THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS 
 
 IN 
 
 ENGLAND AND AMERICA: 
 
 INTERSPERSED WITH 
 
 ANECDOTES AND REMINISCENCES 
 
 OF A VARIETY OF PERSONS, 
 DIRECTLY OR INDIRECTLY CONNECTED WITH THE DRAMA DURING THE 
 
 THEATRICAL LIFE OF 
 
 JOE COWELL, COMEDIAN. 
 
 WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 
 
 IN TWO PARTS. 
 
 PART I.-EN GLAND. 
 
 " No author who understands the boundaries of decorum and good breeding, would presume to think 
 all : the truest respect which you can pay to the reader's understanding is to halve this matter amicably, 
 and leave him something to imagine in his turn, as well as yourself." — Sterne. 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, 82 CLIFF-STREET. 
 
 1844.
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1843, by 
 
 Harper & Brothers, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New- York.
 
 £538 
 C?9A2 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 TO THE WICKED READER. 
 
 In addressing for the first time a per- 
 son — or body corporate or incorporate — 
 some embarrassment often arises as to 
 " the eftest way" of commencing your re- 
 quest or apology ; but as I intend making 
 neither the one nor the other, I feel no 
 hesitation in adopting the above, as being 
 most likely to suit the character of the 
 class of persons into whose hands this 
 work may fall. I have " turned over many 
 books," and have found " Gentle Reader," 
 and " Kind Reader," and all sorts of ami- 
 able " Readers" by dozens, but the " Wick- 
 ed Reader" I think I have got all to my- 
 self. And if we only take notice of all 
 that occurs to us every day in the week, 
 and believe half what is said to us every 
 Sunday, this book will certainly be perused 
 by a very large majority who fully de- 
 serve the title I have selected for them. 
 
 Depending solely on memory for mate- 
 rial, the incidents in the following pages 
 are told without any strict regard to chron- 
 ological order, but as they naturally con- 
 nected themselves by "relative sugges- 
 tion," as far as possible, with the im- 
 pressions they made at the time. In fact, 
 encumbering a book of this kind with 
 dates, and heights, and distances, is like 
 throwing a man overboard, to swim for 
 his life, buttoned up in buckskin breeches 
 and boots, when, by "going it with a perfect 
 looseness," he might have a small chance 
 to escape. 
 
 The way I came to undertake this task 
 at all was simply this. In the winter of 
 1841, my esteemed friend F. W. Thomas, 
 Esq., the successful novelist, requested 
 me to give him some anecdotical sketches 
 of my life, to be prepared by his practical 
 pen, as matter for a periodical he was 
 then providing with suchlike insufficient 
 food ; and I wrote for that purpose the 
 
 beginning of this very book. Faults are 
 beauties to the eye of friendship; he de- 
 clined accepting it, deeming it of higher 
 value ; and so strongly urged me to pro- 
 ceed with my recollections, that, having 
 the luxury of leisure during the following 
 summer, I wrote at random the first vol- 
 ume. But since then till now, having 
 had to get my living by putting the non- 
 sense of others into my head, I have had 
 no time to spare to put my own upon pa- 
 per. This long wait between the acts will, 
 therefore, account for my speaking of my 
 old friend Barnes and others as if they 
 were still alive, when they have been 
 foolish enough to die in the interim. 
 
 In the second volume, as I wrote care- 
 lessly along, I found I was recollecting too 
 much, and was therefore compelled to 
 take shelter in an abruptness which I had 
 not at first contemplated. A smile of ap- 
 probation from my old associates is the 
 chief reward I look for from this truth-tell- 
 ing gossip ; but if I told the tvhole truth, it 
 might cause a laugh on the wrong side of 
 the mouth. And even you, wicked reader, 
 wouldn't wish me, though in joke, to wound 
 the feelings of a class of persons the cant- 
 ing world has for ages made most sensi- 
 tive to wrong, because it has never done 
 them right. 
 
 And now, to borrow the extemporaneous 
 language of the members of my profession, 
 when " respectfully" informing an audience 
 that some villanous tyro will be substitu- 
 ted instead of the sterling performer they 
 have walked a mile and paid their dollar 
 to see, 
 
 Most Wicked Reader, 
 " / rely on your usual indulgence." 
 
 Joe Cowell. 
 
 Baltimore, August 1, 1843. 
 
 787214
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " But what's his name, and where's his hame, 
 I dinna choose to tell." — Coming through the Rye. 
 
 " But whence his name 
 And lineage long, it suits me not to say." 
 
 Childe Harold. 
 
 On the seventh day of August, Anno Domini 
 one thousand seven hundred and ninety-two, I 
 came " into this breathing world." 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 " I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emula- 
 tion ; nor the musician's, which is fantastical ; nor the cour- 
 tier's, which is proud ; nor the soldier's, which is ambitious ; 
 nor the lawyer's, which is politic ; nor the lady's, which is 
 nice ; nor the lover's, which is all these ; but it is a melan- 
 choly of my own, compounded of many simples, extracted 
 from many objects : and, indeed, the sundry contemplation 
 of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me, is a 
 most humorous sadness." — Shakspeare. 
 
 The only spot on earth to which my memory 
 turns with that peculiar feeling which they alone 
 can appreciate who can remember the cot where 
 they were born, is the little village of Tor-Q.uay, 
 in Devonshire. But it was not where I was 
 born : all I can recollect of the place of my na- 
 tivity is, a very large, dark-looking room, and a 
 very large, black-looking chimneypiece. Chil- 
 dren always imagine every object much larger 
 than it really is, and generally much brighter: 
 it appears I was an exception to the latter sup- 
 position. I remember no little window 
 
 .Nor 
 
 " Where the sun came peeping in at morn ;" 
 " Fir-trees close against the sky," 
 
 as Hood says so prettily ; nothing but the large, 
 dark room, and large, black chimneypiece: per- 
 haps a sad prognostic of my future fortunes. 
 
 The local inhabitants of this insignificant lit- 
 tle village — it was so then, and I suppose is so 
 now — were fishermen, pilots, and boatbuilders; 
 a simple, industrious, kind-hearted people. How 
 often have the little shoeless urchins slyly thrust 
 me a slice of their dark-brown bread through 
 the trellis-work of the flower-garden, in front of 
 the house ; and many a weather-beaten handful 
 of forbidden fruit has been dropped into the 
 ready pin-a'-fore of " Master Joe," and devoured 
 with ecstasy in the most private place on the 
 premises. 
 
 The county of Devon is called, and justly so, 
 the garden of England. Climate gives charac- 
 ter to all animals, and in that calm, yet genial 
 spot, where, in the open air, the simple jessamine 
 ; twines its perfumed tendrils amid the dazzling 
 
 beauties of the passion-flower, the blood so 
 smoothly flows to work its task of life, that 
 man's nature partakes of the serenitude of the 
 atmosphere, and all is health, and peace, and 
 calm content. 
 
 At the period to which I allude (I shall pur- 
 posely avoid all useless dates) Tar-Bay was the 
 chosen rendezvous of the Channel fleet. The 
 satirical couplet of 
 
 " Lord Howe he went out, 
 And, lord ! how he came in," 
 
 would have been equally applicable to the fleet 
 then under the command of Earl St. Vincent, 
 but that the Saint precluded the pun. Adverse 
 winds, in that most adverse channel, and the 
 nothing-to-do-duty this then terror of the ocean 
 had to perform, made even mooring and un- 
 mooring a precautionary employment, for thou- 
 sands of men to be kept in subordination literal- 
 ly by one: all old man-o'-ivars men know it is 
 safe policy never to let Jack have time to think 
 of anything but his duty. Frequently the fleet 
 would be in harbour two and three weeks at a 
 time, diverting the people with cleaning, paint- 
 ing, polishing, and punishing; then to sea for a 
 like period, and into port again. 
 
 The beauty of the climate, the facilities for 
 sea-bathing, and the joy which every sailor feels 
 at being surrounded by " wife, children, and 
 friends," induced many of the superior officers 
 to hire the better sort of houses which could be 
 procured, or build slight compact ones for the 
 accommodation of their families. In a large 
 fleet, caipenters, masons, mechanics of all sorts, 
 and labourers by hundreds, are readily obtained ; 
 houses were built, furnished, and occupied as if 
 by magic, and the country, for miles around, be- 
 ing thickly studded with the rural residences of 
 the nobility and gentry, Tor-Quay, at that time, 
 became suddenly the most exclusively fashion- 
 able watering-place in the kingdom. 
 
 In a small, neat house, fitted up in elegant 
 simplicity, situated on a gentle ascent from the 
 beach, and overlooking the whole harbour, lived 
 my protectress — my more than mother. Here, 
 loving and beloved, I passed three innocently 
 happy years. 
 
 The arrival of the fleet was the signal for joy 
 and festivity; sailing-matches, boat-clubs, pony 
 races, banquets, balls, and concerts occupied a 
 portion of each day and evening. In compli- 
 ment to Earl St. Vincent, on his birthday a 
 more than usually splendid festival was given at 
 Carey Sands, a country seat a few miles dis- 
 tant from our house, and " the children," indul- 
 ged in everything (which health and morals 
 would permit), were allowed to see the com-
 
 s 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 mencenient of a masked ball, walk through the 
 rooms, and return early home. Here I first saw 
 Lord Nelson, a mean-looking little man, but 
 very kind and agreeable to children; he prophe- 
 sied a very different fate for me from what it has 
 been, and some trifling anecdotes of himself, 
 which he probably invented to please a boy, 
 made so strong an impression on my mind as 
 greatly to influence my conduct while in the 
 navy. 
 
 A spacious hall, fitted up as a theatre, attract- 
 ed our particlar notice. As I afterward learned, 
 a company of players, from the adjacent town 
 of Totness, were engaged to give two or three 
 exhibitions, the festival lasting a week. The 
 fireworks, ox-roastings, balls, and concerts were 
 all described and explained to us, and all per- 
 fectly understood, excepting the play, and that 
 Avas incomprehensible. To satisfy our tortured 
 curiosity, this angel woman (her name is too 
 sacred to be put on record with the adventures 
 of a poor player) actually engaged a portion of 
 the company to give an entertainment at our 
 house to please the children. Shrink not, ye props 
 and ornaments of the profession, when I tell you 
 you have often, perhaps without thinking it, been 
 placed in the same position. How frequently 
 have I heard a fond parent say, " If you are 
 good children, I'll take you to see Kean, or For- 
 rest, or Macready." For my own part, many a 
 time has some fat-headed patron of the drama 
 said, " Cowell, my boy, I'm going to take my 
 little girls to see your Crack to night, so do your 
 best." 
 
 The day, big with fate, at length arrived, and 
 " the best actors in the world" — I think four in 
 number. One didn't speak, but merely rung a 
 little bell, and snuffed the candles, and when he 
 put one out we all laughed, and he made a very 
 formal bow ; he was a comical-looking creature, 
 dressed in large, white Turkish trousers and a 
 footman's jacket. Preparations immediately 
 commenced; the dining parlour was speedily 
 unfurnished, and the adjoining room " thrown 
 into one," that is, as far as wide-opening a com- 
 mon-sized door could make two rooms into one. 
 Chairs, sofas, and ottomans were placed in 
 rows, and elevated, in the back apartment, where 
 the servants and humble neighbours were to be 
 accommodated, to peep through the open door 
 over our heads. All the flat candlesticks in the 
 house were put in aline, in front of the seats intend- 
 ed for the family, and separated from them by a 
 long board nailed on edge. How well do I re- 
 member with what wonder and admiration I 
 looked on at the adroit manner in which, signal 
 Jacks, ensigns, and blue-peters, window and bed 
 curtains, were furled, puckered, tacked, and tied, 
 by a slim, long-nosed young gentleman, in shirt- 
 sleeves, knee-breeches, and blue worsted stock- 
 ings, to form the wings and drops of this mimic 
 stage! At length all was completed — the per- 
 formance was to commence " at early candle- 
 light :" never do I recollect so long an afternoon 
 as that was but once since, and that was, five 
 hours passed in a sponging-house waiting for 
 bail. At length the day drew in, " and night, 
 the lover's friend," advanced; the bell was rung, 
 and the seats in the rear immediately occupied, 
 according to the age and grade of the party. 
 We were placed in front, the governess at our 
 backs, ready to explain any doubtful point, and 
 direct our deportment: our general instructions 
 were, to clap our hands when she did, and not 
 to laugh; this latter command I made up my 
 
 mind to disobey ; and I did. To her supposed 
 superior judgment in juvenile matters had been 
 left the control of the entertainment, and she had 
 selected " Hamlet" (only a portion of the trage- 
 dy, I suppose), but whether to suit her own 
 taste, or her pupils, I can only imagine. She 
 was a romantic little body. She hated me with, 
 all her heart, but was too prudent to say so ; 
 and I hated her with all my soul, and said so to 
 everybody. She had a very pretty, ill-natured 
 looking face, and small neat figure, in despite of 
 one very crooked leg ; this fact I discovered in 
 consequence of her tumbling, head foremost, 
 over a stile one slippery day ; and for laughing 
 most heartily — who could help it 1 — I was locked 
 up in a cupboard, at the door of which I kicked 
 so lustily for half an hour, they were obliged to 
 let me out, " / made such a noise J"* 
 
 I forget if there was any overture, or an apol- 
 ogy for one in any way ; but music, from my 
 infancy, being as familiar as a household god, 
 it was not likely to live in my memory, I sup- 
 pose they began the play where Horatio informs 
 Hamlet of his "last night of all" adventure, for 
 I recollect nothing preceding that dialogue, which 
 I was astonished to find I had often read in that 
 excellent book for children, " Enfield's Speaker." 
 I love that book still ; it gave me the first relish 
 for more substantial food, and if I can sell this, 
 I'll buy a copy for my grandson. Presently the 
 Ghost glided in from behind a French flag — there 
 was one on each side of the room, with the Eng- 
 lish ensign over it — enveloped in a white sheet, 
 something white on his head, his face white- 
 washed, and a white truncheon in his hand. All 
 was breathless attention ; but, before he had 
 time to reply to Hamlet's earnest inquiries, I. 
 shouted out, with all my might, " That's the man, 
 who nailed up the flags!" For, in defiance of 
 his white-all-over-ness, I recognised in the Ghost 
 my friend in the knee-breeches, for whom I had 
 held the hammer, and helped so nicely (as he 
 said) in the morning. The governess gave me 
 one of her withering looks, but all the rest of the 
 audience laughed most heartily ; so did Hamlet, 
 so did the Ghost, till his white sheet shook again. 
 
 Hamlet — " methinks I see him now" — was a 
 slim, round-faced, good-looking young man, and, 
 I imagine, rather effeminate in his manner; for 
 all agreed he was very like our very pretty house- 
 maid Sally. He was dressed in a suit of mod- 
 ern black, a frill about his neck, with a silver 
 cord and tassel, his head powdered (the fashion 
 of the time); a spangled red cloak ; the order of 
 the garter around his leg; a broad-brimmed, 
 black velvet hat, turned up in front, and a large 
 diamond shoe-buckle, supposed to enclasp one 
 tall, white feather. But Horatio had five (we 
 all counted them); his waistcoat, too, was near- 
 ly covered with gold, and his clcak was spangled 
 all over ; he wore light blue pantaloons, and red 
 shoes — I forget the colour of his hat. He was 
 decidedly my favourite, and I believe the favour- 
 ite of all; at any rate, the children and servants 
 thought as I did, that lie was worth all the rest of 
 them put together; besides, "in the course of the 
 evening," he sung a fine loud song, about ships 
 and the navy, and danced a sailor's hornpipe; 
 but whether they were introduced in the tragedy 
 or after it, I know not. He appeared to have 
 twice as much to say as Hamlet had, and what 
 he did say he said three times as loud ; all the 
 
 * I cannot but regret these delightful visions of my child- 
 hood, which, like the fine colours we see when our eyes 
 are shut, are vanished forever. — Alexander Pope.
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 9 
 
 auditors in the next room could hear every word 
 he uttered ; and, as more than halt' could not see 
 him through the open door, it was quite enough 
 to make him a great favourite in their estima- 
 tion. The coachman said he heard one speech 
 while he was feeding the horses; and the stable 
 was at least one hundred yards from the house; 
 no doubt the same speech which frightened two 
 of the youngest children. They cried, and, at 
 their own request, were sent to bed. 
 
 Hamlet made several long soliloquies, and as 
 he looked me straight in the face, I thought he 
 addressed me in particular ; so when he inquired, 
 
 "Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
 The slinks and arrows of outrageous fortune, 
 Or to take arms against a sea of troubles — " 
 
 I replied, "If I were you I'd go to sea." This 
 called forth a most joyous shout from the next 
 room, for even then I was the low-comedian of 
 the household ; but my female Mentor said I 
 was a very bad boy (I was used to her saying 
 that), and if I spoke again I should be sent to 
 bed. So when I thought Hamlet was going to 
 make me another long speech, I shut my eyes, 
 and made up my mind to go to sleep till it was 
 over. But my friend Horatio soon roused me. 
 In fact, he was one of the many actors who are 
 determined to be heard, at any rate; and "tired 
 Nature" must be very tired indeed if she could 
 take her "second course" while he was declaim- 
 ing. I have met with man)' Horalios since, and 
 they, like my first impression, are always great 
 favourites with children and the uninformed. 
 There was a star Horatio engaged in the last 
 company I played with, and nine tenths of the 
 audience thought and said he was a very fine 
 actor. Well, let them think so ; I'll not contra- 
 dict them ; I was sorry myself when I was un- 
 deceived. 
 
 Hamlet spoke Collins's beautiful " Ode an the 
 Passions;" he didn't deliver it as the governess 
 read it; I thought then he was right and she 
 was wrong: I have changed my opinion since. 
 The Ghost sang a comic song, and the whole 
 party 
 
 " Ye mariners of England," 
 
 the cnndle-snuffer giving his "powerful aid" in 
 the chorus. 
 
 Exhausted with wonder and delight, I went to 
 bed. I prayed every night that I might be made 
 a good boy and go to heaven. I fell asleep, and 
 dreamed that I had got there, and was surround- 
 ed by dozens of Hamlets, and Horatios, and 
 Ghosts in red wigs and striped stockings, dan- 
 cing, and singing "all manner of songs," and the 
 angels applauding them in the most boisterous 
 manner; but when I waked, I didn't "cry to 
 dream again," for, to my astonishment, I heard 
 Horatio singing away with all his might in the 
 housekeeper's room, amid clapping of hands 
 and shouts of laughter. 
 
 Before I closed my eyes again that night, I 
 made up my mind that I would rather be that 
 Horatio, and do "all that," than be Horatio Nel- 
 son, though he had lost an eye, and banged the 
 French. 
 
 " Where then did the Raven go ? 
 He went high and low ; 
 Over hill, over dale, did the black Raven go. 
 Many autumns, many springs, 
 TraveU'd he with wandering wings ; 
 Many summers, many winters — 
 I sAa'n'i tell half his adventures." 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Truly, in my youth I suffered much extremity for love." 
 — Shakspeare. 
 
 I was just " turned sixteen," as the children, 
 say, but in manner and appearance much older. 
 Three years in the navy, the usual hardships of 
 a sailor's life, a complexion stained with salt 
 water and the sun of many climes, are materials 
 to make boys into men at very short notice. I 
 had three weeks' leave of absence, prior to a 
 twelve months' cruise on the West India sta- 
 tion. My mother lived next door to Grosvenor 
 Chapel : and on Sunday morning, determining 
 to see all that could be seen (as my days were 
 numbered), I "dropped in" to witness the service. 
 In using Paul Pry's flippant expression, I must 
 not now, nor then, be understood to have any but 
 the most profound respect for all religious cere- 
 monies; but, having been educated a rigid Ro- 
 man Catholic, at that period my entering an 
 Episcopal house of God was induced by pure 
 curiosity. In the adjoining pew sat an elderly, 
 tradesmanlike-looking man, with a pug nose, 
 and a round, unmeaning face, resembling alto- 
 gether a very good-natured bulldog; with him 
 a plump old lady, and an elegantly-dressed, 
 young creature — their daughter, of course ; but 
 where could she get such an abominable, ple- 
 beian-looking father and mother] I felt angry 
 that nature had made herself so ridiculous. She 
 was most beautiful, refined in her deportment, 
 and a perfectly aristocratic face. Her fine eye, 
 I thought, sometimes wandered towards me; a 
 naval uniform, in those days, was quite as at- 
 tractive as a soldier's is in these ; she sat close 
 to me, nothing but the abominable bulkhead of 
 the pew between us, 
 
 " Where she kneel'd, and, saint-like, 
 Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly." 
 
