as if an iron hand clutched me. Then it 
 flew to my ears, and from that to my eyes. Blind, 
 desolate, and forsaken by fortune, my llftle one was 
 horn to comfort me. I was told by the doctor that he 
 had given me mercury enough to kill six strong men, 
 without the least effect ; and his only resource was an 
 oculist, and he informed me that my sight had just 
 arrived to within a needle's point of closing, perhaps 
 for ever. Confined to a darkened room, my fate
 
 240 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 seemed gloomj^, but God was good, and in my 
 affliction raised up hosts of friends, and tokens of 
 regard, wliicli were as bountiful as spontaneous. At 
 last sight was restored, but for six months my eye- 
 balls continued to glare like crimson fire. I re- 
 ceived a letter from Calvert to play Benedict, 
 for a fortnight, in Manchester; he would take no 
 denial, and as the terms were good I could not afford 
 to lose them. At the expiration of that, he offered 
 me a ten weeks' engagement, on liberal terms, to 
 play Eichmond and Clarence in the revived edition of 
 " Eichard III." This was the finest production of 
 a piece I have ever seen — to the last money was 
 turned away, every night, so great was tlie crush ; and 
 as it neared the termination of its run, we had equally 
 crowded day performances. Toole and Sothern's 
 engagements prevented a longer run. The dresses, 
 piece, and scenery, were purchased on the spot by 
 Niblo, of New York, for 1000/., but, strange to say, 
 the play did not take in New York. Calvert was not 
 there, and that I suspect was the reason of its failure. 
 The managers of the Eoyal Glasgow offered me 
 good terms for six weeks, and my Glasgow friends did 
 not forget me in my misfortunes. " Thus out of
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 241 
 
 ill comes good." Calvert, as I have said, was a 
 Unitarian. I had an inclination of ^o^^i^/, which hap- 
 pily was removed in a marvellous manner. A 
 favourite servant of ours had left us, and was living 
 with Mrs. Wild, a rich clergyman's widow. The 
 girl had forgotten to inform her mother of the 
 change, and she wrote complaining of her silence. 
 One morning we drove over to inquire the cause, 
 and were asked in, the message being — that Mrs. 
 Wild wished earnestly to speak to me. To my surprise, 
 having heard me read "Wilks' Leper," and other 
 serious works, she informed me she would provide for 
 me if I would enter the Church. This naturally 
 startled me, and her importunities were so great, that 
 at last I promised to see the Rural Dean. I then dis- 
 closed to him my doubts. " Your entering the Church 
 is a matter of impossibility under such circumstances. 
 But come," said he, " let us see if they can be re- 
 moved. I will not attempt to argue the matter with 
 you, but leave all in His hands. Promise to come 
 and spend one hour with me every Thursday at ten, 
 and I will test the value of my faith." I did, and 
 the clearness of the link was evident. But a still 
 more ruling Providence fated I should not be so 
 
 B
 
 242 RANDOM liECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 honoured as to be made a messenger. In the interim 
 of ray instruction this sister of mercy, Mrs. Wild, died 
 from cancer, and I was told she had in reality trans- 
 ferred stock to a considerable amount in my name, 
 but withdrew it on hearing my doubts. Now comes 
 possibly the most startling of these startling facts. 
 One day, when utterly penniless, I found a bill for 
 £25 was due. I had a fine piano, which it struck me 
 I could sell. I sent for the party who had sold it to 
 me. But he was overstocked and refused. I paced my 
 room in deep perplexity, and seeing a picture of " Our 
 Saviour walking on the waters," I was impious 
 enough to address it : " Oh, Thou, whom I have 
 searched for so earnestly, help me in my distress." 
 From over excitement I saw in imagination a frown 
 upon the face. At that moment my housekeeper 
 came in — " I fear, sir," she said, " you are in some 
 perplexity for money, and wish to sell your piano ; 
 let me go to Mr. Godolphin, he most likely might 
 buy it.'' " If you can get me five-and-twenty pounds, 
 he shall have it for that sum," said I. In a quarter of 
 an hour she returned and laid down thirty pounds 
 upon the table, saying, " Mr. Godolphin' s compliments 
 that he doesn't want to buy, and rather than see you
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 343 
 
 sell it, he begs to offer you thirty pounds, and pay it 
 when you can," He was a Jew. 
 