 An angel's whisper ! there is no preaching I 
 ever heard can produce on my mind such a pure 
 devotional feeling as listening to little children 
 and pretty women saying their prayers ; I al- 
 ways want to go to heaven along with them di- 
 rectly. I thought I heard her sigh. Our eyes 
 met as she said Amen ; my heart palpitated, and 
 " Amen stuck in my throat." I had been in love 
 two or three times before, and have been in love 
 ever since, and perfectly understood all the symp- 
 toms; but, as Ollapod says, there were "matri- 
 monial symptoms in this case." In my own 
 mind, I had got the consent of my mother (who 
 could refuse to permit a union with such a di- 
 vinity 1 ?), and had retired, on a British midship- 
 man's half pay, to a " cottage near a wood," with 
 a cow, cabbage-garden, chickens, and children. 
 The only impediment that appeared to cross my 
 path to pre-eminent felicity was her pudding- 
 faced, pug-nosed parents; my mother would de- 
 cidedly object to them, whatever she might think 
 of their daughter. In my confusion of thought, 
 I stood up in the pew, and popped on my hat 
 with the cockade behind ; the old gentleman 
 pointed out my error; I thought I saw a child- 
 like giggle play over the beautiful face of my 
 adored; I would have given two years' pay to 
 be shot on the spot, or tossed overboard in a gala 
 of wind, or mast-headed, out of sight of land or 
 petticoats, for the rest of my life. The service 
 ended, I gained the door as they did, and tender- 
 ed an awkward acknowledgment of thanks to the 
 old man for correcting my ridiculous position. 
 
 " Sir," said he, with a plethoric kind of chuckle, 
 " you gentlemen of the navy, sir, don't often go
 
 10 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 to church, I suppose, sir ; but, sir, I love a sail- 
 or, sir; I'm a loyal subject, sir; God bless the 
 king, sir, and God Almighty bless the queen, 
 sir. She, sir, is, sir, the mother, sir — that is, the 
 queen-mother, sir— and I'm blessed, sir, if she 
 oughtened to be blessed, sir, for blessing the 
 country, sir, with such a blessed lot of royal 
 highnesses, sir. Sir, I'm a true-born English- 
 man, and a loyal subject, sir, and have the hon- 
 our to be leather-breeches-maker, sir, to His Roy- 
 al Highness the Duke of Sussex, sir," pointing, 
 at the same time, to a sign over a bow-window, 
 by the side of which he stopped, and rung a bell 
 at the private entrance. The door was opened 
 by a boy in undress livery; we bowed and part- 
 ed. I looked up. Sure enough, there was " the 
 precious evidence," " William (I think) Creek, 
 Tailor and Breec/ies-maker in ordinary to His 
 Royal Highness tlie Duke of Sussex" in green and 
 gold letters, and the King's Arms in a semicircle 
 over it, exactly lour doors from my mother's 
 house. I had followed my charmer (who was 
 on the outside) at an angular distance of about 
 three feet, sometimes on the curbstone, some- 
 times in the gutter, or, as a sailor might say, 
 about two points to leeward. Now this was not 
 mauvaise honte on my part, but prudence; for, 
 upon coming alongside in the first instance, I 
 found, to my astonishment, she was at least 
 three inches taller than myself. In everyday 
 language, she was what is called a magnificent 
 creature, 
 
 " With beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear ;" 
 
 a very effeminate, Miss Clifton style of woman. 
 Over her sculptured form she had thrown a 
 splendid scarlet mantle, trimmed with white er- 
 mine ; a white hat, with a drooping red leather, 
 adorned her classic head. I am still, and for 
 years have been, allowed to possess great taste 
 for ladies' dress, but at the time I speak of, per- 
 haps, it was a little Goldfinch-ish : " Sky-blue 
 habit, scarlet sash, white hat, yellow ribands, 
 gold band and tassel — that's your sort !" 
 I was in love — most horribly in love — 
 
 " 'Twas through my eyes the shaft had pierced my heart ; 
 Chance gave the wound that time could never cure." 
 
 But she was (oh horrible thought!) the daughter 
 of a leather-breeches builder, and my mother, 
 like Rob Roy, had " an utter contempt for weav- 
 ers, and spinners, and all such mechanical per- 
 sons." But then he made breeches for His Roy- 
 al Highness the Duke of Sussex ! how might 
 that soften down the bowels of aristocratic au- 
 thority ? There was hope in that thought, and I 
 determined to be measured for a pair the next 
 day : though I had but little time to wear them ; 
 for, on the station to which I was ordered, even 
 if the service would permit the costume, the cli- 
 mate would not. 
 
 On the following morning I called on Mr. 
 Creek. 
 
 " Sir, he's at breakfast, sir," said the knock- 
 kneed boy in the gray livery I had noticed the 
 day before; "but, sir, if 'tis anything partic'lar, 
 sir, I'll call him, sir." 
 
 "Do so, sir; I wish, sir, to see him, sir, di- 
 rectly, sir," said I, following the sir-ish fashion. 
 
 The bow-window apartment I had entered 
 was covered with a handsome carpet ; in the 
 centre a billiard-like table, on which were wri- 
 ting materials, and the papers of the day ; and 
 the walls decorated with numerous mirrors. My 
 prospect of consent began to brighten. If he was 
 ji breeches-maker, he didn't breakfast till ten 
 
 o'clock, and kept a sort of livery-servant. I had 
 barely time to think so much, and peep through 
 a glass case, the width of the shop, covered with 
 a demi-transparent green curtain, behind which 
 at least thirty men were employed on a platform, 
 stitching away at his royal highness's small- 
 clothes, I suppose — when Mr. Creek appeared. 
 His fat face was buttered from ear to ear, which 
 he proceeded to wipe with his folded handker- 
 chief, while in his peculiar style he paid me the 
 compliments of the day. When he came to a 
 pause, I begged him, in my most urbane man- 
 ner, to measure me for a suit of clothes. 
 
 " Sir, with pleasure, sir. A uniform suit, of 
 course, sir? I pride myself on my uniform fits, 
 sir. This coat is a little too much — " 
 
 I interrupted, no doubt, a learned lecture on 
 what a uniform coat should be, by quietly say- 
 ing, " I wish a plain suit, Mr. Creek." 
 
 "A plain suit, sir 1 Bless me, sir! have you 
 left your ship for any length of time, sir?" 
 
 " I may shortly leave the navy altogether," 
 said I, with a sigh. I thought of the cottage 
 and the cow ; and as my mother cheerfully paid 
 my bills at that time, and might not after I had 
 retired from the service and married the tailor's 
 daughter, prudence prompted me to order a green 
 coat, red waistcoat, and leather breeches — a very 
 fitting dress for rural felicity. The red vest I 
 ordered in compliment to the colour of my wife's 
 cloak — that was to be ; and I hinted, that if it 
 could be made off the same piece of cloth that 
 his daughter's mantle was composed of, I should 
 prize it more highly. I imagined it was cabbage 
 on an extensive scale. 
 
 " Oh, sir," said the old man, his little blue eyes 
 twinkling on either side of his bit of putty-like 
 nose, " she's not my daughter. I — " 
 
 "God be praised!" exclaimed I, not waiting 
 for his " wish she was" conclusion of his sentence, 
 I suppose. 
 
 " Sir !" said he, his face suddenly assuming 
 an expression of gravity which its fat-encumber- 
 ed muscles seemed impossible for it to achieve, 
 " sir — I beg pardon, sir — but I should like to 
 know, sir, why you should appear so thankful, 
 sir, that Anna is not my daughter, sir?" 
 
 Anna! I heard her name for the first time* 
 a pastoral, poetical, and pretty name — a real sail- 
 or's name : 
 
 " I call her Anna, Anne, 
 Nan, Nance, or Nancy." 
 
 1 blundered out, that I had thanked God that, 
 in addition to her natural protector, she had a 
 friend of his age and respectability to guide her 
 moral deportment, of which I judged from the 
 sacred place to which he had conducted her 
 when we first met. A shade of doubt passed over 
 his countenance; but he recollected I was his 
 customer, and his natural good- humour and 
 common sense prevailed. In his own way, he 
 went on to explain that Anna had no faiher ; he 
 had died when she was an infant, and had left 
 her mother "well to do in the world," with three 
 children, all girls, two much older than Anna, 
 and one long since married to a cousin of his 
 
 wife. She was a native of , in Berkshire; 
 
 at her father's death, her mother had taken a 
 milliner's shop, where Anna had learned the ru- 
 diments of the business, but had been sent to 
 London under his care, and was now articled 
 for three years (two and a half of which were 
 yet to stretch their slow length along) to the 
 Misses Twicross, the celebrated dressmakers
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 11 
 
 in Bond-street, with a premium of fifty guineas, 
 to be finished, as he called it. 
 
 Upon giving my name and address, the old 
 man exclaimed, "Why, bless me, sir! I have, 
 sir, the honour, sir, to be in great favour with 
 your mamma, sir; my neighbour, sir; and, you 
 know, sir, it's very few people as is, sir — " with 
 a kind of confidential chuckle. "You see, sir, 
 her kitchen-chimney was on fire, sir, and the 
 maid-servants set up a terrible screeching, sir; 
 and there was so much smoke, sir, that you 
 could not see where the fire was, sir; and the 
 parish engine, sir, being in the basement story 
 of the chapel, sir, next house to hers, sir, as one 
 may say, sir; I, sir, and my boy, sir, and the 
 poor apple-woman, sir, that she kindly gives 
 leave, sir, to sit at the corner of the court, sir, 
 pulled it out, sir, and I dragged the hose into the 
 passage, sir; but the fire went out, sir, before 
 we could get any water, sir; but your good 
 mamma, sir, coming down stairs, sir, and seeing 
 me with the brass nozzle in my hand, sir, thought 
 I had extinguished it, sir; and so, sir, whenever 
 she speaks of me, sir, she always says, ' The good 
 man that saved my property by putting out the fire 
 — Mr. — lohat's his name ? something that puts my 
 teeth on edge ?' ' Mr. Creek, ma'am,' savs Mary. 
 'Tea, Mr~: Squeak — that's it.'" The 'jolly old 
 man chatted himself into a most familiar good- 
 humour. I recounted some of my ship-shape 
 adventures, and, well pleased with each other, 
 we parted, with my promising (oh, how gladly !) 
 to take a cup of tea with himself and wife, and 
 Anna, "just in the family-way," that evening. 
 lam not going to tantalize my readers with a 
 rodomontade of love-making ; suffice it to say, 
 Anna had received an education far above her 
 station : affable, nay, even free in her manner, 
 "than those who have more cunning to be 
 strange," but with a mind as simply pure and 
 unpolluted as the stream that wanders through 
 and adorns her native village. I readily obtained 
 permission, to save Mr. Creek the trouble, of 
 conducting her to Bond-street in the morning. 
 The jovial old tailor had made us stand back to 
 back, to decide our height; and he declared, 
 <( Anna, sir, is only an inch taller, sir, than you 
 are, sir — good measure, sir." When, at an early 
 hour the next day, we met, I had heels to my 
 boots that placed me on a level with her at any 
 Tate ; and, before we had crossed Grosvenor 
 Square, I had good reason to believe that our 
 hopes and wishes were more on an equality than 
 our persons. Doubt not I was most punctual 
 in my attendance to and from South Audley- 
 street to Bond-street. Three times that week, 
 and four the next, accompanied by the old peo- 
 ple, we attended the theatre. The first legiti- 
 mate play I ever beheld Anna sat beside me — 
 'twas Romeo and Juliet. "They must have 
 played it on purpose," said the innocent Anna, 
 in a whisper, and her cheek wet with tears; and 
 I, in my heart, damned the author for not letting 
 them live and be happy. 
 
 Charles Kemble was the Romeo — the great 
 Lewis, Mercutio — Miss Norton, Juliet — la, la 
 (but I never saw a Juliet such as Shakspeare 
 intended) — the glorious Mrs. Davenport, the 
 Nurse — and Murray, the silver-toned, serene, 
 and beautifully-natural Charles Murray, was 
 the lovers' friend, the botanical Friar Lawrence. 
 1 passed two whole, dear, delicious Sundays in 
 her society. Oh how sweet 
 
 " To walk together to the kirk, 
 And all together pray !" 
 
 I spoke not of my difference of creed, for, for her 
 sake, I would have turned Turk. 
 
 The old man was our confidant and council- 
 lor. "Sir, you must join your ship, sir, at the 
 proper time, sir; and Anna, sir, must finish her 
 time with the Misses Twicross's, sir, and get the 
 worth of her fifty guineas, sir ; and you must 
 fight the enemies of Old England ! Oh ! I'm a 
 loyal subject, sir; and when you're a lieutenant, 
 sir, and the old lady won't consent, sir, if you 
 both, sir, think, sir, as you do now, sir, and 
 there should come a peace, sir, you'll get your 
 half pay, sir; you can teach transportation, nav- 
 igation 1 mean, sir, and drawing, and painting, 
 sir" (I had been well instructed, and had taken 
 his and his wife's portraits, and Anna's "picture 
 in little") ; " and she will be mistress of her art, 
 sir; I am well to do in the world, sir; have nei- 
 ther chick nor child; Anna's father was a good 
 friend of mine, sir — lent me money when I first 
 went into business, sir; but never fret, sir; take 
 things cool, as I do, sir," wiping the perspira- 
 tion from his fat forehead ; " all will be right, 
 sir; take my advice, sir." I tvish to God I had. 
 
 The fatal second Sunday at length arrived — 
 I thought, in the middle of the week. I had to 
 set forth post, at 7 P.M., to ensure my being on 
 board by gunfire on Monday morning; but it 
 was past nine before I could finish all my oaths 
 of constancy, and exchange those tokens sailors 
 think so sacred. 
 
 With hope decking the future in the rainbow 
 colours of love at seventeen, I rushed into the 
 chaise, on a bright autumnal evening, and, faster 
 than the sun, I seemed to travel on the same road 
 to Portsmouth, to overtake him in a few weeks 
 in the West Indies. 
 
 The tedium of many a weary middle-watch 
 in that sunburned sea has been relieved of its 
 monotony in (castle-) building, the cottage, and 
 the cow, the chickens and the children ; and then, 
 
 " Look'd on the moon, 
 And thought of Nancy." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Hope, thou hast told me lies from day to day 
 For nearly twenty years." 
 
 Yoiwo. 
 
 With my last shilling in my pocket, and my 
 heart pretty nearly in the same place, I was 
 seated about the middle of the high flight of stone 
 steps leading to one of the entrances of the dock- 
 yards, watching the gambols of some boys ba- 
 thing on the shore beneath. "To myself I said," 
 if I could only take courage, and keep my head 
 under water as long as that lad does, " in a merry 
 sport," I might speedily end all my troubles, and 
 the anxiety of those who still care for and love 
 me. 
 
 The red sun was dodging now and again be- 
 hind some fantastical long gray clouds, and ap- 
 parently descending with more than usual rapid- 
 ity, as if in derisive imitation of the friendship of 
 man. " Good-by — I'm sorry for your misfor- 
 tunes, but — I'm in a hurry — good-by." 
 
 I had arrived at Plymouth Dock about three 
 weeks previous to this period, with " time cut 
 from out eternity's wide round" before me, and 
 fifty pounds in my pocket — an inexhaustible sum 
 to my nineteen years' old experience — probably 
 five guineas was the largest amount I had ever 
 had in my possession before, at one time, in my
 
 12 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 life; all my necessities had been amply supplied, 
 and every member of a cockpit knows that, as 
 to money, " man wants but little there below." 
 Young minds are more easily depressed than 
 those which have had long experience of "for- 
 tune's buffets and rewards;" my landlady at the 
 White Horse, who was the gray mare of that 
 establishment, had that day given me notice of 
 " no liquor and no credit," and two days more 
 had elapsed than necessary to bring me an an- 
 swer to my letter, praying for positively the last 
 assistance 1 would ever ask for. I had " wasted 
 myself out of my means" in boarding every out- 
 ward-bound merchantman, and treating the cap- 
 tains to "five-pound suppers and after-drink- 
 ings," to bribe my way as a mate in some craft 
 bound to any land, " so not again to mine." But 
 in those days my finished theoretical knowledge 
 was an impediment to a command under these 
 prejudiced, ignorant, " petty traffickers." The 
 British navy, with two wars at her back, seized 
 upon all who could be serviceable, and many a 
 three and four hundred ton merchant vessel 
 would go to sea with a skipper, two mates, and 
 five or six landsmen or boys, to follow in the 
 wake of a convoy, content with a dead reckoning, 
 if any at all, kept on a black board with a piece 
 of chalk. 
 
 In the frame of mind I then was, I might, when 
 the sun and little boys got out of my way, have 
 wet myself at any rate, but that just as they were 
 all preparing to depart, the arrival of a man-o'- 
 war's boat immediately at the foot of the stairs 
 where I was sitting formed a new impediment 
 to my cold-water experiment. "A gross, fat 
 man," in a warrant officer's uniform, landed, fol- 
 lowed by a seaman bearing a large-sized chest : 
 as he reached the step on which I sat, I rose to 
 let him pass ; he, in a rough, authoritative man- 
 ner, exclaimed, in a broad Scotch dialect, " Od, 
 but it's queer what can mak shore people sae 
 fond o' sitting on sic a gangway as this — it's fu' 
 small way — and no' intended for ony but his 
 majesty's officers and sic like." 
 
 Before the conclusion of his rude address, I 
 had recognised him for an old shipmate ; our 
 eyes met — he stood for an instant the picture of 
 penitent astonishment, and in the next I was half 
 crushed to death in his ponderous embrace. 
 
 He had been before the mast of a sloop of war 
 I belonged to for a short time, and in boarding 
 a French lugger privateer, was wounded twice, 
 and his bravery was instantly rewarded by ma- 
 king him a quartermaster, the first step for pro- 
 motion to a warrant. Our corvette was con- 
 demned as no longer seaworthy on her arrival 
 at the very port where we now again met, and 
 by accident he was sent on board the same ship 
 1 was then ordered to join. He had always 
 been a great favourite with me, for, apart from 
 his being a brave man and a good sailor, his 
 childlike blessing in the hour of peril on his old 
 father and mother and his native home, proved 
 the kindness of his nature; and though he had 
 not seen either since tie was a boy, his tongue 
 still retained as strong a love for its language 
 as his heart did for its soil. 
 
 Trinculo says, " Misery acquaints a man with 
 strange bedfellows:" it certainly levels all dis- 
 tinctions. Pride and poverty had so struggled 
 away the strength oi my boyish mind, that 
 even the rough kindness of this weather-beaten 
 Scotchman so subdued my care-devil nature, that 
 " tears, the heart's best balm," flowed in torrents, 
 and I sobbed long and loud in his arms; had he 
 
 been my father, 1 am sure I should have felt as 
 I did then, but 
 
 " I never a father's protection knew — 
 Never had a father to protect." 
 
 " Dinna fret man, dinna fret ; there's na use i' 
 fretting — I ha' heard o' your scrape. Deil scoup 
 wi' the feller as caused it — he's an awsome body 
 that, and naebody su'd care till anger him — but 
 ye was a'ways a rattling cheel. But ye ha' a 
 gude friend i' the admiral, and he'll pass it a' 
 ower easy." 
 
 " He has passed it over easy" said I : "he has 
 obtained my discharge by sick-list, to save me 
 from a court-martial, who, in its mercy, might 
 have condemned me to be shot. Damn the ser- 
 vice ! and all that belongs to it." 
 
 " Nay, nay," said he, soothingly, " ye wold na' 
 damn me?" 
 
 I could not speak — my heart felt as if it had 
 overflowed up to my neck — I grasped his honest 
 hand. 
 
 "I didna' ken the case was sae bad," said he: 
 " let's say na mair about it ; you must awa home 
 wi' me. Oh, you need na stare, I ha' got a home 
 and a wile too — 
 
 " ' In every port we find a home, 
 In every home a wife, sir." 
 
 " Oh, she's a real wife — I was na' but bleating 
 out an auld snatch of a song just to cheer ye up 
 like. Heave a head wi' the trunk, Sieeney — " 
 to the seaman, a long, red-whiskered fellow; a 
 countryman, no doubt. " I ha' gotten a wee drib- 
 ble o' Port wine in a keg in it, whilk I'm taken 
 right through the yard" — with an amateur smug- 
 gler's look — " so they mayna' suspect ony thing ; 
 the puir body at home is fond of a wee sup, hot 
 wi' sugar, aibre turning in." 
 
 His explanation of the contents of the box was 
 supeifluous, for I heard the well-known squish, 
 squash, as the man again lifted it on his shoul- 
 der. Alter passing unmolested through the dock- 
 yard, a few short turns brought us to a shoe- 
 maker's shop; behind the counter was a little 
 man with wax-ends and upper leather written in 
 his face (what a strange thing it is that shoe- 
 makers always look like shoemakers): he was 
 employed in lighting a second candle, for it was 
 then dark. 
 
 "Awa' above wi' the prize, Steeney, and tell 
 Missus Mackay," with a strong emphasis on the 
 Missus, and a twinkle of his good-natured eye at 
 me, " tell Missus Mackay to put a' to rights, as 
 she ca's it — I ha' gotten a gentleman wi' me. 
 Mr. Hobblin," to the shoemaker ('twas his real 
 name). " this is the gentleman I tell'd ye of, as 
 got me made" (here he gave me another disa- 
 bling shake of the hand). " I'll tell ye a' about 
 it — and that'll gi' the auld woman time till get a' 
 ready — she's a wee bit fussy; but, gude sir r 
 gude — take a chair — I can sit anywhere," poun- 
 cing his ponderous person on a pile of sole 
 leather in the corner, which his weight brought 
 immediately to within a foot of the floor; "ye 
 need na' mind, Master Hobblin; no harm done; 
 it's got till be hammered, ony how. Weel, ye 
 see, I was on liberty, taking a cruise on the Holy 
 Ground, as they ca' it ; if ye was ever at Cove o' 
 Cork, ye maun ken, there's na sic a place for 
 fun in a' England, or Scotland till boot — weel, I 
 was having a crack wi' an auld shipmate as be- 
 langed till the Yulus— he was braggin' o' his ship,. 
 but na braggin' o' his captain ; ye ken when fel- 
 lers are afore the mast," here he polished one of 
 the anchor buttons on his sleeve, "they will ■■'
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 13 
 
 scramble sometimes wi'out cause — but in his 
 case. 1 dare say, he was na' far out in his reck- 
 oning. Weel, ye see, as I could na' brag my 
 ship against his, 1 bragged on our captain — he 
 comes frae puir auld Scotland — and naebody had 
 inuckle chance till say onything against him; 
 he wad but just walk up the 'commodation lad- 
 der every day at twal o'clock, and if there was 
 Da' ony punishment, he'd mak his bow and gang 
 down again ; and it there sud be a needcessity to 
 punish some puirdewil, he'd na' seem to takony 
 pleasure in it — just read the articles o' war, and 
 ask the teller if he wad prefer till be tried by a 
 court-martial, and raair than likely get hanged, 
 or take twa or three dozen at aince. In course 
 they a' did, whiles I belanged till the ship, but ane 
 puir, daft toad o' an Irishman, and he wad insist 
 till be tried by the laws o' his country, as he ca'd 
 it; and he dangled at the ear-ring o' the ibreto'- 
 s.il yard — there's na gude in being ower obsti- 
 nate — weel, ye maun ken, if it was for naething 
 mair than owerstaying liberty, or the like o' 
 that; when they'd gotten a dozen or sae, he'd 
 whisper till the doctor, and the doctor wad whis- 
 per till the captain, and he'd say, ' Master-at- 
 arms, take him down ;' then they'd pipe the sides- 
 men, and he wad make his bow and shove off. 
 Weel, ye see, as I had got till windward o' him 
 as till our commander (that is, our captain — the 
 admiral was the commander, o' course, though 1 
 ne'er seed him but aince, and then he was a 
 horseback; 1 bow'd till him as in duty bound, 
 and he bow'd till me becase he liked it), I 
 thought I wad brag o' the ship a wee bit ; ye ken 
 frae Mother Oakley's door ye can see her, 
 moored otf Haul-bowlin Island; weel, ye see, 
 just as 1 was pointing out the beauty o' her 
 model — crack ! crack ! goes the muskets o' the 
 twa centries o' the Tender, and in a minute a'ter- 
 wards three out o' lour marines blazed awa frae 
 the Trent, but they did na' ken at what; the Ten- 
 der lying in-shore, they could na' see, as I did, 
 that four men had cut the painter o' the yawl 
 frae the guess-warp o' the Tender, and were ma- 
 king for shore. I gave chase till overhaul 'em, 
 as they made up hill, and just came up as young 
 master, here, had brought them to; ye see, the 
 sight o' a uniform till a round jacket, is like till 
 a constable's stave till you landsmen ; they were 
 fresh press'd men, and wad a' gaed quietly 
 aboard, but, in a minute or sae, full a hundred 
 women and bairns a' thegether, set up a yelloch 
 that made a' ring again, and came rampanging 
 like so many devils, wi' sticks, and staves, and 
 a' kinds o' kitchen furniture; the women fought 
 like furies, and the bairns a bletherin a' the 
 time in full chorus, we suld ha' been murdered 
 but that his boat was a' ready at the landing, and 
 sae we managed till get the men o' board. I gat 
 this gash on my cheek, and young master wi' a 
 big bump on his head instead o' his hat. We 
 had baith been in a real fuss thegither, a short 
 time afore, and was baith on the list for promo- 
 tion; there's naething like until! a friend at court, 
 Mr. Hobblin ; he had gotten the ear o' the ad- 
 miral, and sae he put baith this and that thegith- 
 er, and I was made a gunner, and sent on board 
 the Dryad. But let's awa aloft and see the 
 auld woman." 
 
 Eve, they tell us, was made out of one of her 
 husband's ribs; Mrs. Mackay (as far as bulk 
 was concerned) could have been made very ea- 
 sily out of one of her husband's legs ; he was 
 a remarkably large man, and she a remarka- 
 b.y small woman, but the best brewer of punch 
 
 I ever met with before or since. We had a jo- 
 vial evening — in vino Veritas — I tola all ; and 
 Mrs. Mackay insisted that she should make me 
 up "a nice bed on the sofa," and remain and 
 take "pot luck" with them till pay-day came, 
 when my old shipmate would settle up arrears, 
 and I should quit the mess at the White Horse. 
 His vessel was undergoing repairs, and he was 
 on shore-duty at the navy yard, having flint- 
 locks shipped on the carronades. " A maist 
 abominable invention," as he said, "just as 
 much as till say that every captain o' a gun at 
 the Nile, St. Vincent, or Trafalgar was o' no 
 gude till the service." 
 
 To gratify my friend and amuse myself, I had 
 taken an " inveterate likeness" of my old ship- 
 mate, and another of his little wife ; these were 
 shown to Mr. Hobbling, their landlord. His 
 brother was the deputy-mayor of the little Rotten 
 Borough of Saltash in Cornwall, at that time 
 called so with justice, for it could boast of send- 
 ing two members to Parliament to represent a 
 population six or eight houses were sufficient to 
 contain ; while Birmingham, and Manchester, 
 and other large and densely-inhabited places, 
 had no "sweet voices" in the councils of their 
 country. The chief magistrate, as I have ob- 
 served, was " despatched by deputy," and this 
 dignitary requested I would take two such like- 
 nesses of himself and wife, lor which he was 
 willing to pay any price. I undertook the task 
 for thirty guineas, and gave such satisfaction 
 that I received twenty more for making copies. 
 During the time occupied in this operation on 
 the mayor and his wife, I called, with my friend 
 Mackay, at an extensive manufactory of glazed 
 leather hats: a regulation had just been intro- 
 duced in the navy, to have an initial of the ship's 
 name, or some fanciful device, on the hat of each, 
 of the crew, as a good mark to know what ves- 
 sel he belonged to, in the event of desertion or ill 
 conduct on shore. All the mystery of the pro- 
 cess I learned by looking on, the design and ex- 
 ecution "came by nature;" and I actually dec- 
 orated with a JD, in genuine gingerbread style, 
 the hats of the crew of a ship on board of which, 
 a short year ago, I was an officer. 
 
 An old messmate, a lieutenant of marines, who 
 had borrowed a guinea of me " for an hour" 
 three weeks before, called one day (perhaps to 
 borrow another) and caught me at my degrading 
 employment, as he chose to consider it, and the 
 next morning he crossed a muddy street to avoid 
 speaking to me. But for my own part, conscious 
 pride and confidence in my own resources made 
 me for the first time in my life feel independent, 
 and that feeling has never forsaken me midst 
 many turns of 
 
 " Giddy fortune's furious, fickle wheel, — 
 That goddess blind." 
 
 But for meeting with the character to whom I 
 devote the next chapter, I might have been paint- 
 ing hats or faces " at this present writing." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your 
 feet, humour it with turning up your eyelids ; sigh a note, 
 and sing a note ; with your hat penthouse-like o'er the shop 
 of your eyes; with your arms crossed on your thin belly- 
 doublet, like a rabbit on a spit ; or your hands in your pock- 
 ets, like a man after the old painting ; and keep not too 
 long in one tune, but snip and away. These are accom- 
 plishments, these are humours ; these betray nice wenches,
 
 H 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 that would be betrayed without these : and make them men 
 of nuiL- that most are affected to these." — Love's Labour 
 Lost. 
 
 I was seated in the reading-room of the hotel, 
 thinking away the half hour before dinner, when 
 my attention was attracted by a singularly-look- 
 ing man. He was dressed in a green coat, 
 brass-buttoned close up to the neck, light gray, 
 approaching to blue, elastic pantaloons, white 
 cotton stockings, dress shoes, with more riband 
 employed to fasten them than was either useful 
 or ornamental ; a hat, smaller than those usually 
 worn, placed rather on one side of a head of dark 
 curly hair; fine black eyes, and what altogether 
 would have been pronounced a handsome face, 
 but for an overpowering expression of impudence 
 and vulgarity; a sort of footman-out-of-place- 
 looking creature; his hands were thrust into the 
 pockets of his coat behind, and in consequence 
 exposing a portion of his person, as ridiculously, 
 and perhaps as unconsciously, as a turkey-cock 
 does when he intends to make himself very agree- 
 able. He was walking rather fancifully up and 
 down the room, partly singing, partly whistling 
 " The Bay of Biscay O," and at the long-lived, 
 but most nonsensical chorus, he shook the fag- 
 ends of his divided coat tail, as if in derision of 
 that fatal " short sea," so well known and de- 
 spised in that salt-water burial-place. I was 
 pretending to read a paper, but, in fact, puzzling 
 my brain in endeavouring to recollect on what 
 side of this many-manned world I had met this 
 human being before, when a carrier entered, 
 and placed a play-bill before me on the table. I 
 had taken it up and began perusing it, when he 
 strutted up, and leaning over my shoulder, said, 
 
 " I beg pardon, sir; just a moment." 
 
 I put it towards him. 
 
 " No matter, sir, no matter ; I've seen all I 
 want to see — the same old two-and-sixpence — 
 Hamlet, Mr. Sandford, in large letters; and La- 
 ertes, Mr. Vandenhoff— oh !" 
 
 And with an epithet not in any way alluding 
 to the " sweet South," he stepped off to the Bis- 
 cay tune, allegro. I was amused; and perhaps 
 the expression of my face encouraged him to re- 
 turn instantly, and with the familiarity of an old 
 acquaintance — and that he was, 1 was convinced, 
 in some way or other — said, 
 
 " My dear sir, that's the way the profession is 
 going to the devil : here, sir, is the ' manager' 1 " — 
 with a sneer — " one of the damnedest humbugs 
 that ever trod the stage, must have his name in 
 large letters, of course; and the and Laertes, Mr. 
 Vandenhoff— he's a favourite of the Grand Mo- 
 gul, as we call old Sandford, and so he gets all 
 the fat; and d'ye know why he's shoved down 
 the people's throats 1 Because he's so damned 
 bad the old man shows to advantage alongside 
 of him. Did you ever see him V 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "Why, sir, he's a tall, stooping, lantern-jaw- 
 ed, asthmatic-voiced, spindle-shanked fellow." 
 Here he put his foot on the rail of my chair, and 
 slightly scratched the calf of his leg. " Hair 
 the colour of a cock-canary," thrusting his fin- 
 ders through his own coal-black ringlets; "with 
 light blue eyes, sir, trimmed with pink gymp. He 
 hasn't been long caught ; just from some nun- 
 nery in Liverpool, or somewhere, where he was 
 brought up as a Catholic priest; and here he 
 comes, with his Latin and Lancashire dialect, 
 to lick the manager's great toe, and be hanged 
 to him, and gets all the business ; while men of 
 talent, and nerve, and personal appearance," 
 
 shifting his hands from his coat pockets to those 
 of his tights, " who have drudged in the profes- 
 sion for years, are kept in the back-ground ; 'tis 
 enough to make a fellow sweat!" 
 
 Very adroitly blowing his nose with his fin- 
 gers, and cleaning them on a dirty, once-white 
 pocket-handkercnief. 
 
 " You, then, sir, are an actor 1" said I, calmly. 
 
 " An actor ! yes, sir, I am an actor, and have 
 been ever since I was an infant in arms ; played 
 the child that cries in the third act of the comedy 
 of 'The Chances,' when it was got up with, 
 splendour by Old Gerald, at Sheerness,when I was 
 only nine weeks old ; and I recollect, that is, my 
 mother told me, that I cried louder, and more 
 naturally, than any child they'd ever had. Thai's 
 vie," said he, pointing to the play-bill — Horatio, 
 Mr. Howard. 
 
 " A thought, more like a dream than an assu- 
 rance," flitted past my mind, and I was about to 
 ask a question, but he proceeded. 
 
 " I used to make a great part of Horatio once; 
 and I can now send any Hamlet to h — in that 
 character, when I give it energy and pathos ; 
 but this nine-tailed bashaw of a manager insists 
 upon my keeping my ' madness in the back- 
 ground,' as he calls it, and so I just walk 
 through it, speak the words, and make it a poor, 
 spoony, preaching son of a how-came-ye-so, 
 and do no more for it than the author has. But, 
 sir, I'll pledge you my honour that whan I be- 
 longed to Old Lee's company, at Totness, a lady, 
 who resided at Tor-Quay, had heard so much of 
 me in this very part, that she engaged me, at an 
 enormous expense, to represent the character at 
 her own house." 
 
 I was right in my suspicions : it was, indeed, 
 an old acquaintance, the beau ideal of my child- 
 hood, the identical Horatio. 
 
 " And after," he continued, " I had enchanted 
 them with my performance, I was had into the 
 drawing-room, had a damned good supper, gave 
 them the ' Bay of Biscay,' one of my best songs — 
 
 ' There she lay, all the dav- ' 
 
 You know the thing, I suppose ; the old lady 
 plied me with bottled porter, hot, with nut- 
 meg and sugar" (I thought of good-natured 
 
 C , the housekeeper), "plenty of preserves, 
 
 cold chicken, and pickles ; and in the morning, 
 after a thundering breakfast, she clapped a 
 knuckle of ham and a piece of pound-cake into 
 a clean sheet of paper, as she said, to pass away 
 the time in the coach." 
 
 " That was a high compliment, Mr. Howard," 
 said I, without knowing what I said : I was 
 again at home, with all my hopes unblasted. 
 " A high compliment, sir! it was the most high 
 compliment that ever was paid to any tragedian 
 of eminence, except the compliment that was 
 paid to John Kemble, when he was engaged, at 
 two-and-sixpence an hour, to read to the Duke 
 of Norfolk, when he was laid up with the gout." 
 
 I cannot vouch for the authenticity of this 
 anecdote, as I never heard of the circumstance 
 before, nor since. Dinner was announced ; with- 
 out expecting or intending him to accept my 
 cold invitation, I artificially said, 
 
 " Will you join me, sir 1" 
 
 " My dear sir," he replied, " nothing could 
 give me greater pleasure than to cut your mut- 
 ton and tap your tankard, as we say ; but I have 
 a very particular engagement at three o'clock, 
 to promenade two charming girls, the Misses 
 Buckingham — splendid creatures, I assure you
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 15 
 
 — I'll introduce you. I want to beau them up 
 and down George-street once or twice, just to 
 make a widow of my acquaintance miserable, 
 who lives in that neighbourhood. You under- 
 stand me; ha, ha, ha ! Have you the time 1" 
 
 " I have not," said I, with a suppressed sigh. 
 I thought of my watch, pawned past hope of 
 redemption. " But as I ordered my dinner at 
 three, I presume that is the hour." And was 
 slightly bowing my way between him and the 
 door, when, suddenly hooking his arm within 
 mine, he exclaimed, 
 
 "But what have we to do with the time of 
 the day 1 unless minutes were capons, and hours 
 were cups of sack, as jolly Jack FalstafT says. 
 I have taken a great fancy to you, and shall be 
 happy to befriend you in any way in my power. 
 I'll get you an order for the play to-night, and if 
 you'll go, dam'me if I don't let out a little. The 
 girls will play the devil with me for disappoint- 
 ing them, but I'll gammon 'em ; say I had a part 
 to study ; it does me good to tease 'em some- 
 times, they like you the better for it; and, as 
 you're so very pressing, I'll accept your kind 
 invitation." 
 
 I had seen enough of the world to perfectly 
 understand all this ; but I was amused, so led to 
 the dining-room and ordered another chop. 
 
 "Two." said he, "two; and harkye, sweet- 
 heart," picking up a pickle with his fingers and 
 popping it into his mouth, "let's have a pot of 
 porter directly." 
 
 I always adored character, and though I didn't 
 believe him to be a very estimable one. to me, 
 then, he was an original. He ate fast and 
 slovenly, frequently using and praising the good 
 old adage of " fingers were made before tongs " he 
 called, in a tragic tone, for " another chop and some 
 cheese !" and " a pint of porter at my expense!" 
 
 The last part of the order I instantly contra- 
 dicted. 
 
 " Well, well, just as you say," said he. " Then 
 bring Mr. Cowell another pot of porter, and make 
 haste, d'ye hear!" 
 
 Not being aware that I had mentioned my 
 name during our conversation, if it might so be 
 called, where he had had nearly all the talk to 
 himself, I inquired how he had learned it. 
 
 "Why, my dear sir, I happened to be in the 
 bar-room this morning, and the landlord came 
 in, and says he to his wife, ' What do you think, 
 my dear — Mr. Cowell has paid his bill.' 'He 
 has !' says she ; ' well, now, I declare, I always 
 thought he was a very nice young man ; and, no 
 doubt, as he has got the reminiscence as he ex- 
 pected — ' Remittance, of course, she meant. 1 
 know well enough what remittances are ; I often 
 have occasion for them myself. For, with the 
 paltry sum of five pounds a week — my salary in 
 the theatre — I find it very difficult sometimes" — 
 relying his shoestring in a large bow — "to make 
 both ends meet. You happened to pass by at 
 the time she was speaking. ' There goes Mr. 
 Cowell,' says she ; ' the most perfectest gentle- 
 man as ever stopped at a house.' I was pleased 
 myself with your appearance, and resolved to 
 form a friendship with you. But I must be off. 
 I'll call and take a cup of tea, and make it up 
 with the girls. I've got to break the neck, too, 
 of a blasted part for to-morrow night. Nay, 
 keep your seat. 'My love as yours to mine.' 
 Adieu !" 
 
 True to his word, he sent the order. I visited 
 the theatre — and was disgusted. It was one of 
 the plays I had seen in my halcyon days with 
 
 Anna. I only remembered Kemble in the cast ; 
 
 who but a professor could or would remember 
 
 any one else'? "A combination and a form, in- 
 
 1 deed, where every god did seem to set his seal, 
 
 i to give the world assurance of a man." 
 
 I was well acquainted with the text; having, 
 when quite a boy, been presented with an ele- 
 gant edition of Shakspeare by a scholar and a 
 gentleman, the chaplain of a ship I belonged to; 
 and, next to the Bible, he recommended it to my 
 particular perusal. 
 
 The manager — the large-lettered humbug — was 
 decidedly deserving the distinction "himself had 
 made," but the rest were villanous, and Horatio 
 the worst of all. I was shocked and angry at 
 my boyish judgment. 
 
 How is it that children — I mean children with 
 a fair proportion of brains — are so contradictory 
 in taste 1 I have heard a little girl bestow such, 
 pretty praise on a primrose or a butterfly, that I 
 have blushed for my own incompetence so rich- 
 ly to express my feeling ; and, in the next half 
 hour, have seen the same child in ecstasies of 
 admiration and delight at the antics of some vul- 
 gar clown in the arena of a circus. 
 
 My visit to the theatre that evening glanced a 
 ray of sunshine on my clouded path, and I ar- 
 gued thus: "If such a man as this Howard can 
 get five pounds a week for what he does, I can 
 do the same, or more. By , I'll turn actor!" 
 
 I went to my room and wrote the letter which, 
 will be found in the next chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " 'Tis easy then for a new name, 
 And a new lite, fashioned on old desires." 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 "to george sandford, esq.. 
 
 " Plymouth Dock, January 11, 1812. 
 "Sir — I wish to become an actor. I will be 
 content to receive a small amount of pay, until 
 I get acquainted with the duties I have to per- 
 form. I have learned logo, in Shakspeare's play 
 of Othello, and could easily get perfect in Bel- 
 cour, in Cumberland's comedy of The West In- 
 dian. I have seen Elliston in that character in 
 London, and have vanity enough to believe I 
 could play either of them. Your early reply 
 through the postoffice will oblige 
 
 " Yours respectfully, 
 
 "Leathley Irving." 
 
 Three anxious days passed, and " nothing for 
 Leathley Irving I" was all 1 could get from the 
 postoffice. On the fourth, " one penny!" was 
 demanded, and a very gentlemanly-looking note 
 was pushed through the hole to the following 
 effect : 
 
 "George Sandford presents his compliments 
 to Mr. Leathley Irving, and will be happy to 
 have a conversation with him at his house on 
 Thursday next. 
 " To Leathley Irving, Esq. Tuesday evening." 
 
 His address, I found, was at a handsome fan- 
 cy-shop in George-street. Of a tall, sedate, el- 
 derly lady, seated behind the counter, I inquired 
 for Mr. Sandford, and handed my card. An an- 
 swer returned in a minute, "that Mr. Sandford 
 had an appointment with a gentleman at that 
 hour, but I might name my business, or please 
 to call again." I was turning towards the door, 
 with an indignant " no matter," when the thought 
 occurred to me that I had sent in my real name ;
 
 16 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 and, in some embarrassment, I stated that I had 
 made a mistake in the card — that it was Mr. 
 Lcathlcy Irving, with whom he had an engage- 
 ment, who desired to see him. 1 was immedi- 
 ately conducted through the parlour at the back 
 of the shop, then through the kitchen, by a pret- 
 ty little servant-maid, who, alter knocking at a 
 door on one side, and waiting for a pompously- 
 sounding "Come in!" on the other, lilted the 
 latch, dropped ine a courtesy, and I found my- 
 self in the presence of a rather (had been) hand- 
 some man, of middle stature, about forty years 
 of age, with a profusion of hair (the remains of 
 last night's powder still discernible), rubbed up 
 in all directions and striking individual atti- 
 tudes, resembling the angular, dislocated curls 
 shreds of leather would make if suddenly pop- 
 ped into a broiling-hot frying-pan. He was en- 
 veloped in a larger-patterned calico morning- 
 gown (will anybody tell me why managers of 
 theatres have such a predilection for morning- 
 gowns'? I have found but one exception to the 
 fashion in eight-and-twenty years, from George 
 Sandford down to Ludlow and Smith). He was 
 pacing, with " Tarquin's ravishing ftrides," an 
 apartment as large as " parlour, kitchen, and 
 hall;" a book in one hand, and ray card in the 
 other. " Sir," said he, as he turned and met me, 
 " whom have I the honour of addressing — Mr. 
 Co well or Mr. Leathley Irving'?" 
 