 One day I visited the Houses of Parliament. I had 
 often passed it by water, and it always struck me as 
 being low in situation, and not elevated enough ; the 
 contrast between it and Somerset House is not favour- 
 able ; had it been placed upon a terrace doubtless the 
 effect would have been vastly different, but to my 
 recollections, as we neared the building, it grew in 
 favour, and when I stood under the Victoria Tower, 
 then I realized England's greatness. This tower, I 
 thought, looked as if it had planted itself firmly, and 
 meant to stand. We strolled through the various 
 rooms until we came to the House of Lords, which 
 struck me as being too small for the purpose. Some 
 trial was going on — some disputed rights of wharfage 
 to an immense extent, in which great rights were 
 invested; the chairman, or rather the judge, was 
 surrounded by a few barristers, everything was very 
 quiet and dignified, tlie claimant was the beau- ideal 
 of an Englishman. Looking at the judge I mentally 
 exclaimed, " Dear, dear, has this wizened old man the 
 power to decide upon such immense stakes; why he 
 appears a dying rushlight, ready to be snuffed out."
 
 244 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 " Will you listen to a compensation ?" said a barrister. 
 
 " No ! by ," said the claimant — " sink or swim ! 
 
 I stand upon my rig-ht." Down went his stick with a 
 thundering bump, and the hall re-echoed again. 
 Suddenly that tottering, senile form glowed with 
 immensity of mind, and his eye glittered like an 
 eagle's, while his irwph convinced me he was not ?/et 
 too old in the teeth. " He has won the day," said I. 
 British pluck //ad won the day — and the Judge was 
 Lord Brougham. 
 
 Previous to my departure from Exeter, the citizens 
 did me an honour which few managers can boast of 
 after eleven years' acquaintance, they resolved to give 
 me a presentation — no hole and corner business, but 
 an outspoken affair. Three public meetings were held 
 in the Guildhall, duly announced in the papers, and 
 when the subscription list was filled it bore the best 
 names, from the highest to the lowest. "What shall 
 our manager play when the presentation comes off?" 
 " Charles Surface," said a voice, answered by over three 
 hundred voices of ringing cheers, I was told. Mr. 
 Head, thrice mayor of Exeter, handed me the presen- 
 tation, and on that memorable night I was surrounded 
 by the mayor and many members of the corporation,
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 245 
 
 all as if picked — grey-headed and grey-bearded men 
 — of character and position. Oh ! recollections that 
 atone for the sufferings, privations, and mental agony 
 I have endured through my chequered life. 
 
 The illness of our beloved Prince struck the nation 
 with awe, and then did the great British heart beat 
 with as one pulse. There was scarcely a man who 
 did not feel for him — as father or brother. The broad 
 bond of masonry was not enough to cement the tie, 
 but its holiest teachings, like a strong band, spanned 
 the nation. At last came a grand relief, and a day of 
 thanksOTvin": was announced. When Enc^land does 
 anything great, it is done in keeping with her wealth 
 and dignity. For more than a fortnight preparations 
 of a colossal standing were proceeding in all quarters ; 
 not a liouse, shop, or vacant space en route, which was 
 not taken advantage of; no nook or peep-hole missed. 
 The price of seats rose to fabulous charges. I heard 
 everywhere of everybody having seats ; my wife's 
 sisters had loves of doves of places secured, and I and 
 my wife were left out in the cold. I walked home, 
 and ran upstairs ; on the table was a large official 
 envelope, with a great seal. " Some law business — I 
 suppose, more trouble," said I, growling. I opened it ;
 