 " Sir," I replied, in the same authoritative tone 
 in which he had asked the question, " the card 
 bears the name I'm known by ; but, if I turn 
 player, I choose to be called Irving." " What 
 for, sir I" said the manager, handing me a chair, 
 and drawing another close to me: "what the 
 devil for, sir 1 ? 1 have been an actor more than 
 twenty years, and have known many serious in- 
 conveniences occur to men in after life from the 
 folly of changing their names when boys. It's 
 damned nonsense, sir ! There can be but one ex- 
 cuse for a young man's assuming a false name 
 upon entering my profession, and that is, that 
 his previous course in life has made him dam- 
 nably ashamed of his own." I felt the blood 
 mount to my forehead, and I instinctively rose 
 from my chair. " Oh, sir," said my new friend, 
 with a peculiarly bland and placid smile, " keep 
 your seat; don't imagine I suspect you of hav- 
 ing cause to be ashamed of your name; 'tis the 
 reverse case with you : you assume another 
 name because you are ashamed of a pursuit 
 either your taste or your necessities induce you 
 to adopt. Now, sir, with such a feeling you can 
 never be an actor. No man can ever be emi- 
 nent in a profession he considers it a disgrace to 
 follow. The Drama, I confess, 'bears but an ill 
 name in the forest,' but the blame lies with the 
 professors, and not with the profession. 
 
 " There are myriads of men who are a dis- 
 grace to the pulpit, the bar, or the stage ; but the 
 Jtrightful responsibility of daring to unfold the 
 cloak pretended piety assumes, and the legal 
 cunning of the advocate, often lets the parson 
 and the lawyer pass unscathed, while the poor 
 player walks, with his hundred errors, stark na- 
 ked through the world, for every daw to peck at." 
 
 There was much good sense peeping through 
 his enthusiastic style of thought; and I, in very 
 honesty of heart, told him, in few words, my 
 painful history. 
 
 " My good young friend," said he, in a tone of 
 voice well trained to assist his meaning, " keep 
 the name you say you have a claim to, and now 
 are known by — you have good requisites, and, 
 
 by industry and perseverance, may become an 
 ornament to the stage. But 'tis a briery path to 
 preferment in this profession ; it requires time 
 and laborious study to make even a passable 
 performer; } r our figure, face, and voice must be 
 apprenticed, day and night, to nature. A letined 
 and well-educated mind may be formed by art 
 and industry; but it must naturally possess the 
 wonderful instinctive capacity to seize upon and 
 feel the thoughts and language of others, and use 
 them with the same ease and freedom as if they 
 were your own. To be a great actor 'is to be 
 one man picked out of ten llwusand.' Have you a 
 good study V 
 
 I replied in the negative. 
 
 " I'm sorry to hear that ; without a good study 
 your labours will be so severe you'll be disgust- 
 ed with the undertaking before you reach the 
 threshold of success." 
 
 " Oh. sir," said I, " that I can easily remedy." 
 
 "How, sir 1 how? Practice will improve it, 
 I'm aware, but how can you so easily remedy a 
 bad study V 
 
 "By changing my apartment," I replied; 
 " my chamber is next the dining hall, and unless 
 they give me one more privately situated, I'll 
 move to another house." 
 
 " You reprove me well," said he, with a smile : 
 "we actors use the term study for the attributes 
 of memory; the place and time for its exercise 
 are varied by circumstances and the habits of its 
 owner." 
 
 He appeared pleased to hear me say I had 
 great facility in acquiring anything I wished to 
 learn. 
 
 " Come, to the proof, then," said he. jovially; 
 " let's have a speech straight. You say you are 
 perfect in ' Iago;' let's have one of his solilo- 
 quies, with good emphasis and good discretion." 
 
 He saw my embarrassment, and, in pure good 
 taste, waived the subject; not like some puppies 
 I have since seen sit, in satirical pomposity, en- 
 joying the tortures of some trembling tyro, though 
 that very sensibility is the best indicative of tal- 
 ent, and the sure attendant upon genius. 
 
 " Sir, I propose you shall make your appear- 
 ance in Belcour this day week; but — " he contin- 
 ued, " be most dreadfully perfect, not only in what 
 you have to say yourself, but in whatever any 
 one else has to say to you ; get so awfully perfect 
 that, if you are suddenly awoke in the night, you 
 will be able to repeat the whole character with- 
 out hesitation. In the mean time, it will smooth 
 your path to get acquainted (in the way of bu- 
 siness) with the company — and I am proud to 
 say I have some gentlemen in my employ; Mr. 
 Moore, an excellent low comedian, and a prop- 
 er man, and Vandenhoft", though with very lit- 
 tle talent, possesses a superior mind, and an ex- 
 cellent education. Inquire for me at the stage- 
 door this evening, and take a t6te-a-t6te dinner 
 with me at three to-morrow, and any advice or as- 
 sistance you may require, and I can give, you 
 may command." 
 
 This was the man " Horatio" had described 
 as an insolent, tyrannical blackguard. 
 
 Poor George Sandford. He died a few years 
 since, regretted and respected by all whose good 
 opinion he would have condescended to care for 
 while living. He was a native of the city of 
 New- York; and 'tis somewhat strange that my 
 best theatrical friend and manager first saw the 
 light in the same city where my last born open- 
 ed her eyes, and in a country I by choice have 
 been a citizen of for more than half my thinking
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 17 
 
 life. I shall like to meet that man in the other 
 world, and tell him all about his native country. 
 He was an excellent general actor. I have rea- 
 son to believe his education was intuitive (the 
 better, alter all). His King Lear and Doctor 
 Pangloss were the most finished representations 
 of the characters I ever saw. 
 
 I visited the green-room, where I was favour- 
 ably received, particularly by the ladies, among 
 whom was a sister of Alec. Drake, for many 
 years the favourite comedian of the "West." 
 She had a pretty voice, pretty face, but waddled 
 like a duck. She was my Louisa Dudley. 1 
 tried very hard to be really in love with her, for 
 the sake of increasing the effect, but I believe 
 she succeeded better than 1 did in the experi- 
 ment. I had three carefully-conducted rehear- 
 sals, each one serving to convince me more 
 strongly that I was incapable of the task my 
 selt-esteem had induced me to believe so easy. 
 
 The night arrived — January the twenty-third, 
 .1812. 
 
 " T7ie part of Belcour by a gentleman, his first 
 appearance on any stage"' attracted a full and 
 very fashionable house. Admiral Calder, the 
 commander of the port, and a large party, occu- 
 
 Eied the stage-box. 1 had many shipmates in 
 arbour at the time, and some relatives: all, of 
 course, attended, induced by pity ; how I hate the 
 word — scorn or curiosity. 
 
 I had been used to danger in many shapes, and 
 fear is not an attribute of my nature, but I was 
 most damnably frightened on that occasion. I 
 . spoke the words mechanically, but I could nei- 
 ther see nor hear; my mouth was parched ; what 
 to do with my hands I knew not ; 1 deposited 
 them in all sorts of places ; if both ;.rms had been 
 amputated, I felt assured I should have been re- 
 lieved of an abominable encumbrance. Embar- 
 rassed by my embarrassment. Stockwcll bungled 
 in one of his speeches : I repeated it, and then 
 spoke mine in reply; the audience, confound 
 them, laughed and applauded. I felt I had done 
 wrong: my brain whirled in confusion, and I 
 rushed off the stage before the conclusion of the 
 scene, amid deafening shouts, yells, and huzzas, 
 such as are generally humanely bestowed upon 
 the retreat from a butcher's-stall of some poor 
 devil of a dog with a tin kettle tied to his tail ; and 
 at that moment, L have no doubt, I experienced 
 precisely the same sensations. 
 
 " For God's sake give me a glass of grog!" I 
 stammered out ; "and, my dear sir," grasping the 
 hand of the manager, kindly extended to me at 
 the entrance, "finish the part for me: I feel my 
 incapacity, and only regret my conceit caused 
 me to make such a jackass of myself." 
 
 " Pho, pho ! you must conclude what you have 
 begun," said he, in his positive but gentlemanly 
 manner; "the first plunge is over, you'll feel 
 your power in the next scene; your great fault 
 is, you try to do too much ; stand still, don't act, 
 and speak louder; think you are talking to some 
 one in the gallery, and then, if you only whisper, 
 you'll be heard all over the house: take another 
 sup of brandy and water — there — that's your cue." 
 
 I felt encouraged by grog and good advice, 
 and the next scene is a very effective one: I im- 
 itated^Elliston as well as I could, and was ad- 
 mirably supported and encouraged by the manner 
 of the excellent actress who performed Mrs. Ful- 
 mer, and I retired amid the unbounded applause of 
 a brilliant and overflowing audience. 
 
 " There," said my mentor, triumphantly, 
 " didn't I tell you how it would be ! 'tis decided- 
 C 
 
 ly the best first appearance I have seen for 
 years." 
 
 I gained courage as the comedy proceeded ; and 
 at its conclusion, the manager, amid thunders of 
 applause, announced it for repetition on the Sat- 
 urday following: " The part of Bdcour by the 
 young gentleman who had been so favourably re- 
 ceived that evening." 
 
 The barbarous lashion was not then invented 
 of demanding the presence of the object of sup- 
 posed admiration or ridicule, to add to his mis- 
 eries, by expecting him to speak, or bow, or 
 make a fool of himself in some way or other, 
 which, nowadays, these victims of vanity on both 
 sides usually do. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food ? 
 Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce 
 A thievish living on the common road ? 
 This I must do, or know not what to do : 
 Yet this 1 will not do, do how I can ; 
 I rather would subject me to the malice 
 Of a diverted blood." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Everybody said my performance was most 
 excellent for a first appearance, but I felt no self- 
 satisfaction. To the inexperienced, the more 
 pure and true to nature acting is, the easier it 
 appears; but to rant, and shout, and "out-herod 
 Herod," distort the face and form in a way that 
 no human being ever did off the stage, in his 
 senses or out of them, seems a most arduous un- 
 dertaking. This caused the delusion under 
 which I laboured. In the seven plays I saw with 
 Anna (we ne'er shall look upon their like again), 
 all difficulty was so concealed by the refinement 
 of art, that I foolishly, yet firmly, believed I could 
 sustain any of the characters quite as well, with- 
 out dreaming I should ever be put to the test. I 
 have no data of any kind, lam sorry to say, but the 
 impression they made on my memory is as fresh 
 at this distant period as it was the morning after 
 I saw the performance, and I will name part of 
 the "casts" of some of them. 
 
 The West Indian. 
 Belcour ----- Elliston. 
 
 James H. Caldwell is the only actor on this 
 side the water I have seen approach him in gen- 
 teel comedy. 
 
 O'Flaherty - - - - Johnstone. 
 
 Worth a hundred Powers, if even Power had 
 been really what he had the tact to make the 
 public believe he was. 
 
 Charles Dudley - - De Camp. 
 Then a most elegant young man, and an ex- 
 cellent actor, in spite of his conceited, paw ! paw ! 
 voice. 
 
 Varland Dowton. 
 
 Then in his prime; a shadow of his former 
 self came to this country about three years ago. 
 
 "All that's bright must fade. 7 ' 
 Stockwell - - - - Powell. 
 Charlotte - - - - Miss Duncan. 
 A delightful actress in such characters. 
 
 Louisa 
 
 I forget her name, but she was a most beauti- 
 ful creature (almost all that is necessary for the 
 part). I remember I praised her so highly, that 
 poor Anna declared she thought " she was a per- 
 fect fright."
 
 18 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 Hamlet. 
 I recollect nothing but Kcmble, and that his 
 brother Charles was Laertes; but "the King, the 
 Glueen, and all the Court," are all buzz. 
 
 Isabella. 
 
 The principal characters by Brunton, Charles 
 Kemble, Keinble, and Mrs. Siddons. 
 
 On the Saturday I was more collected; my 
 hearing and sight were restored; though I was 
 often interrupted by some sea-phrase applicable 
 to the sentence I was uttering, or a well-meant 
 expression of encouragement, every now and 
 then, from, probably, some old shipmate, to the 
 great amusement of the rest of the audience ; and, 
 at the conclusion of the performance, "Three 
 cheers for the blue jacket!" was announced, and 
 performed in full chorus. This latter compli- 
 ment I was in the habit of receiving upon the 
 slightest occasion, during the season ; for, though 
 I had been dismissed the navy with a " flea in 
 my ear," my offence was "a feather in my cap" 
 in the estimation of my comrades of my own 
 grade, or those beneath me. " By the Eternal ! 
 I had the popular vote," as my friend General 
 Jackson would say. 
 
 The pit, gallery, and upper-boxes of the Dock 
 Theatre, at that time, were crowded with sailors 
 and marines, with their loivesforaweck, and dock- 
 yard ma-tes, as they were called, between whom 
 and the round-jackets existed a continual " well- 
 fought war." These jolly " gods" had a nick- 
 name for nearly every member of the company. 
 I found they greeted my friend Horatio with, 
 "Hurra for Sky-blue!" This appellation he 
 had gained in consequence of his great attach- 
 ment for the very " tights" he wore the first 
 morning I met with him. He played Major 
 O'Flaherty ; there they were, with a gold band 
 down each side. He rendered them, as actors 
 say, "a very useful property." They could be 
 worn, " for a change," with black Hessian-boots, 
 or russet, or shoes of any colour with stockings ; 
 but sandals they set at defiance; for shabby- 
 genteel characters, a red or white patch or two 
 made them " very characteristic ;" and as to 
 stripes, they would bear any but blue. 
 
 About this period there was a certain "odd 
 kind of a new method of swearing" ran through 
 the fleet, and " By Cheeks the marine" was a fa- 
 vourite oath. A very old actor, of the name of 
 Chambers, whose weakness it was to boast con- 
 tinually that he had " had his ancestors too," 
 on that evening was struck by an apple, thrown 
 from the gallery ; taking it up, he stepped for- 
 ward, and very pompously said, " I'll give twenty 
 pounds to know who threw this apple !" " Cheeks 
 the marine !" cried a voice from above. When 
 the shout the response created was over, draw- 
 ing himself up, and glancing at the commander 
 of the port in the stage-box, he said, with a sigh 
 to bygone greatness, " In my schoolboy days I 
 knew an admiral of that name." " Huzza, boys ! 
 huzza! three cheers for Admiral Cheeks !" He 
 had christened himself most effectually forever 
 in that company, to his own annoyance, and the 
 destruction of any serious scene in which he 
 was concerned. For the last five-and-twenty 
 years I would have gloried in them as a low 
 medy audience; but at that time they often 
 played the devil with my juvenile tragedy. 
 
 Mackay and his wile were loud in their en- 
 comiums. 
 
 "Ye looked sae slick-like," said my honest 
 friend, " wi' ye'r white silk wash-boards till ye'r 
 
 coat; ye looked mair like a sailor than a' the 
 rest thegither, wi' ye'r bonny leg a leetle bow'd, 
 and baith ye'r taes turned in, as if ye'r war 
 stonding firm on ye'r shanks in a chappin sea.; 
 an' the hitch ye gave ye'r small claithes when 
 ye said onything clever was the best o' a'. I 
 ne'er seed but ane actor as guid, and he was na 
 sae much better nether — 'twas a leetle Scots 
 pony, at Portsdown Fair. He was a saucy 
 wee bit toad that, that when his master wad 
 say till him, ' Billy, what's tlue hour, my chiel T 
 he'd paw, and paw — ane, twa, or as mony as 
 it was, as natural as a quartermaster makin' 
 eight bells." 
 
 Now this I considered the highest compliment 
 paid to me by any of my friends ; and how oftea 
 since would I have preferred being said to be 
 "almost as good as a learned pig, or pony" thaa 
 " to be 'nearly equal" to some two-legged baboon, 
 with a red tail, black eyebrows, and a mouth 
 from ear to ear ! 
 
 The following day (Sunday) I dined with the 
 manager. After the cloth was drawn, his good 
 lady had retired, and he had twice thrust the de- 
 canter towards me, he said, " I requested this 
 interview, Mr. Cowell, that we might talk over 
 and consider in what way I could serve you.; 
 but a letter I received this morning, most fortu- 
 nately, points out a path for you at once. I can- 
 didly tell you, I have no doubt on my mind as 
 to your ultimate success in the drama. Mr. 
 Fisher, a friend of mine, who has a small com- 
 pany travelling in Cornwall, writes me here to 
 recommend (if in my power) a young man to 
 supply a vacancy in juvenile tragedy and light 
 comedy; there you will gain confidence by con- 
 stant practice, and next season I will be happy 
 to receive you. I will, therefore, if you say so,, 
 write to him to-day, and name you." 
 
 I thanked him, but respectfully declined his 
 offer : to engage to play juvenile tragedy and 
 light comedy, without knowing a single charac- 
 ter, with a stranger for my manager, and per- 
 haps a stranger company, was an undertaking 
 too appalling for me to accept. " But, my dear 
 sir," I continued, " if you will permit me to re- 
 main with you, and play at intervals any parts 
 you may think me capable of sustaining, I will 
 paint portraits and teach drawing in my interims 
 of leisure for a living, and not require any pay." 
 
 " Sir," said he, with emphasis, " an amateur 
 I have a horror of; we have actors enough al- 
 ready, 'e'en as many as can well live one by an~ 
 other ;' the line of business you are fitted for at 
 present is already filled, and it is the etiquette of 
 the profession never to dispossess an actor of a 
 character he has once played, if he is at all ca- 
 pable of sustaining it." i 
 
 I felt and looked, I imagine, mortified and dis- 
 appointed. " Then," said I, "since there is no 
 hope of an engagement this season, I will teach 
 drawing and navigation (if I can get any pupils), 
 and wait till next year." 
 
 After a pause of a minute, with his expressive 
 eye looking through me, he said slowly, 
 
 " I know what it is to have our youthful ar- 
 dour blighted. I adore my profession," he con- 
 tinued, with enthusiasm, "and am always proud 
 to enlist a gentleman in its ranks: my only 
 reason for hesitation in the matter is, that though 
 I have the whole control here, I am connected 
 with Mr. Hughes, the proprietor of Saddler's 
 Wells, and he is unwilling to add to our ex- 
 penses; but," he continued, carelessly, "I'll 
 manage it. Let me see ; we must try you in
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 19 
 
 Shakspeare. Can you get perfect in Ross and 
 Lennox, in Macbeth, by Thursday'? We make 
 the two parts into one, for want of numbers. 
 Wednesday we wish to do it, if you can get 
 ready — the lines are difficult." 
 
 " Easily, sir," I replied. ,: I believe I'm per- 
 fect in the whole play." 
 
 "Well," said he, "that's more than the last 
 gentleman was, even in the parts I speak of, 
 and he has been on the stage these twelve years. 
 As to the teaching, get Mrs. Sandford to place 
 one or two of your beautiful drawings in her 
 shop, and I'll engage she'll obtain you more pu- 
 pils than you can attend to, as you cannot possi- 
 bly spare more than two or three hours a day 
 from your studies. Now as to the shillings and 
 pence part of the business. The highest salary 
 we give is a guinea and a half per week, and I 
 will put your name on the books for one-pound- 
 one." 
 
 I thought of Horatio's boasted five founds a 
 week, and I felt, and appeared, astonished, I sup- 
 pose. The manager, with disappointment and 
 anger joined in the expression, gave me a severely 
 scrutinizing look ; this increased my embarrass- 
 ment, and, with the blood mantling in my face at 
 the horror of his suspecting (after all his kindness) 
 that the small sum he offered me was the cause 
 of the feeling I displayed, I exclaimed, with en- 
 ergy, " You wrong me, sir, indeed you do. I 
 have not the power to give utterance to the high 
 sense I have of your kindness to me ; the sum 
 you name is much more, I am confident, than I 
 can at present earn, and you have wrongly con- 
 strued my thoughts if you imagine, for a mo- 
 ment, it was that which caused my surprise ; it 
 was my astonishment that Mr. Howard should 
 have gratuitously told me that he received five 
 pounds." 
 
 " My dear young friend," said he, stretching 
 across the table to shake me heartily by the 
 hand, " you have much to learn of my profes- 
 sion yet. I make it a rule never to name the 
 amount of an actor's salary to anybody, but in 
 this case it is necessary. Mr. Howard receives 
 twenty-five shillings a week, and if his intellect 
 was valued, instead of his utility, he wouldn't 
 obtain five." 
 
 I expressed my indignation that he should, un- 
 asked, have told me such a falsehood. 
 
 " Oh ! he meant no harm," said he, laughing; 
 " 'tis the fashion or habit of nine actors out of 
 ten to declare their income is at least three times 
 as large as it really is, and their benefits are al- 
 ways said by them to be fashionable and over- 
 flowing houses; they boast on these points so 
 continually, that they at last actually believe it 
 themselves, and run in debt, generally, in the 
 same proportion." 
 
 Both apparently well pleased with the termi- 
 nation of our negotiation, we parted, with a glass 
 of wine to my success as an actor. 
 
 What strange animals we poor human beings 
 are ! I had, foctwo hours or more, felt as if my 
 very existence depended on my obtaining this 
 employment, and I had scarcely let the door 
 close behind me when I felt as if I ought to go 
 back and decline the engagement. A thousand 
 contradictory feelings filled my mind at once. I 
 hurried on, as if to outwalk my own thoughts. 
 I stopped, out of breath, at the corner of a street 
 — looked up at the new moon with the inquiring 
 gaze of an old acquaintance, but before I had 
 time even to ask advice from that quarter, a 
 cloud, " black like an ousel," hid her from my 
 
 view. " My conscience, hanging about the neck of 
 my heart, said very wisely to r nic," " If you take 
 this step you must resign all hope of your ever 
 regaining your past position." Pride — revenge — 
 yes, revenge ! — I know no other word nearer to 
 my meaning — and a sort of " danvme-if-I-care- 
 for-anything-or-anybody" sensation, carried the 
 point. I went home and read Ross and Len- 
 nox from the acting copy, and have been an 
 actor ever since. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Then to the well-trod stage anon, 
 If Jonson's learned sock be on ; 
 Or sweetest Shakspeare, fancy's child, 
 Warhle his native wood-notes wild." 
 
 Milton 
 
 On the Monday morning I was formally in- 
 troduced as a member of the company, and most 
 kindly welcomed by all; but particularly by the 
 gentleman with whose interests I was most like- 
 ly to interfere. This display of indifference by 
 those who are suffering in dread and dismay lest 
 you push them from their stools, is very common 
 in the profession, and generally overdone : they 
 are usually what may be called too d — d affec- 
 tionate. In England, they conclude a sort of 
 negative complimentary chat with " Suppose 
 you take your dinner with me V supposing they 
 have got one to offer; and on "this side of the 
 water" they always say, " Let's go and take a 
 drinkl" The arrangement of my dress for the 
 twin Scotchmen the manager had promised to 
 attend to ; but the loan of "properties, or anything 
 I have, is perfectly at your service," was itera- 
 ted by all. Howard said, " My boy, by — , I'll 
 lend you my blue tights — oh, you're perfectly 
 welcome, I don't wear them till the farce : Ban- 
 quo's one of my flesh parts — nothing like the na- 
 ked truth — I'm h — 1 for nature. By-the-by, you'll 
 often have to wear black smalls and stockings; 
 I'll put you up to something: save your buying 
 silks, darning, stitch-dropping, louse-ladders, 
 and all that : grease your legs and burned-cork 
 'em — it looks d— d well ' from the front.' " 
 
 All my worldly experience had been gathered 
 in a cockpit, the members of which are hetero- 
 geneous enough in all conscience, but they have 
 all exactly the same duty to perform, the same 
 pay, same living, same law to abide by, and, 
 generally speaking, are of about the same grade 
 in the scale of society, even before the service 
 has levelled all distinctions. Judge, then, how 
 incapable I was of understanding or apprecia- 
 ting the eccentric and contradictory habits and 
 manners of my new allies. The "quantity of 
 materials thought necessary by the three witch- 
 es in Macbeth to " make the gruel thick and 
 slab," are not more opposite and various in their 
 compound than the origin and character of the 
 " Ladies and Gentlemen" attached to the theatri- 
 cal profession. " There lies the villany :" if 
 there could be instituted a college — a school — an 
 ordeal of any kind to be passed before man or 
 woman were admitted to be an actor or actress, 
 the Drama, blazing in its own brightness, would 
 be honoured and respected. 'Tis true, many 
 have risen from the lowest dregs of society to 
 the topmost pinnacle of theatrical ambition — 
 Mrs. Abington and Kean may be named as ex- 
 traordinary instances — but how many remain 
 floundering in their original mire, sullying the 
 fair fame of those deserving moral estimation :
 
 20 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 The world never thinks of drawing a distinc- 
 tion ; and. indeed, by what rale could it make 
 one 1 We don't .stop a man in the street with a 
 muddy coat to ascertain ii'he had soiled it by help- 
 ing some blackguard out of a gutter, but con- 
 lent ourselves with thinking he's a dirty fellow. 
 The kindness of the manager, and the preju- 
 diced indulgence of the audience, made me a fa- 
 vourite with both. Sandford's prediction was 
 verified as to the teaching, and 1 was in the re- 
 ceipt of a handsome income immediately. I 
 charged a high price, and undertook to instruct 
 
 The law might have been argued, according 
 to the statute in that case made and provided, 
 till Munden had made the fellow laugh himseli 
 out of his pay altogether, had not Sandford sent 
 the man off with a shilling, and requested the 
 great actor to go on with the rehearsal. 
 
 " We have waited two hours for you already ; 
 your letter stated you would be here last night," 
 said the manager. 
 
 " And so 1 should ; but I couldn't come 
 without wheels," replied the comedian ; " the 
 stage broke down just as we got to Ivy Bridge, 
 
 those only who had already gained some pron- on purpose, no doubt, that the robbers might pil- 
 
 ciency in the art, with one exception. I did 
 teach one "young idea" — a lovely girl of about 
 fifteen, a step-daughter of Major Watwyns— 
 a Jewess-like divinity. Is there a style of 
 beauty on earth that can compare with the Ori- 
 ental, poetic loveliness of those chosen females 
 when they are young 1 But then, they will get 
 married, and make it a rule to "increase and 
 multiply," which undoubtedly makes them more 
 interesting as wives and mothers, but it spoils 
 the poetry. There are, to be sure, exceptions, 
 and the lady I allude to is one of them. 
 
 " How long hath Chronon wooed in vain 
 To spoil that cheek !" 
 
 A few years since I had the pleasure of being 
 again introduced to my charming pupil, at Cin- 
 cinnati. She is the wife of a merchant there, 
 has a large family, and is as handsome as ever. 
 Inclalon, " the inspired idiot," was the first star 
 I ever played with. He has helped, most inno- 
 cently, to make so many books, that in his case 
 -"the wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees is 
 left (for me) to brag of;" so let him rest with 
 the " sainted Jane and Mary." 
 
 Munden, who had been underlined for a week, 
 arrived at last; the company were engaged in 
 the rehear.«ul of the " Road to Ruin," he having 
 written from Exeter to desire that he might be ad- 
 vertised for Old Dornton and Crack for that 
 night; and his nonappearance at the time he sta- 
 ted had caused some uneasiness; he was fol- 
 lowed by a porter with a large trunk. After cor- 
 dially greeting the manager and the members of 
 the company, with whom he vas before ac- 
 quainted, he said, " Sandford, my dear boy, lend 
 me sixpence." And (in a voice, oh, how rich — 
 rich is a mean phrase to convey an idea of its 
 round, articulate, expressive power) he contin- 
 ued: 
 
 " I have had my wardrobe brought to the the- 
 atre; it saves trouble, and the expense of little 
 boys bothering you for a penny a piece to carry 
 a bundle. You left the other trunk at my lodg- 
 ings, my good man 1" 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the porter, shaking into the 
 crown of his hat a tattered handkerchief, with 
 which he had just removed the sweat of his 
 brow. 
 
 " Here's a shilling, Mr. Munden," said Sand- 
 ford ; " I haven't a sixpence." 
 
 "Have you the change, my man?" inquired 
 the great comedian. 
 
 "Have I change for what, sir 1 ?" said the por- 
 ter. 
 
 " For the shilling, my dear boy," replied 
 Munden. 
 
 "And is it less than a shilling that a gentle- 
 man like yon would be offering a poor devil 
 like myself for wheeling two big boxes nearly a 
 111116? Sure the law allows sixpence a parcel, 
 if it's onlv as big as your fist." 
 
 lage me at the hotel there; the bloodsuckers 
 took every shilling I had for bed and board, and 
 bit me to' death with fleas into the bargain. I 
 had but threepence left when I made my escape 
 from them this morning; I offered them to the 
 guard, after he had collected my baggage, and 
 he told me to keep it, sir! the impudent scoundrel 
 told me to keep it, and so I did," he continued, 
 with a laugh worth the whole stage fare from 
 London to Plymouth, "and treated myself to a 
 pint of porter, and the odd ha' penny I gave to 
 Roadie's children to buy lollipops— to buy lolli- 
 pops, sir, and bull's eyes; I stopped there on my 
 way, to let them know I had arrived, and see if 
 my room was ready." 
 
 This said Roache was an old friend of Mun- 
 den's, and it is highly probable he had the room 
 without charge. He kept a circulating-library, 
 of dirty, worn-out books, quack-medicines, job- 
 printing, and children's toy kind of shop. The 
 same man had exactly the same sort of estab- 
 lishment, a few years since, at the corner of 
 Frederic and Market-streets, Baltimore, where 
 he died; the members of hi-s large family, who 
 shared Munden's lollipop, are now all engaged 
 in increasing the population of different parts of 
 the Union. 
 
 "Sandford, it will only be necessary to go 
 through my scenes — who's the Harry Dornton V 
 1 was introduced. Surveying me from head to 
 fooi with a serio-comic look from such an eye ! 
 setting at defiance description, and the shade of 
 enormous shaggy eyebrows, one of which would 
 be amply sufficient to make two pair, even for 
 Billy Wood.* 
 
 " Are you perfect, sir, in the words 1" said 
 Munden. 
 
 "Gluite, sir," I confidently replied. 
 
 " You will find Mr. Cowell," said the mana- 
 ger, "though a young actor, very attentive to 
 any business you may instruct him in, when ex- 
 plained to him in the manner you are so well 
 aware a gentleman expects." 
 
 Probably the hint was superfluous, for I ever 
 received from that great actor the most marked 
 attention. The day was so far advanced that 
 
 * William B. Wood, Esq., formerly manager, and still a 
 member, of the Chestnut-street Theatre, Philadelphia, has 
 remarkably long eyebrows, amounting to a deformity; but 
 of which nature has very kindly made him excessively 
 proud; tins amiable 'weakness, as well as his passion for 
 Bpeaking " an infinite deal of nothing," is notorious among 
 his friends ; and 'tis said "once upon a time," finding him- 
 self a stranger on a Steamboat, and m vam ndeavouring to 
 get into a " fine vralhrr" conversation with a gentleman 
 
 whose acquaintance be was anxious to make, after failing 
 in several efforts to get a " talk," at length abruptly ac- 
 costed him with, "I beg your pardon, sir, but by—, sir, this 
 is a perfect natural curiosity— a genuine N. K. I pli 
 you my honour, sir, I just pulled this extraordinary hair 
 out of my eyebrow," holding his hands up to the light, 
 about five inches apart. He carried bis point, and had a 
 most delicious hairy discussion on the merits of that orna- 
 ment, or inconvenience totbe human form divine, Irom the 
 crown of the head to the first joint of the great toe.
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 21 
 
 we couldn't repeat our rehearsal, and lie invited 
 me to take a chop with him at his lodgings, and 
 after dinner go over the scenes we were together 
 in; which, tor the sake of such instruction, I 
 readily agreed to — it was literally a chop; we 
 had one a piece, and a single sole between us 
 (a very delicate flat fish about the size of the sole 
 of your boot, both cheap and plentiful at Ply- 
 mouth), and a pint of porter, of which f declined 
 partaking, apparently to his great satisfaction. 
 The whole dinner, which he praised both as to 
 quantity and quality, he explained to me with 
 great glee, "Had only cost a shilling: sixpence 
 for the chops, three ha'pence for the fish, and the 
 remainder for the bread, potatoes, and porter." 
 The extreme parsimony of this most delicious 
 actor induced every one to believe he was enor- 
 mously rich, but at his death his fortune was 
 proved much below the general calculation. 
 Even his meanness was smothered in fun. He 
 once told me in the Drury Lane Green-room, 
 very seriously, that he had that morning adver- 
 tised his grounds for rent, and discharged his gar- 
 dener, because he had met a girl crying radishes 
 " at three bunches a penny !" On asking a lady 
 for the loan of an umbrella one wet day, she re- 
 torted, " Why, Mr. Munden, why don't you buy 
 one 1 you are rich enough." 
 
 "My dear, I've got a bran new one at home, 
 I've had these two years." 
 
 " Then why don't you use it, sir!" 
 " My dear child, if I brought it out it would 
 be sure to rain, and I should get it wet and spoil 
 the beauty of it." 
 
 Till the hour of going to the theatre we went 
 over the scenes again and again; my willing- 
 ness to receive instruction appeared to give 
 him great satisfaction, and he prophesied a 
 glorious reward for my perseverance, and in- 
 stanced himself as a proof of the consequence : 
 "who could doubt he practised what he preached, 
 when, in defiance of the labour before him for 
 the night, and the fatigue of a journey, he, with 
 all the enthusiasm of youth, for hours directed 
 the support he required in his great character, 
 which he had then played probably two hundred 
 times 1 
 
 He was, in my opinion, the best comedian I 
 ever saw. He identified himself with a charac- 
 ter, and never lost sight of it — his pathos went 
 to the heart at once, and his humour was irre- 
 sistible. In his latter years he was accused of 
 sacrificing too much for the sake of gaining 
 applause-, but I believe he endeavoured to alter 
 his pure and natural style to suit the declining 
 taste of his auditors, and compete with the car- 
 icaturists by whom he was surrounded. In 
 playing Ralph to his Old Brumagem, at Drury 
 Lane. I objected to some business he pointed 
 out, as being unnatural. " Unnatural !" said he, 
 with a sneer : " that has been my mistake for 
 years. Nature be d — ; make the people laugh." 
 But he's gone ! and if there is any fun in the 
 next world, he's in the midst of it. 
 
 " Sic transit gloria ATunden." 
 
 By great industry I rapidly improved, and be- 
 fore the close of the season I had become a very 
 useful performer at any rate. My connexion as 
 an artist was of great service to me at my bene- 
 fits, and I had two really " overflowing houses;" 
 the last, " By desire of the officers of his majes- 
 ty's ship York," nearly the whole of the crew, 
 with the band at their head and the marines 
 bringing up the rear, marched to the theatre, 
 
 crowding the pit and upper portion of the house. 
 The play was the Iron Chest, which I had se- 
 lected for the sake of acting "Wilford," to per- 
 form which character I had been sighing all [he 
 season ; but Moore, the comedian who was to 
 play Sampson, thought proper to be taken ill at 
 four o'clock in "the posteriors of the day," as 
 Shakspeare hath it, and Sandford urged me to 
 undertake the part, as the best apology to offer 
 to my friends instead of this general favourite. 
 Laughter and applause, no doubt, much more 
 than I deserved, rewarded my first effort in low 
 comedy; and all declared it was the line of busi- 
 ness in which I was destined to excel ; and I 
 thought so too ; but for the next six months I 
 had engaged for the amiable and interesting, at 
 fifteen shillings per week, at the Theatre Royal, 
 Plymouth, so that my comical propensities had 
 to do penance for that period, at any rate. 
 
 During the performance that evening, a re- 
 quest was made by an officer that one of the 
 crew, who had written a comic song, might be 
 permitted to sing it, which was readily granted ; 
 and between the acts a fine black-whiskered, six- 
 feet-high lellow made "ds appearance, amid the 
 cheers of his shipmates, and sung at least fifteen 
 verses, each ending with a Toll-loU-dc-i<l<hj-liddy- 
 loli-loli-loll. The composition consisted of a long 
 string of sailor's wit at the expense of Poll, and 
 Sue, and Jack, and Ben, and so on, which ap- 
 peared to be greatly relished by those who under- 
 stood the joke. At length he came to a pause — 
 looked embarrassed — hitched up his trousers — 
 turned his quid — scratched his head — and said, 
 " Shipmates, you know there's two more verses, 
 but they are not fit to sing before the ladies ; they 
 are rather b— . Toll-loll-de-iddy-tiddy-toll-loll- 
 loll," and away he went. Either as a tribute 
 to his modesty, or in the hope of hearing the 
 other two verses, he received a general Encore I 
 from all parts of the house; but at the same 
 place he stopped again, made his bow, and said, 
 " You know I told" you why I left oil' here be- 
 fore," and quitted the stage amid shouts of 
 laughter. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Meantime. I would not always dread the bowl,. 
 Nor every trespass shun. The feverish strife, 
 Roused by the rare debauch, subdues, expels 
 The loitering crudities that burden life ; 
 And like a torrent, full and rapid, clears 
 Th' obstructed tubes. Besides, this restless world 
 Is full of chances, which by habit's power 
 To learn to bear is easier than to shun." 
 
 Armstrong's Art of Preserving Healt/i. 
 
 The borough-town of Plymouth is about two 
 miles from Dock, and literally connected with 
 that (then) densely-populated depository for sail- 
 ors and soldiers of every grade, from admirals 
 and generals down to the after-guard and awk- 
 ward squad; marines, ma-tes, Jew pedlers, pick- 
 pockets, blackguards, and bum-boat women, and 
 other ladies with a claim to only half the title, 
 by a long lane with no turning, called " Stone- 
 house," on either side of which, leaving room for 
 a barracks on the right, was then a row of small 
 houses whose inhabitants were notoriously of 
 the feminine gender. For the information of 
 the curious in topographical knowledge, I must 
 state, that Dock can now boast of a mayor and 
 corporation, and the name of Devenport, but in 
 my day its fame emanated from 
 
 " The armaments which thunder-strike the walls 
 Of rock-built cities, bidding nation's quake,
 
 22 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 And monarchs tremble in their capitals ; 
 The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs inaEe 
 Their clay creator, the vaiu title take 
 Oflord of thee (the ocean) and arbiter of war." 
 
 The Plymouth Theatre, at Frankfort Gate, 
 by courtesy called Royal, because the Duke of 
 Clarence had once entered it, probably without 
 paying for his ticket, was then conducted by 
 Air. Foot, in connexion with Mr. Percy Farren, 
 of the Dublin Theatre, whom I never saw. His 
 son, George Percy Farren, is now in this coun- 
 try, and in the same cast of characters, I think 
 quite equal to his uncle of the London theatres. 
 Foot had been a captain in the army, and look- 
 ed like a gentleman of the roue school. Talking 
 of looks, he had one real eye for service, and an- 
 other, of glass, for show ; if he got gouged in 
 ■love or war I never learned, but a side glance 
 conveyed the most irresistibly comical kind of 
 squint ever invented by art or nature. His man- 
 ners were agreeable, and what is falsely called 
 gentlemanly, but his mind was most depraved ; 
 all moral obligations he set at defiance, and his 
 charming daughter, innocent and young, was 
 even then in training, by her father, for the life 
 of splendid infamy in which she moved for years, 
 with pity's finger pointing at her fallen state. 
 Poor Maria ! A few days before I left England 
 I met her with a servant following in Colonel 
 Berkley's livery : " She was beautiful, and if 
 ever I felt the full force of an honest heartache, 
 it was the moment I saw her." 
 
 As I before observed, my teaching put me in 
 possession of a handsome income; I therefore 
 readily entered into a bond with Foot to receive 
 only fifteen shillings per week, and play nothing 
 but good parts; thereby curtailing my utility as 
 an actor, and increasing my leisure. 
 
 The salary for each performer was put up 
 weekly by the treasurer, sealed and directed, and 
 handed round to the company, during the re- 
 hearsal, by Mrs. Foot. After I had been in this 
 employ a short time, I had (in consequence of 
 not being wanted at the theatre during this show- 
 er of gold) allowed my pay to accumulate for 
 five or six weeks; but one day, after making my 
 bow to the lady of the house, and putting my 
 little arrears in my pocket, was walking off', 
 when Mrs. Foot stopped me, in evident embar- 
 rassment, and said, 
 
 "Mr. Cowell, I have made a mistake; be 
 kind enough to let me have that money again." 
 I immediately restored to her (as I then 
 thought) the whole of the packets ; in a few 
 minutes, the call-boy handed me (as I supposed) 
 the amount due, in one parcel ; but, on gaining 
 my lodgings, I discovered 1 had unknowingly 
 retained one of the little billets she at first gave 
 me, directed and dated two or three weeks gone 
 by, and containing, to my astonishment, twenty- 
 five shillings, and the larger one the whole of the 
 balance due me, for the time, at the rate of fif- 
 teen shillings per week. In the evening I called 
 on the treasurer and explained the circumstance, 
 and presented him with the five-and- twenty shil- 
 ling parcel I had unintentionally retained ; he to 
 my disgust assured me that my salary had been 
 always charged on the books at one pound five ; 
 that he had regularly enclosed me that amount, 
 and such was the sum named as paid to me on 
 the balance-sheet, copied by him every week 
 and sent to Percy Farren at Dublin. T kept 
 my own counsel ; played, when I did play, very 
 good parts, and got the twenty-five sealed up 
 every Saturday. 
 Once Foot said, 
 
 " Cowell, you're a queer fellow; you have 
 never taken any notice of my raising your sal- 
 ary." 
 