 246 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 could I believe my eyes — two tickets for St. Paul's 
 from the Lord Chamberlain — and from that day to 
 this I have never solved the mystery ; the only solution 
 I could ever arrive at is, that I had become the lessee 
 of Sadler's Wells, and had some interviews with him 
 concerning the license, improvements, &c. ; but there 
 was the fact — and there the tickets. I embraced my 
 wife, who triumphantly said, " Now, what will my 
 sisters say ? I can laugh at them noio.'' On the 
 following day we dressed in grand style, not forgetting 
 medals, sold plentifully everywhere. As we neared 
 the crowd, for the city was fenced with soldiers, the 
 crush being immense, I saw that thoughtful people 
 placed their cards in the windows of the carriage. 
 This saved trouble, for on sight of them the barriers 
 were withdrawn noiselessly, and without inquiry, for 
 no one was allowed to pass without tickets to the 
 cathedral after six o'clock in the morning. As we 
 rode through the city, the sight was beautiful, the 
 streets unobstructed, but the crowd was immense — all 
 silence, order, and good taste. We entered by the 
 Queen's entrance, but at the side, as our seats were 
 appropriated in that direction — a j)lan of the j)osition 
 being on the card. And never shall I forget the sight
 
 AN OLD ACTOR. 247 
 
 that greeted me ; all the mayors of England, dressed 
 in their official robes, lined the aisle where the Queen 
 and the highest dignitaries of the land were appointed 
 — the Speaker in his regalia, and members of Parlia- 
 ment, also the Lord Mayor, &c. The Queen simply 
 attired as for church, with the Prince on her right 
 hand, the Princess and children on her left. The 
 Prince had grown bald and stout. But his handsome, 
 open-hearted face cheered all present, and many an 
 earnest, silent prayer went up to the Throne of Grace 
 for him and his. The service and choral accompani- 
 ments were grand ; the two immense organs were 
 played by electricity to save irregularity, and I 
 believe the organist on that occasion was knighted. 
 The whole scene was so grand and impressive, that, 
 filled to repletion with sights and sounds, we resolved 
 to see no more, fearing the effect might be marred, so 
 dined in quiet thankfulness, and did not see the 
 illuminations and other public treats provided in the 
 evening, which I heard were brilliant past description. 
 
 Finding Sadler's Wells too dilapidated, old, and 
 cold, I disposed of the remaining portion of my seven 
 years' lease to the Crystal Palace Company. I re- 
 turned for the summer season to one of my old towns,
 
 248 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 Weymouth. There an Australian manager, who saw 
 me play the " Stranger," eng-a^ed myself and wife for 
 twelve months. And here I will drop the curtain 
 upon my recollections, to be drawn up, perchance, on 
 some future occasion. I have led you step by step 
 through the scenes of my varied life — told as they 
 happened, without colour or exaggeration. If you 
 have derived any pleasure from their perusal, we may 
 meet again. I have spoken of events embracing a 
 lengthened term ; should I be so blessed as to relate 
 the doings of young Australia in the same space, you 
 will hear more marvels in his young life than ever 
 occurred in mine. I have spoken of the dead and past 
 — and I hope gently — many I would mention, but for 
 good and honest reasons I will reserve myself. Suffice 
 it, those I have not spoken of live in my memory, 
 tinged by no taste of bitterness or shade of malice. 
 I may yet live to chronicle the doings of Australian ' 
 stars and satellites, &c. ; and surely- the shades of 
 departed pioneers, martyrs, saints, and sinners, that 
 have helped its onward path, will give me the strength 
 of their glowing energy to record their recollections, 
 
 THE END. 
 
 /
 
 J\J^^ 
 
 r 
 
 r^i)
 
 University of California 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 
 
 Return this material to the library 
 
 from which it was borrowed. 
 
 Form
 
 old actor 
 
 Ch eater A xi^M 1 A iQt;»; 
 
 3 1158 00809 4822 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 412 184 4
 
 ! i 
 
 / 
 
 ;1 
 
 t! 
 
 , v^^.^.,...,...^ rrii ii rW iii T i -a a aiTir-- i riT i TTr it T-Trfla i T i ?r »aj^^ 
 
 "«^<VJtM«»>lM«M9B(M»W 
 
 NHM 
 
 i in >il ' t »m mmiaiuimM Vm li 11,1 Jtt mtutmmmttimiimmmiUSSmilmmSM 
 
 mmmmm 
 
 T'*vww*,Hm : tH»w i »^'i 
 
 nmngBMf 
 
 l«i WWlWPH IIW 
 
 trnHf^ 
 
 \f 
 
 Is. 
 
 fl 
 
 J ; 
 
 
 AW..;.:,^vi^uK<tN>atav;