 "Yes, I am rather queer," I replied, with a 
 laugh. He gave me a look with his real eye 
 over his nose, right through the glass one, and 
 walked away. 
 
 " What do you smile for in that satirical man- 
 ner 1" has been often asked of me, after listening 
 to an eulogium on "dear Mrs. Foot being so 
 kind as to save one the trouble of going to the 
 treasury, and handing one one's salary in such 
 a ladylike manner." 
 
 The Dock Theatre closed on a Saturday 
 night, and Plymouth opened on the Monday fol- 
 lowing, with the comedy of the " Heir at Law," 
 as best calculated to display the strength of the 
 company, and I was cast the good part of Henry 
 Moreland ; but, on the Sunday intervening, 
 Sandford gave a dinner to Foot, my manager 
 that was to be, Vandenhoff, Moore, D'Arcey, 
 and myself, and a few private friends. Though 
 a very retiring, business-like man in his mode 
 of conducting his professional duties, he was a 
 bon-vivant, in the fullest sense of the word, in 
 his own house. Wine of the best was passed 
 rapidly round ; speeches were attempted till we 
 were all speechless ; songs were sung till we 
 couldn't remember the first line; and the mana- 
 ger's, our own. and everybody's health drunk, 
 till we were too "far gone" to swallow. My 
 Scotch friend D'Arcey, well seasoned with usque- 
 baugh in the Highlands, and myself, were the 
 last to retire. I make it a rule, up to the present 
 hour, to be last at a feast, whatever I am at a 
 fray. D'Arcey couldn't remember the beginning 
 of Burns's ballad, but all he could recollect I as- 
 sisted him in singing : 
 
 "We are na' fu', we're na that fu', 
 Only a wee drap in our e'e," 
 
 and that's all I do recollect of the matter, but 
 was told I was found, long after daylight the 
 next morning, seated on a turned-up washtub, 
 drinking gin with a. dozen damp women em- 
 ployed in washing sheets and table-linen in Gen- 
 eral Nelson's coach-house. I went to bed in- 
 stead of the rehearsal, and sent the plain state of 
 the case to the manager, and Polly Lambert, as 
 he was most appropriately called by the gods, 
 for he was a very ladylike man, played the part. 
 I, of course, concluded I had forfeited my en- 
 gagement, and I think it more than probable 
 I should, but for the weekly profit I was destined 
 to prove to the " wide-awake" partner, while the 
 other was sleeping at Dublin. 
 
 The second morning, while sipping chicken- 
 broth and reading " Taylor on Drunkenness" — 
 by-the-by, a more philosophical and physiologi- 
 cal work than any temperance pamphlet pro- 
 duced for five-and-twenty years — I received a 
 pleasant note from Foot, and the next morning I 
 went to the theatre. He appeared to think it 
 an excellent joke. 
 
 "I know my friend George of old," said my 
 'he's a d — high fellow in his 
 ; a regular Charles Surface, though 
 
 own 
 
 demure as a Joseph in his business. By ■ 
 
 I think you got off very well ; I knew the con- 
 sequences, and made my escape about ten 
 o'clock, for the d — rascal laid me up for a 
 
 week once, and, by , I'm called an honest 
 
 four-bottle man." 
 
 The company was more efficient than the 
 first I was associated with, the best portion of 
 which had been selected, and several of consid-
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 23 
 
 erable talent added to the list, among whom 
 was my friend Barnes, even then called " Old 
 Jack," and "Old Barney," and he admired the 
 title then, for so he used to designate himself in 
 his benefit-bills; but now, when he has an hon- 
 est claim to that venerable appellation, he don't 
 apply it to himself, nor appear quite so well 
 pleased at being named so by others. His ami- 
 able wife, in addition to her well-known talent, 
 was then the most sylphlike, beautiful little 
 creature in existence. Ye gods ! how awfully 
 I was in love with her ! Platonically, of course, 
 I imagined then ; but, in thinking over the events 
 ef that period, I confess I recollect catching my- 
 self accusing Anna of being a little too tall. 
 
 Byron had not then made his Don Juan ex- 
 cuse for inconstancy, but I was very much of 
 the same opinion at that time, in prose, that 
 
 " That which 
 Men call inconstancy is nothing- more 
 
 Than adoration ; due where nature's rich 
 Profusion with young beauty covers o'er 
 
 Some favoured object ; and, as in the niche, 
 A lovely statue we almost adore, 
 
 This sort. of adoration of the real 
 
 Is but a heightening of the beau ideal." 
 
 But, then, more than once I remember wish- 
 ing most earnestly that my friend Jack was di- 
 vorced, or dead, and decently buried — but it's all 
 over now. What an abominable contrivance this 
 t 
 
 getting old is 
 
 Young Betty, the Roscius that had been, was 
 our first star. He was of my age, within a 
 month one way or the other; a great, lubberly, 
 overgrown, fat-voiced, good-tempered fellow, 
 with very little talent, and just tolerated as a 
 man by those who were ashamed to confess they 
 were deceived in thinking him a divinity when 
 a boy. 
 
 I have seen many infant phenomena in the 
 course of my theatrical career, and witnessed the 
 "drillings and trainings;" and if the humane 
 Martin had known as much as I do, he would 
 have included these little prodigies in his act 
 "for the suppression of cruelty to animals." 
 
 I once had a conversation with a iellow who 
 exhibited a learned dog at the Adelphi Theatre, 
 and he assured me that he had found, from ex- 
 perience, that the description of animal best fitted 
 lor his purpose was, as he expressed it, "A cur 
 that's not good for nothing else in the whole 
 world ;" and the poor beast I saw playing cards 
 and casting accounts fully came up in appear- 
 ance to his idea of the necessary requisites: even 
 Burns's " Tanted tyke, tho' e'er saeduddie." had 
 some fun in his composition, but the pitiable 
 wretch I saw " get all the applause" did not de- 
 serve even to be called a dog — a long-backed, 
 ehort-legged, sleek-haired, ungentlemanly-look- 
 ing thing, went slouching round a circle with his 
 stupid-looking eyes half closed, and his tail be- 
 tween his legs; had he been a calculating boy, 
 he would have done precisely the same, only, for 
 the want of a tail, he would have had his hands 
 in his breeches pockets. Astonishing animals 
 and astonishing children are schooled in exactly 
 the same way — extreme and continual rewards 
 and punishments — raw beef and a whip for the 
 one, and sugar-plums and a rod-in-pickie for the 
 other. It cannot be denied that there are many 
 instances of precocious genius, both in the theatri- 
 cal world and out of it, and if such favoured 
 creatures were left solely to nature, they would 
 be always pleasing, though never astonishing in 
 after life ; talent and time must walk hand in 
 hand to form the clever man. But should a 
 
 child unfortunately "sing a little song," or imi- 
 tate some caricature actor, God help the little 
 creature! especially if the parent be a player; 
 and I have generally found these scions are of 
 some " stick," not fit, as Garrick coarsely said, 
 "to carry guts to a bear:" they are instantly 
 taught to play on the pianoforte, and the drum, 
 and the fiddle, and the flageolet, and jig about at 
 the same time (as Ellen Tree's sister used to do), 
 and fencing, and dancing, and everything but 
 reading and writing, till their poor susceptible 
 little brains are so overwhelmed with the mass 
 of knowledge crammed into their little box, that 
 no wonder they sink under the weight of their 
 own pressure; and if they live long enough, 
 prove to be extremely stupid men and women. 
 
 So as some bud which nature in a freak bids 
 to peep forth before its usual time, if forced and 
 nurtured by artificial means, soon sickens, 
 droops, and withers, and in the excess of its own 
 luxuriance, dies, and is forgotten; but if left in 
 the care alone of Him who made it, it would 
 have bloomed its bright and brief career, and its 
 sweetness would be remembered and regretted. 
 
 It is necessary to state that about this period 
 I got married by accident — but not to Anna. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " How changed since last her speaking rye 
 Glanced gladness round the glittering room 
 Where high-born men were proud to wait — 
 Where beauty watch'd to imitate 
 
 Her gentle voice — her lovely mien — 
 And gather from her air and gait 
 
 The graces of its queen ! 
 Now — what is she J" 
 
 Parisixa. 
 
 Charles Young succeeded Betty ; a delicious 
 change ; equal to a squeeze of lemon after a dose 
 of jalap — a perfect gentleman and most amiable 
 man. I have often heard him called an imita- 
 tor of Kemble, but I never saw any resem- 
 blance ; it is true, his good sense made him be- 
 lieve he had not the genius to soar above his 
 great coadjutor, and he prudently contented him- 
 self to adopt his conceptions ; if you saw Kemble 
 in Hamlet one night, and Young the next, you 
 would discover no beauties stepped over, and nc 
 new ones displayed; but all that Kemble had 
 done for the character would be done by Young, 
 twenty-four hours after him, in every sense of 
 the expression. During his sojourn at Ply- 
 mouth, he played several characters to prepare 
 himself to sustain them at Covent Garden, among 
 them Richard and Sir Giles Overreach; of course 
 he was worse than Kemble was in both of them, 
 and I don't know if he ever attempted their mur- 
 der in London. 
 
 For the sake of comparison, 1 presume, soon 
 after Young departed, Foot played the Stranger. 
 I was Francis; and a very bad actor, but a tal- 
 ented, eccentric man, of the name of Reymes, 
 the Tobias. The house was very thinly attend- 
 ed, and on such occasions actors in country 
 theatres are very likely to try more to please one 
 another than the audience. 
 
 " Nay, should I lose my son, still I should not 
 wish to die. Here is the hut where I was born. 
 Here is the tree that grew with me; and — I am 
 almost ashamed to confess it — I have a dog 
 which I love," he should have said; instead of 
 which, he substituted, "a duck I love." 
 
 This unexpected alteration, of course, made 
 me laugh. 
 
 " Smile if you please," he continued, with per-
 
 24 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 feet gravity, "but hear me. My benefactress 
 once came to my hut herself. The poor bird, 
 unused to see the form of elegance enter the door 
 of penury, quacked at her. ' I wonder you keep 
 that waddling, ngly final, Mr. Tobias,' said she. 
 ■ Ah, madam/ I replied, ' if I part with my dude, 
 are you sure that anything else will love meV 
 She was pleased with my answer." 
 
 He was excellent company, and being very 
 fond of a ramble in the country, would frequent- 
 ly attend me in my sketching expeditions. I was 
 employed one day in making a drawing of Stoke 
 Church — strange, too, that I should desire a like- 
 ness of that matrimonial manufactory, for it was 
 there I was bound in the holy ties of wedlock; 
 but it was very picturesque and pleasing on pa- 
 per, for all that. Several times I was disturbed 
 in my occupation, to look round to inquire the 
 cause of a crash, every now and then, like the 
 breaking of glass ; and at length I caught a 
 glimpse of Reymes, slyly jerking a pebble, under 
 his arm, through one of the windows. I recol- 
 lected twice, in walking home with him, late at 
 night, from the theatre, his quietly taking a brick- 
 bat from out of his coat-pocket and deliberately 
 smashing it through the casement of the Town 
 Hall, and walking on and continuing his con- 
 versation as if nothing had happened. Crack ! 
 again. I began to suspect an aberration of in- 
 tellect, and said, 
 
 " Revmes, for heaven's sake what are you 
 doing V 
 
 " Showing my gratitude," said he; and crack ! 
 went another. 
 
 "Showing the devil!" said I; "you're break- 
 ing the church windows." 
 
 "Why, I know it — certainly; what do you 
 stare at?" said the eccentric. " I broke nearly 
 every pane three weeks ago — I couldn't hit 
 them all. After you have broken a good many, 
 the stones are apt to go through the holes you've 
 already made. They only finished mending 
 them the day before yesterday; I came out and 
 asked the men when they were likely to get 
 done;" and clatter! clatter! went another. 
 
 " That's excellent !" said he, in great glee. 
 " I hit the frame just in the right place ; I knock- 
 ed out two large ones that time." 
 
 " Reymes," said I, with temper, "if you don't 
 desist, I must leave off my drawing." 
 
 "Well," said he. "only this one," and crack! 
 it went; "there! I've done. Since it annoys 
 you, I'll come by myself to-morrow and finish 
 the job ; it's the only means in my power of pro- 
 ving my gratitude." 
 
 " Proving your folly," said I. "Why, Reymes, 
 you must be out of your senses." 
 
 " Why, did I never tell you V said he. " Oh ! 
 then, I don't wonder at your surprise. I thought 
 I had told you. I had an uncle, a glazier, who 
 died, and left me twenty pounds, and this mourn- 
 ing-ring; and I therefore have made it a rule to 
 break the windows of all public places ever 
 since. The loss is not worth speaking of to the 
 parish, and puts a nice bit of money inthe pock- 
 et of some poor dealer in putty, with probably a 
 large family to support. And now I've explain- 
 ed, I presume you have no objection to my pro- 
 ceeding in paying what I consider a debt of grat- 
 itude due to my dead uncle." 
 
 "Hold! Reymes," said I, as he was picking 
 up a pebble. " How do you know but the poor 
 fellow with the large family may not undertake 
 to repair the windows by contract, at so much a 
 year or month'?" 
 
 "Eh! egad, I never thought of that," said the- 
 whimsical, good-hearted creature. '• I'll suspend 
 operations until I've made the inquiry, and if 
 I've wronged him I'll make amends." 
 
 Being acceptable to the audience, and a very 
 youthful appearance, the manager was induced 
 to cast me for George Barnwell, "though, heav- 
 en knows, against my own inclining;" for I nev- 
 er had a particle of sentimental tragedy in my 
 composition. On reading the character, I was 
 disgusted with the " fool, as well as villain." 
 My whole life had been passed in the unrestrain- 
 ed society of young men, but I never met any- 
 thing like a George Barnwell in any mess I ever 
 belonged to; and I felt my incapacity to invent 
 the delineation of a character I did not believe 
 ever existed in nature ; and I entreated Foot to 
 take me out of the part. But my objections ap- 
 peared to him extremely comical ; no prayers I 
 had " wit enough to make" could move him, and 
 he persisted, I believe for the sake of the joke, 
 that I should perform the character. As usual, 
 I had waited till the last hour to swallow the bit- 
 ter morsel, and on the day it was to be perform- 
 ed, I was fuming and fretting up and down the 
 room, endeavouring to get the mawkish lan- 
 guage into my head, when an old messmate, an 
 assistant-surgeon, whom I had not seen for two 
 years, paid me a visit. I excused myself from 
 attempting to entertain him, by explaining the 
 torture I was enduring. 
 
 "Why don't you send word you're illl" said 
 the doctor. 
 
 " Why, my dear fellow," said I, " I have made 
 so many objections, that Foot would suspect at 
 once that I was hoaxing him, and be here on the 
 instant." 
 
 "Give me a pen and ink," said my old com- 
 panion. "I've saved many a good fellow from 
 disagreeable duty in the same way — there — send 
 that, and a shilling, to an apothecary, and let 
 me know about half an hour before you want to 
 be very sick, and I'll make you so, without do- 
 ing you any harm ; go myself as your physician 
 to Foot, as you call him — bring him here to be 
 convinced of the dangerous state you are in — lay 
 it all to excessive anxiety of mind, and make 
 him believe you won't live the night out. So 
 throw away the book, and let's have a glass of 
 grog together. I met Spencer, and he told me 
 who you were, and where to find you." 
 
 The plan succeeded to admiration, and, thank 
 Heaven, I have never played, or read, that worse 
 than an emetic since. 
 
 Wilson the rope-dancer, long since forgotten 
 by most thinking beings, was then all the rage; 
 crowding his own pockets and the houses wher- 
 ever he went; but. in my opinion, he was very 
 inferior to John Cline, now in this country, and 
 christened in German, very appropriately, "t/ic 
 little gentleman rope-dancer," by Charles Gilfert, 
 who took out the first patent for theatrical hum- 
 buggerv in the United States. 
 
 At about this period the British government 
 took it into their heads that the Duke of Clar- 
 i ence — having, as it was supposed, in all proba- 
 ! bilitv, sowed his wild oats, should take unto 
 himself a lawfully- wedded wife, leave off break- 
 ing the ninth commandment, and use his roy- 
 al highness's best efforts to produce an heir 
 to the throne in the event of its ever corn- 
 in? to his turn to supply such a deficiency. 
 Whether the novelty of the thing tickled the 
 old gentleman's vanity, or if "just for a bit of 
 fun," as the boys say, he consented to the oper-
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 25 
 
 ation, I know not; but he did, and thrust forth 
 from his protection the mother of his children, 
 to earn a living, for her few remaining days, by 
 the reputation of her transcendent talent, the ex- 
 ercise of which, in its zenith, had literally sup- 
 ported him in luxury for years. She might well 
 exclaim, with the creator of her own Rosalind, 
 
 " My way of life 
 Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf: 
 And that which should accompany old age, 
 As honour, lov-e, obedience, troops of friends, 
 I must not look to have." 
 And with probably just such feelings, slaking 
 former fire, the great Mrs. Jordan arrived at 
 Plymouth, to play a round of characters. 
 
 She opened in the " Widow Cheerby ;" I was 
 the " Chanc? Woodly." 
 
 "Can you lau & h, Mr. Cowelll" said Thalia 
 herself. " I used to laugh very naturally once ; 
 and to laugh well is of great importance, even 
 to a tragedian." 
 
 " Upon my life, madam, I do not know what I 
 can do," 1 replied; "I have only been on the 
 stage five months." 
 
 " Then you are a very promising young man, 
 and your good sense will make you think you 
 don't know what you can do when you have 
 been upon the stage five hundred years." I 
 laughed. " Oh, I see you can be merry," con- 
 tinued this Momus in petticoats— perhaps with 
 an aching heart. " The effect of this scene de- 
 pends entirely upon you ; keep it up, no matter 
 where you are, and, scarcely, what you say; but 
 be most joyous; I want the whole scene to go 
 well while I'm upon the stage ; I don't wish the 
 foolish people in front to praise Mrs. Jordan 
 only; I want them to be intoxicated with the 
 general effect ; but don't go so far forward— act 
 between the second entrances." 
 
 Munden, a short time before, had particularly 
 desired me to get close to the footlights ; but it 
 was very easy to account for the contradiction 
 in the instructions of these great artists. The 
 fact is, she was getting old ; dimples turn to 
 crinkles after long use; besides, she wore a wig 
 glued on ; and, in the heat of acting — for she 
 was always in earnest — I have seen some of the 
 tenacious compound with which it was secured 
 trickle down a wrinkle behind her ear; her per- 
 son, too, was extremely round and large, though 
 still retaining something of the outline of its for- 
 mer grace ; 
 
 " And, after all, 'twould puzzle to say where 
 It would not spoil a charm to pare." 
 
 There is no calamity in the catalogue of the 
 
 ills " that flesh is heir to" so horrible as the ap- 
 
 E roach of old age to an actor. I must beg it to 
 e clearly understood. 1 am not speaking from 
 my own experience in this matter. In the line 
 of business I profess, a few gray hairs some- 
 times saves a wig; and a wrinkle or so super- 
 sedes the trouble of marking the face, which I 
 was obliged to do for many years, till lately; but 
 juvenile tragedy, light comedy, and walking gen- 
 tlemen with little pot-bellies, and have-been pretty 
 women, are really to be pitied. Fancy a lady, 
 who has had quires of sonnets made to her eye- 
 brow, being obliged, at last, to black it, play at 
 the back of the stage at night, sit with her back 
 to the window in a shady part of the green-room 
 in the morning, and keep on her bonnet unless 
 she can afford a very natural wig. As long ago 
 as Garrick's time, Churchill tells us, 
 
 " All actors, too, upon the back should bear 
 Certificate of birth — time when — place where. 
 
 For how can critics rightly fix their worth, 
 Unless they know the minute of their birth* 
 An audience, too, deceived, may find too lute 
 That they have clapp'd an actor out of date." 
 
 And in the United States, at the present day, the 
 very same feeling exists to a nicety. In every 
 city on the Continent— for I have visited nearly 
 all of them— you will meet some half dozen or 
 more Paul Pn/ish old bachelors to inquire of 
 you, " How old is Fanny Drake 1" or, " How 
 old is Fanny Kemble 1 or Fanny Jarnian 1 or 
 Fanny Fitzwilliam ? or Fanny Hill V And just 
 now they were all full cry to discover the birth- 
 day of Fanny Ellsler. Ellen Tree had scarcely 
 made the usual theatrical tour before dates were 
 collected in circumstantial evidence. I played 
 with her during an engagement in Baltimore, 
 and was cross-examined on the subject by Col. 
 Jack Thomas, and other amateurs in such mat- 
 ters, but / didn't tell. 
 
 In this country, too, particularly, 
 
 "The eye must be fed." 
 A finc-looldng young man and a beautiful girl 
 can get an excellent living on the stage by such 
 material alone ; but when they begin to get old, 
 God help them ! 
 
 Always an adorer of genius in any shape, I 
 worshipped Mrs. Jordan. Her encouragement 
 fired my ambition, and her advice and example 
 I adopted as my creed. Sandford made up a 
 company to play with her at Exeter, and she in- 
 sisted that I should be one of the party. I felt 
 flattered by her good opinion, and gave up my 
 teaching for the honour, and received a compen- 
 sation for the loss of my benefit at Plymouth in. 
 an increased salary, of which she paid the half. 
 Sandford, she declared, "was like an old horse; 
 would neither go with begging nor beating." 
 The fact is, he had a style of his own, and was 
 too old to bear dictation or alter his manner. I 
 was young, and would do as she bid me, as well 
 as I could, and therefore was selected to play all 
 the off-parts to her that it was possible for me 
 to undertake; among others, Beverly, in All in 
 the Wrong, to her Belinda. All the principal 
 actressesthat I know of always choose to play 
 Lady Restless in preference ; but when Mrs. 
 Jordan was the Belinda, you would not remem- 
 ber, at the end of the comedy, that Lady Restless 
 was even in the piece. Her Nell, in the Devil 
 to Pay, was a huge lump of nature throughout. 
 Her making the bed, smoothing it down, admi- 
 ring the quality of the linen, and the simple ex- 
 pression, "I've often heard of heaven, and this 
 is it," defies description. I have seen many Job- 
 sons, but I never saw but one Nell. 
 
 At the close of the Exeter campaign I return- 
 ed to Dock, with a better salary, and a share of 
 the low comedy business with Barnes. I was 
 the original Gregory, in the Turn Out, in that 
 company ; the scene being laid at Plymouth, I 
 thought myself privileged to correct some inac- 
 curacies in localities and other matters. Among 
 them, the author speaks of " pickled salmon," 
 which is an article scarcely known there : I sub- 
 stituted the very popular delicacy, pickled cock- 
 les, using the same abbreviation the old women 
 used, to call them about the streets— it was very 
 effective then. Barnes was Restive; his wife, 
 Marian Ramsay; and Vandenhoff, Forage, an 
 excellent actor in such characters. I saw him 
 make his first appearance in London afterward, 
 at Covent Garden, and it was either too bad or 
 too good an imitation of John Kemble for the 
 public to more than tolerate then : I have not 
 seen him perform since.
 
 -26 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 Barnes was an overwhelming favourite at 
 bath Plymouth and Dock ; he owned some houses 
 in the neighbourhood, and appeared to be settled 
 for life; and, therefore, it was no place for my 
 advancement in the line of business I was de- 
 sirous to sustain. Out of a number of applica- 
 tions I received three offers. One from Mac- 
 ready, the father of the great actor, at Newcastle- 
 upon-Tyne; one from Kelly, Collins, and some- 
 body else at Portsmouth; and one from Beverly, 
 at Richmond, in Surry, which, being the near- 
 est to London, I accepted. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " But tho' he was o' high degree, 
 The fient a pride nae pride had he : 
 But wad hae spent an hour caressin', 
 Ev'n w' a tinkler gipsy's messin': 
 At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
 Nae tauted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie, 
 But he wad stan't, as glad to see him, 
 And stroant an stanes, an' hillocks wi' him." 
 
 Twa Dogs. 
 
 Sir Lucius O'Trigger boasts of there being 
 " very snug lying in the Abbey" at Bath; now, 
 in my day, I can boast of there being very snug 
 lodging in the churchyard of Richmond-upon- 
 Thames ; in a very nice little house, intended, no 
 doubt, as the parsonage, and most conveniently 
 situated for such a purpose, immediately oppo- 
 site the door, 
 
 " Where sinners enter, and like saints come out — " 
 
 but be that as it may, there I took up my 
 quarters, and there my first child was born, now 
 nearly nine years older than his father was then. 
 This circumstance makes the yard interesting to 
 me, while the church must be so to everybody, 
 in consequence of a brass plate in one of the 
 aisles : " To the memory of James Thomson, 
 author of the Seasons." 
 
 But all this has nothing to do with theatricals. 
 But if my readers will only imagine this a " long 
 stop," and walk with me through a crowd of 
 cricketers, and " playful children just let loose 
 from school," across the " grassy-vested green," 
 I will introduce them to William R. Beverley, 
 Esq., manager of the Theatre Royal, Richmond. 
 
 Of a great lubberly boy of eighteen or nine- 
 teen, who was leaning against the stage door, in 
 a long begrimed apron and shirt sleeves, with a 
 pound brush in one hand, and half a pound of 
 bread and butter in the other, I made my inqui- 
 ries. In addition to his face being very much 
 marked with the smallpox, it was well daubed 
 with blue and yellow paint, and its assumed ex- 
 pression of " serious gravity" formed altogether 
 an excellent broad hint for a caricature of Lis- 
 ton looking through a rainbow. After rubbing 
 his nose against his knuckle, and at the same 
 time the brush against his ear, with an air of 
 importance he directed me to the dwelling part 
 of the establishment, where, he told me, I should 
 find his "pa," for it appeared I had been ad- 
 dressing Henry Beverley, the son of the proprie- 
 tor. His extraordinary likeness to the great 
 comedian I afterward found was notorious, 
 and on which much hope of future fame was 
 predicted, but never was realised. 
 
 Mr. Beverley met me at the entrance, and I 
 introduced myself. 
 
 " Oh, you are Mr. Cowell — walk in — take a. 
 6eat. Well, my young 'un, what part have you 
 ever gone on for in Alexander the Great?" said 
 
 my third manager, in a slang kind of voice, after 
 the manner of a coster-monger or a hackney- 
 coachman, without a hoarseness. 
 
 " Sir !" said I : " Alexander the Great ! There 
 is nothing in the play in the way of low comedy 
 but Clytus, and I'm not able to play that." 
 
 " Able or not able, you must play what I want 
 you to play, or I shall not choose to be able to 
 pay you your salary ; but as to Clytus, it's one 
 of my pet parts— I do that myself. Young Betty 
 opens on Monday in Alexander, and I want you 
 for Hephestion." 
 
 " But, sir, your letter of engagement," which 
 I produced, "expressly says that I am to play 
 all the low comedy, save only such characters 
 as you think proper to perform yourself" 
 
 " Well, that's all very fine, my ^^111— I know 
 all that — but you see I engaged you expressly, as 
 you call it, to'supply the place of little Dornton, 
 who was to have gone to the Haymarket, but 
 Coleman, Winston, and Morris have had a b — 
 row, and the little theatre don't open this season, 
 so Dornton keeps his situation. But I'll tell you 
 what I'll do: if you'll agree to make yourself 
 generally useful, I'll give up some of my charac- 
 ters, and I play all the best; if not, I can get 
 plenty of young 'uns at the Harp or Finches" 
 (favourite haunts for would-be actors at that 
 time), "and there's no harm done." 
 
 But there was a great deal of harm done; I 
 had taken a long journey, which I could not re- 
 peat, with Mrs. Cowell " in the way that women 
 wish to be who love their lords," and had re- 
 fused the other two offers I had received. I 
 therefore very prudently put a good face on the 
 matter, and made my debut in Hephestion, and 
 Ralph in Lock and Key, which the manager 
 gave up for this night only. 
 
 He was a tall, gaunt-looking man, vulgar, 
 both in appearance and manner — a dirty shirt, 
 open at the neck; worn-out sandals for slippers; 
 and an old drab greatcoat, his dressing-gown, I 
 suppose. But I was rejoiced to find, upon ac- 
 quaintance, that he was a very different human 
 being from what might be imagined from a first 
 impression : he proved to be a kind, open-hearted, 
 honest man; I was in his employ for more than 
 a year, greatly to my advantage; and we part- 
 ed, and continued the best of friends. 
 
 His circuit consisted of Richmond, Wool- 
 wich, and Croyden; and the villages being all 
 within a few miles of London, the distinguished 
 members of Covent Garden and Drury Lane 
 were able to pay short and continual visits — we 
 had a "star" nearly every night; in conse- 
 quence, all that was required of the stock com- 
 pany was utility ; and 1 was the most useful of 
 the party. When I entered the profession, I had 
 determined to succeed, and, therefore, no labour 
 could appal me; I played anything and every- 
 thing, from high tragedy to low comedy ; and 
 to the excess and variety of practice I had in 
 that company, I feel myself indebted for all the 
 experience I have put up in one parcel since. I 
 have played Mr. Oakley to Miss Smith's (the 
 successful imitator of Mrs. Siddons, now Mrs. 
 Bartlev, if she's alive) Jealous Wife, one night, 
 and Squire Beadle, with Charles Young as Oak- 
 ley, another; Caleb Gtuotem to Paddy Webb's 
 Loonev; Captain BeamMrd to Matthews as Ca- 
 leb, aiid so on. Beverley used to boast that 
 "The young 'un" — that was his affectionate ti- 
 tle for me—" in case of necessity, could go on 
 for Hamlet, from night to night, without missing 
 a line."
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 Among the celebrated actors I played with in 
 this company, I remember the following : Mes- 
 dames Glover, Davidson, Edwin, Smith, Kel- 
 ly, Matthews, Cubit, and Booth : Messieurs 
 Young, Matthews, Munden, Webb, Elliston, 
 Emery, Sinclair, Incledon, Taylor, Blanchard, 
 Samuel Russell, Dowton, Oxberry, Rae, Betty, 
 Richard Jones, with fifty others, and the ridicu- 
 lous " Amateur of Fashion," Romeo Coates. 
 He played six or seven times during the season, 
 gratuitously, to crowded houses; and, as Bev- 
 erley expressed it, "The nasty beast paid the 
 rent." He was like a very ugly monkey in the 
 face, with long, frizzly, black hair, turned up 
 behind, usually with a woman's comb ; but in 
 Romeo it was allowed to take the natural posi- 
 tion of a horse's tail, which it resembled, and 
 was decorated with a large bunch of white rib- 
 ands. His wardrobe was of the most costly ma- 
 terials and ridiculous fashion ; his jewelry was 
 said to be of great value, and for its protection he 
 was always accompanied by Bishop, the Bow- 
 street officer. I had the misery of playing Mer- 
 cutio, Ensign Dudley, and Horatio to his Ro- 
 meo, Belcour, and Loihario. His dying scenes 
 were always encored, and so were many of his 
 speeches, amid shouts of laughter, and he seem- 
 ed to relish the ridicule heaped upon him quite 
 as much as the audience. 
 
 After one of his exhibitions, I performed Ar- 
 taxomines in Bombastes, in imitation of him 
 throughout, and the identity was so great that 
 many wagers were laid that I was really the 
 man. A piece at this time called At Home was 
 in rehearsal at Covent Garden, in which Mat- 
 thews had a part intended to represent Coates, 
 and the great mimic used to drive to Richmond 
 during its preparation to get me to read the part 
 in the way Coates would be likely to play it. 
 
 It is notorious that an imitation can be much 
 •easier caught from an imitation than from the 
 original ; the very best must partake of carica- 
 ture, and the outline, in consequence, is bolder, 
 as a copy is much easier made from a drawing 
 than a drawing is made from nature. The 
 stock company are not worth talking about on 
 the stage, and off of it I knew nothing of them, 
 with the exception of Klanert, Hughes, and lit- 
 tle Bob Kcely. The first was our principal man ; 
 he had been for some years at Covent Garden, 
 and his name will be found, in the original cast 
 of " Speed the Plough," as young Handy's ser- 
 vant, and in that line of business, I have no 
 doubt, he was excellent. Hughes went to Drury 
 Lane that season, and has been there, with 
 scarcely anybody's knowing it, ever since. Kee- 
 ly was a sort of second prompter, a very talented 
 young man in every way but as an actor then, 
 nor did he give any promise that he could ever 
 become the excellent comedian I am told he 
 now is. He was very successful as a star in 
 this country, a few years since, but I never saw 
 him act. 
 
 The immortal Kean had this year burst from 
 his obscurity, to dazzle all the world with his 
 transcendent talent. I was most anxious to see 
 this wonder, and the first night I was out of a 
 performance, Keely, who was my sworn friend 
 and companion, walked with me from Wool- 
 wich to London, and at about four o'clock in the 
 afternoon we joined a crowd already assembled 
 at the pit entrance of Drury Lane Theatre, which 
 continued to increase by thousands before the 
 doors were opened.' 
 
 Half crushed to death, we found ourselves, 
 
 after a desperate effort, at the back of the pas- 
 sage which surrounds the pit, from whence I 
 could, by straining to my utmost height, catch a 
 glimpse of the corner of the green curtain near- 
 est to the top, but little Bob hadn't even that sat- 
 isfaction. There, at any rate, we could not see 
 Kean, nor live to see anything else at the end of 
 a few hours' squeeze such as we were then en- 
 during, and we agreed to pay the extra three 
 and sixpence and go into the boxes; but as to 
 obtaining a pass check, it was impossible. We 
 had nearly as much trouble to get out as we had 
 to get in, and were content to lose our three and 
 sixpence apiece, and pay fourteen shillings more 
 for the privilege of standing on a back seat of 
 the upper tier of boxes, at the corner next the 
 stage, an excellent point of sight for a perspect- 
 ive view of the crown of a man's hat, or a bald 
 spot on a lady's head in the pit, who had been 
 obliged to take off her bonnet whether she liked 
 it or not. 
 
 "Bruised in body," and "sorely afflicted in 
 spirit" and pocket, we were just in the mood 
 not to be easily pleased with anything or any- 
 body. 
 
 When Kean came on I was astonished. I 
 was prepared to see a small man ; but diminish- 
 ed by the unusual distance, and his black dress, 
 and a mental comparison with Kemble's prince- 
 ly person, he appeared a perfect pigmy — his 
 voice, unlike any I had ever heard before, per- 
 haps from its very strangeness, was most objec- 
 tionable — and I turned to Keely, and at once 
 pronounced him a most decided humbug ; and, if 
 1 could have got out then, I should have said so 
 to everybody, because I honestly thought so; 
 and if, afterward, I had been convinced of his 1 
 enormous genius, I might, like Taylor, the ocu- 
 list, and editor of the Sun newspaper, have per- 
 sisted in my denunciation, rather than confess 
 my incapacity, at the first glance, to comprehend 
 the sublimity of Shakspeare and Nature being 
 upon such familiar terms. But I was obliged 
 to remain, and compelled to be silent; so invo- 
 king patience, and placing my hand on a young 
 lady's shoulder for support, I quietly gazed on 
 through three tedious scenes — for all the actors 
 seemed worse than usual — till it came to the di- 
 alogue with the Ghost, and at the line 
 
 " I'll call thee Hamlet— king— father—" 
 
 I was converted. I resigned the support of the 
 lady, and employed both hands in paying the 
 usual tribute to godlike talent. Father is not a 
 pretty word to look at, but it is beautiful to hear 
 when lisped by little children, or spoken by Ed- 
 mund Kean in Hamlet. 
 
 In private life Kean was the most contradict- 
 ory character I ever met with : affable and over- 
 bearing by turns — in either case without suffi- 
 cient cause. Lavishly, nay, foolishly liberal, or 
 niggardly mean and suspicious. With a refined 
 taste for music, he would listen attentively, and 
 laugh heartily, at a blackguard's song in a beer- 
 house. Devotedly fond of children and animals, 
 he was sometimes brutal in his domestic behav- 
 iour. An enthusiastic admirer of flowers, birds, 
 shrubs, and Nature in her simplest garb, he 
 would spend days and weeks in a den of vice 
 and depravity. His chosen associates were se- 
 lected from the lowest dregs of society — prize- 
 iighters, thief-catchers, and knaves and fools 
 of low degree, " as gross as ignorance made 
 drunk" — though sought after and courted by all 
 the rich and noble in mind or station. When
 
 28 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 sober, he was elegantly courteous and gentle- 
 manlike in his deportment, if he thought proper; 
 but when intoxicated, he was disgustingly coarse, 
 and vulgar in the extreme. 
 
 Kean had his degrees of drunkenness, accord- 
 ing to a calculation made by a faithful servant 
 of his, I think named Miller. This man was 
 devotedly attached to his master — all menials 
 adored him — and if Kean happened to be dining 
 with a party of gentlemen, which he was obliged 
 to do sometimes, Miller — who was as anxious 
 about his conducting himself with propriety as 
 a father could possibly be — when it was getting 
 late, and the servants were ordered to leave the 
 room, would take his station near the door, and, 
 from time to time, make the following inquiries 
 of any of the party who might pass him. 
 
 "How is master getting on, sir V 
 
 " Oh, very well, Miller," would be the prob- 
 able reply. 
 
 " Is he getting — eh V says Miller, significantly. 
 
 "Getting whatl" says the stranger. 
 
 "Getting tipsy, sir! if you must have it." 
 
 " Oh, just a little." 
 
 "Ah! I thought how it would be," Miller 
 would say, with a sigh. "And he promised me 
 he'd behave himself!" 
 
 In half an hour he would make another in- 
 quiry to the same effect, and receive for answer, 
 
 "Oh, he's just a little high — glorious company! 
 He's going to sing us a song;." 
 
 "Going to singl" says Miller, with anxiety. 
 " What is he going to sing, sir 1 What's the 
 name of the songl" 
 
 '"The Storm."' 
 
 " ' The Storm !' Ah ! I see how it is ; if he's 
 going to sing ' The Storm,' he must be getting 
 very drunk." 
 
 Another half hour would pass, and he would 
 listen at the keyhole, or, perhaps, open the door 
 quietly, and thrust his kead into the room, with- 
 draw it in an instant, and, shutting the door, turn 
 round with a look of horror, and exclaim, "It's 
 all over! he's past hope! he's out of his senses! 
 he's talking Latin! And now he's sure to make 
 a damned" beast of himself!" 
 
 i^t>_ 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "The same persons who would overturn a state to estab- 
 lish an opinion often very absurd, anathematize the inno- 
 cent amusements necessary to a great city, and the arts 
 which contribute to the splendour of a nation.'' — Voltaire. 
 
 After an unprofitable campaign at Rich- 
 mond, the company moved to Craydon, a very 
 small, anti-theatrical town at any time, but then 
 made more so by a long and severe controversy 
 between two popular preachers, who, having ex- 
 hausted their identical rhetoric, and the patience 
 of their congregations, agreed, as a last resource 
 of notoriety, to unite their whole remaining stock 
 of damnation, and hurl it wholesale at the drama 
 and its humble professors. The effect of this 
 fire and brimstone eloquence, if it may be so 
 called, was to half ruin poor Beverley, and half 
 starve some ten or twelve poor players. 
 
 " The first and wisest of them all professed 
 To know this only — that lie nothing knew. 
 ******* 
 
 Alas ' what can they teach, and not mislead, 
 I oorant of themselves, of God much more ; 
 Ai.il how the world began, and how man fell, 
 
 Degraded by himself, on grace depending? 
 Much of the soul they tali but all awry. 
 And in themselves seek virtue, and to themselves 
 All glory arrogate, to God give none." 
 
 Thus sung the pious Milton, but our perse- 
 cutors used language better suited to convince 
 their feeble-minded flock that Paradise could 
 only be Regained by prostrating the playhouse. 
 After six weeks of patient endurance, we made 
 our retreat to Woolwich. Beverley had no scene- 
 painter employed, and to aid my worthy mana- 
 ger, I engaged gratuitously to "get up" as the 
 phrase is, some showy pieces. At that period 
 of my life I was an enthusiast in anything 1 un- 
 dertook. Through the kindness of Mr. Murray, 
 of Covent Garden, I obtained an introduction to 
 Phillips, the then celebrated scenic artist, and 
 gained from him some general instructions as to 
 the colours, &c.,and the privilege of visiting the 
 painting-room. He was of the old school, and 
 though his productions were beautiful specimens 
 of art, the elaborate finish he bestowed on them 
 rather decreased than added to their effect; and 
 while in the same room, the elder Grieve (who 
 first pointed out the path Stanfield has since trod 
 to fame) was every day splashing into existence 
 a cottage or a cavern, with a pound brush in. 
 each hand; Phillips would sit lor hours with a 
 rest-stick and a camel's hair pencil shading the 
 head of a nail. My success in this department 
 of the arts, in the opinion of the kind-hearted. 
 Beverley, was superlative. He said, and I am 
 sure innocently believed. I was " the best scene 
 painter in the kingdom !" and as he was too poor 
 to pay me the price at which he valued my talent, 
 he, like an honest, liberal-minded man, recom- 
 mended me to Trotter, who had become the lessee 
 of the Brighton Theatre, and with him I engaged 
 as actor and painter, at the highest salary I ever 
 got in England, out of London. Harley was the 
 principal comedian, and as I would not play a 
 secondary part, I appeared less frequently than, 
 he did, but shared equally with him the favour 
 of the audience. He was only a few years old- 
 er than myself, but the most parsimonious young 
 man I ever knew. The next season he appear- 
 ed with great success at the English Opera 
 House, and has continued a favourite in the 
 metropolis ever since. A weak-minded, loantcd- 
 lo-be-lliought- great actor (he was foolish enough 
 to drown himself a few years since), of the name 
 of Faulkner, was a member of the company. 
 He, with a Mr. Anderson, who had got rich in 
 the employ of Stephen Kemble, as his treasurer, 
 had leased the northern circuit from that good, 
 easy man, and Faulkner, the acting partner, was 
 recruiting for the establishment. To me he 
 made an offer to lead the low comedy business, 
 but with a salary of less than one half of what I 
 was then receiving, which his persuasion, my 
 own vanity, I calied it ambition then, and the 
 flattering prophecy of Mrs. Jordan, induced me 
 to accept; and after due notice, Trotter and I 
 parted, with sincere regret, I believe, on both 
 sides. 
 
 Faulkner and Anderson's circuit consisted of 
 North and South Shields, in Northumberland; 
 Sunderland, and the city of Durham, in the 
 county of that name; Stockton-upon-Tees, and 
 Scarborough, in Yorkshire. Upon my arrival 
 at the first-named place, I found, to my astonish- 
 ment, lour low comedians besides myself, en- 
 gaged on precisely the same terms as to busi- 
 ness. Four to one were great odds, but I dis- 
 tanced them all. First, "Lewis;" he got too 
 drunk to play the first night, and was dischar- 
 ged, and for spite, kept the " same old drunk," as 
 the sailor said, for the six weeks we remained 
 in the town, and may not be sober yet, for any-
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 29 
 
 tiling I know to the contrary, for I have never 
 seen him since. Next, Brown, a brother to John 
 Mills Brown, for many years in this country, but 
 unlike him in talent; he did more good than 
 harm. Then Smith, nicknamed Obi, from his ex- 
 cellent pantomime acting in Three-fingered Jack ; 
 but he was a most melancholy low comedian, 
 and couldn't sing. And last, Porteus; he was 
 an elderly, baldheaded gentleman of forty-five, 
 who had made his first appearance on any stage a 
 few months before, as a last resource, having 
 failed in a saddler's shop at Liverpool. I had 
 everything my own way, and was, of course, a 
 great favourite, but the treasurer-manager had 
 so cunningly contrived the terms of the benefits, 
 that if an actor didn't lose by taking one, which, 
 by his engagement, he was compelled to do, he 
 thought himself well off. The journies were 
 long and expensive; I was the father of two 
 splendid children, and only a guinea and a half 
 a week, and my good spirits to feed and clothe 
 them ; I never suffered the inconvenience of 
 poverty, while on the stage in England, but du- 
 ring the year I was in this company. 
 
 At Durham I had the happiness to gain the 
 firm and lasting friendship of the great and good 
 Stephen Kemble; he there resided in a beautiful 
 little cottage, a short distance from the city, on 
 the bank of the river. In early life he had mar- 
 ried a Miss Satchell, the daughter of a then 
 celebrated pianoforte maker. She had retired 
 from the profession before my time, but had left 
 a high reputation behind her, and in parts re- 
 quiring simple pathos, was said never to have 
 been excelled ; her sister was still on the stage, 
 and married for some years to a distant relation 
 of Mrs. Jordan's, by the name of James Bland; 
 as actors, they were without talent, but had two 
 fine children, from ten to twelve years old. 
 
 When Stephen Kemble leased his theatre to 
 Faulkner and Anderson, he made a proviso that 
 they should receive each five-and-twenly shil- 
 lings per week for the services (such as they 
 were) of themselves and children. The boy 
 made the calls, the pretty little girl "went on" 
 for one of the Stranger's offspring, or a Child in 
 the Wood; the mother played slwrt old ladies; 
 and the father delivered the messages. Thus 
 the claims of Plutus bound them to a daily in- 
 tercourse, though those of Hymen had been 
 broken for years; the man's dissipation, I ima- 
 gine, was the cause of their separation — / be- 
 lieve that women are never in the wrong — but they 
 met and spoke to each other as indifferent per- 
 sons would, and 'twas droll to hear the old gen- 
 tleman say, "I must put on my other shirt to- 
 day, for I'm invited to take a friendly cup of tea 
 with the old lady," meaning his wife. His 
 carelessness of character was naturally increas- 
 ed by the certainty he had of receiving his sal- 
 ary. The theatres, as is usual in all countries, 
 were surrounded by some half dozen taverns, 
 and at one or other Jemmy would wait to be 
 called ; for 'twas his boast that he had never 
 been known to be in a theatre a minute before or 
 alter he was wanting. He was a great shot, and 
 always dressed in a hunting-coat, with large 
 leather gaiters, and small-clothes; and no mat- 
 ter what the costume of the play was, he never 
 changed any part of his apparel but his coat. 
 He was well informed, a ready wit, and of 
 great amiability and simplicity of manners; his 
 company was, therefore, unfortunately, much 
 sought for as a brother sportsman, or a pot com- 
 panion, Vv^hen his services were required on 
 
 the stage, his son, from long practice, would 
 have him at the wing just in time to slip on a 
 tunic or a jacket, pop a little red on his face, and 
 push him on. He knew every message in every 
 old play that ever was delivered, but the new 
 ones he either would not or could not learn. 
 In the opera of the Devil's Bridge he had to say 
 a couple of lines to the effect that " The Count 
 Belino's escaped from his confinement," instead 
 of which he rushed on and said, 
 
 " My lord, the Count Belino's taken pris- 
 oner." 
 
 "No, no!" said his son, who was always his 
 prompter. 
 
 "No, no," echoed Jemmy, "and so they've 
 cut off his head." 
 
 " Escaped ! escaped !" said the boy. 
 
 " And so he has made his escape," saia Jem- 
 my, amid a roar of laughter. The part of Cates- 
 by, in "Richard III.," he boasted he was "let- 
 ter perfect in ;" and so he was ; but Richard 
 had so impressed on his mind the high impor- 
 tance of his being very quick in saying, " The 
 Duke of Buckingham is taken," that he an- 
 nounced the joyful tidings two minutes too 
 soon. Again, at the first pause, he popped on 
 his head and stammered out, "My lord, the 
 Duke of Buckingham is taken," and again was 
 pulled back by the tail of his tunic; when the 
 right time actually arrived, he was a little too 
 late, and Richard, foaming with rage, shouted 
 out, 
 
 "Now, sir?" 
 
 " The Duke of Buckingham," said Jemmy, 
 very calmly, " is taken now, by God." 
 
 He was intrusted with the part of the Priest 
 in Hamlet, who really has one very difficult 
 speech, beginning with 
 
 " Her obsequies have been as far enlarged 
 As we have warranty ;" 
 
 instead of which, Jemmy substituted, 
 
 " Her obsequies are as large as we can make 'em ;" 
 
 and the audience heard no more of the excuse 
 for the omission of the usual forms at the fune- 
 ral of the "fair Ophelia." 
 
 As he " opened an account" at every grog- 
 shop in the town, his benefits were always fully, 
 though not very fashionably, attended; he used 
 to call them " a meeting of creditors." His son 
 was a good-tempered, intelligent boy, but show- 
 ed little respect or deference for the opinion of 
 his father. Children soon learn to neglect that 
 duty when they see a parent neglecting to respect 
 himself. On a Saturday they usually held a con- 
 sultation as to how the five-and-twenty shillings 
 should be disposed of to the best advantange. 
 
 "Now, John, my boy," the old man would 
 say, "let me see: I owe eight shillings at the 
 sign of the Saddle; well, that's that," putting the 
 amount on one side ; " well, then I promised to 
 pay part of my score at the Blue Pig — well, 
 say five shillings ; there, I'll stop Mother Pep- 
 per's mouth with that. How much does that 
 make, JohnT' 
 
 " Why, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen 
 shillings," says the boy, touching his five fingers. 
 
 "But I mean, you goose, how much have I 
 got left V 
 
 " How should I know ?" says John ; " why 
 don't you count it 1 you've got the money." 
 
 " But you ought to know, you young rascal," 
 says the father, with true parental authority ; 
 " you ought to know : take thirteen from twenty- 
 five, how many remain 1 why. twelve, to be
 
 30 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 sure," counting the balance slyly in his hand ; 
 " that's the way you're neglecting your educa- 
 tion, is it ] I shall have to talk to your school- 
 master." 
 
 "Yes, you had better talk to him," replies 
 John, " for he told me, yesterday, that unless you 
 let him have a little money, 1 needn't come to 
 school no more." 
 
 "Ay, true, my dear, that's true; you mustn't 
 lose your education, at any rate," says the kind 
 old man ; " take him round five shillings after 
 dinner, my dear. I had a pot with him last 
 night, and he agreed if I would let him have 
 that much now, he'd take the rest out in tickets 
 at the Ben, and treat the boys." 
 
 " I want a pair of shoes, father," says John, 
 taking advantage of the old man's softened 
 mood. 
 
 " How much will they cost, my boy V 
 
 " Why, father," says John. " I can get a capi- 
 tal pair for three and sixpence." 
 
 "You must get them for three shillings, John; 
 we owe the butcher four, and he must be paid, 
 or we get no beef; there, that ends it," says the 
 poor old fellow, with a self-satisfied air; but his 
 vision of independence was in an instant de- 
 stroyed by John's simply saying, 
 
 "You've forgot the landlady, father." 
 
 " Yes, that's true, so I have ; yes, d — her, 
 she must have her rent, or out we go. John, 
 my dear, I'll tell you how I'll contrive it. I'll 
 put the Saddle off with four shillings, and open a 
 branch account with the Yew-tree." 
 
 "Yes, that's all very well," says John, very 
 quietly, " but we owed her sixpence on last 
 week, and she paid for the washing." 
 
 " Well, how much does the washing come to, 
 John 7" 
 
 " Two and tup'ence," says the boy. 
 
 " Well, then," argues the old man, " Mother 
 Pepper must be content to take three shillings 
 instead of five." 
 
 " But then, father, that won't do ; and we want 
 tea." 
 
 " Who wants tea 1 I don't care a d — for tea." 
 
 "But I do," replies the boy, with provoking 
 calmness. 
 
 " You want tea ! you'll want bread, you young 
 scoundrel !" shouts Bland, in a rage. 
 
 "Bread! that's true," exclaims John; "you 
 forgot the baker." 
 
 The old man's schemes to pacify his creditors 
 with the distribution of five-and-twenty shillings 
 were all knocked on the head by the recollection 
 of the baker, and sweeping the money off the 
 table into his breeches pocket in a passion, he 
 roared out, 
 
 " They may all go to hell together ; I'm damned 
 if I pay any of them." 
 
 The frequenters of the theatre, both at Shields 
 and Sunderland, were of the sort Shakspeare so 
 excellently describes: "Youths that thunder at 
 a playhouse, and fight for bitten apples; that no 
 audience but the tribulation of Tower Hill, or 
 the limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are 
 able to endure." 
 
 At Durham they were fastidiously refined, 
 and at Scarborough exclusively fashionable; 
 but I was fortunate enough to suit their varied 
 tastes, and was a great favourite everywhere. 
 We had a month to remain at the latter town, 
 when, through the influence of my good friends, 
 Major Topham, of sporting and dramatic celeb- 
 rity, and Stephen Kemble, I received an offer 
 fro'in Fitzgerald, of the York circuit, to lead the 
 
 comedy, with the highest salary in the company. 
 I, of course, was delighted ; instantly accepted 
 the proposal, and informed my managers of my 
 anxiety to leave at the end of that season; but 
 no prayers could move them; they insisted on 
 their bond of six weeks' notice, which obliged 
 me to go to Shields for two weeks, and take a 
 very long journey out of my way to get to Hull, 
 where I was to join the York company. I was 
 very poor, too, and '■ more proud than poor." 
 
 "And the worst of it was, the little ones were sickly, 
 And if they'd live or die, the doctor didn't know." 
 
 Both my children were ill with the measles, 
 which parental anxiety magnified into the small- 
 pox: 
 
 " The dragon now, 
 Which Jenner combats on a cow." 
 
 The last night arrived. With scarcely enough, 
 to pay my stage-fare alone to Shields, broken in 
 spirit, I was bustling through Blaisot, in one of 
 the " Maid and Magpie" translations, for the 
 first and only time — Heave* be praised — when 
 I was informed a gentleman at the stage-door 
 wished to see me. I had two or three creditors 
 in town, very gentlemanly men, but they had 
 kindly promised to wait — for their money, I mean, 
 though not at the stage-door — but at the end of 
 the act a very elegant man handed me a card, on 
 which was- engraved Mr. Alston, which he ex- 
 plained, understanding I was engaged, he was 
 about leaving with the porter. On the back of 
 it was written, in pencil, "Lord Normanby, and 
 a few friends, will be happy to see Mr. Cowell 
 at supper this evening." I was not in the hu- 
 mour to make myself agreeable to Lord any- 
 body, but politely declined the honour, and sta- 
 ted, as a reason, the indisposition of my children, 
 and the necessity of leaving town in a couple of 
 hours, in the mail-stage, for Shields. Before the 
 conclusion of the performance I received a pack- 
 et, which I found contained fifty one-guinea 
 notes, with the following epistle : 
 
 " Messrs. W. T. Denison, Mr. Alston, and 
 Lord Normanby, great admirers of Mr. Cowell's 
 comic powers, beg he will accept the enclosed 
 as their contribution to his benefit, which they 
 were unable to attend ; any influence they may- 
 possess he may freely command. They wish 
 him every success in a profession of which he 
 is already so great an ornament." 
 
 I paid off my four or five pounds' worth of 
 debts in the morning ; wrapped my dear children 
 iu blankets ; hired a postchaise ; played out my 
 two weeks at Shields ; and, in high spirits, start- 
 ed for York, as the theatrical phrase then was, 
 the stcjrping-slonc to Londo?i. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " I do remember him at Clement's Inn, like a man made 
 after supper of a cheese-paring ; when he was naked he 
 was, for all the world, like a forked radish, with a head 
 fantastically carved upon it with a knife: he was so forlorn, 
 that his dimensions, to any thick sight, were invisible : he 
 was the very genius of famine ; and now is this vice's dag- 
 ger become a sijuire."— Henry IV., part ii. 
 
 The York circuit, under the long and able 
 management of the eccentric Tate Wilkinson, 
 had for years held the first rank, next to London, 
 in theatrical estimation. In this school the tal- 
 ent of a Siddons, Jordan, Kemble, Emery, 
 Knight, Matthews, and a host of other celebra- 
 ted actors, had been matured ; but, at the time I 
 speak of, it had fallen from its high estate, though
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 31 
 
 it still maintained a feeble superiority among its 
 compeers from the recollection of what it had 
 been. Learning, at the theatre, that Fitzgerald 
 (the manager) was confined to his room with 
 the asthma, I called at his lodging over a seed- 
 shop, on a short, wide, flat street, called Corn- 
 hill. I had taken up my abode at a watch- 
 maker's opposite. I found my new ruler seated 
 on four chairs (all there were in the apartment), 
 before a large lire, wrapped in a white flannel 
 gown, a pair of green slippers peeping from un- 
 derneath, and a crimson velvet cap, confining a 
 head of hair which might with justice have been 
 called rcd-iwt red, but that the contrast with the 
 cap cooled it down to a yellowish tinge. His 
 " reception was the north side of friendly, that I 
 must say," to use Nicol Jarvies' expression, but 
 that might be attributed to bodily suffering — peo- 
 ple are not often sick and civil at the same time 
 — but a poodle dog made ample amends for the 
 lack of hospitality of his master (he had been 
 trained by some other gentleman), for he insist- 
 ed on taking my hat, licked my hand, and, no 
 doubt, would have wagged his tail if he had had 
 one; but as the negro said of a similar animal, 
 "dat tail must ha' been cut berry short off, or 
 else him drave in." Poor Dragon deserves this 
 much notice as connected with the drama ; he 
 was the real original dog in the Forest of Bondy, 
 and shared the applause with the great Liston. 
 The old saw says, " Judge of a man by the 
 company he keeps ;" but the companionship and 
 apparent kindness of Fitzgerald to this animal 
 must not be placed to his credit as the outward 
 sign of goodness of heart. He liked the dog be- 
 cause he drew him money ; on the same princi- 
 ple that Elliot was civil to his amiable wife Ce- 
 leste, until Fanny Elssler interfered with her 
 attraction. 
 
 After standing a reasonable time, I took a seat 
 on the table ; he took the hint, and kicked to- 
 wards me the chair on which his feet were par- 
 tially resting; and, in the unnecessary energetic 
 action he used, he displayed a leg, in point of 
 size, very much resembling half a pair of large 
 kitchen tongs. He was a tall, good-looking man 
 when made up, but had a bad countenance; "his 
 crow, like a pent-house, hung over" his small, 
 gray eyes, a fine Roman nose, and a mouth 
 struggling to be handsome in defiance of a con- 
 tinual sensual expression. He professed to be a 
 very gallant man ; and his poor little wife — who 
 could not bring herself to rejoice with him at 
 his triumphs in that department of the arts — 
 through excessive love, or folly, attempted to 
 poison herself a short time before I made his ac- 
 quaintance. Her life was saved by miracle, to 
 drag out a wretched existence, with prostrated 
 nerve and a broken spirit. Some plausible, but 
 peremptory objection, was raised to every char- 
 acter I named for an opening; and, after some 
 heat on both sides, he wheezed out his consent 
 that I should play Crack the next night, without 
 previous announcement, or any of the usual for- 
 malities thought favourable to all parties in ma- 
 king a first appearance. But I made a great hit 
 notwithstanding. The fact I found to be, that 
 his offer of an engagement to me he had been 
 obliged to make at the suggestion of my power- 
 ful friends ; but that Mr. Bailey, an objection- 
 able actor to the audience in general comedy 
 (poor fellow ! he died long since in a poor-house), 
 had a wife, "all of her that was out of door most 
 rich," and on her the lion had put his paw; and 
 the advancement of the husband on the road to 
 
 theatrical preferment was the M'Adamizinj 
 means most in his power to smooth the path to 
 the wile's dishonour. They had, of course, an 
 excellent situation, and a large family ; and the 
 good woman, I believe honestly, lor tiie sake of 
 her husband, did " beguile the thing she was, by 
 seeming otherwise." But the audience claimed 
 the exclusive privilege of protecting and reward- 
 ing a favourite actor, "all in the olden time," 
 and, with the exception of some petty annoyan- 
 ces, I passed a pleasant and profitable year in 
 the York circuit. The manager feared and ha- 
 ted me ; I have explained how innocently I had 
 caused the latter feeling, but the first must also 
 be accounted for. His extreme rudeness indiir 
 ced me, after my first visit, to make my neces- 
 sary communications in writing, and, in reply 
 to one, he, in plain English, called me a liar. I 
 have the will yet, but I had most powerfully the 
 way then, to fulfil, " on good occasion," old Sco- 
 tia's motto. I entered his apartment, and firmly, 
 yet civilly, desired him to unwritc the expression ; 
 he refused, and I cured his asthma for that bout. 
 I had not then heard the anecdote of the roughs- 
 mannered and celebrated Dr. Moseley, setting-to 
 with a patient suffering under the same disease, 
 and, after pommelling him all round the room, 
 and ultimately flooring him with a " hit in the 
 wind," standing over him, and saying, very 
 calmly, " If you ever draw your breath again", 
 you'll be entirely cured." And I have no doubt 
 in the efficacy of the remedy myself; but people 
 are so averse to take " what will do them good," 
 if it's at all unpleasant, that many sufferers from 
 this long-lived disease, I have little hesitation in 
 supposing, would rather wheeze, and cough, and 
 smoke stramonium, sitting upright lor a month 
 in bed, than take the thrashing I gave Fitzgetv 
 aid. The dog Dragon, not having the cause of 
 quarrel explained, was too prudent to show a 
 preference ; but his canine feelings becoming 
 excited, he had a little fight of his own, taking 
 the odds, and a small bite out of the calf of my 
 leg, and half a mouthful of skin off the bone of 
 his master's. Fitzgerald promised to be more 
 civil for the future, and I promised never to 
 name the matter to the company — " the lion preys 
 not upon carcasses" — but he and the dog had 
 called murder so loudly, when the voice of the 
 one was cleared and the other exasperated, that 
 the landlady "came in at the death," and, not- 
 withstanding her assertion " that she never med- 
 dled with anybody's business but her own," it 
 leaked out, and I encountered several anonymous 
 shakes of the hand, behind the scenes, a day or 
 two afterward. 
 
 He was actually the unnatural son of old Ger- 
 ald, the manager of a little strolling company 
 through some small towns on the coast of Kent; 
 the same man with whom Howard made his first 
 appearance in his successful crying capacity. 
 Ashamed of his father and his name, when he 
 joined the Norwich circuit, some years before, 
 he clapped the Fitz to it — wished it to be under- 
 stood he was an Irishman — and gained some 
 sympathy as a supposed descendant of the pa- 
 triot of that name. He was a tyrant, in the full- 
 est sense of the word, to his inferiors; but, as is 
 always the case with such animals, he was 
 fawning and sycophantic in the extreme to those 
 above him. 
 
 Johnny Winter (by the excellent imitation of 
 whom, and the anecdotes related so exquisitely 
 by my lamented friend Charles Matthews, he 
 could alone have supported a large family) had
 
 32 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 been for years the tailor and wardrobe-keeper of 
 the theatre, but, when Wilkinson died, he had 
 gone into business as a breeehes-maker; for the 
 cut of which article, "according to the fashion 
 of the time," he was inexpressibly talented. And 
 to use his own words, in reply to " How are you 
 getting on, Winter 1" " Eh, beautiful, beautiful ! 
 1 ha' gottin a large shop and no custom — Ize 
 doin' fine!" 
 
 I was introduced to this curiosity by Cum- 
 mings, the contemporary of John Kemble, who 
 had been in the York company for more than 
 forty years! and died upon the stage, while per- 
 forming Dumont, in the tragedy of Jane Shore, 
 the season after I left the company. Winter 
 must then have been at least seventy years of 
 age, but retained, in figure and manner of ad- 
 dress, all the flippancy of youth in an extraordi- 
 nary degree. He was a great admirer of the 
 turf (all classes of Yorkshiremen usually are), 
 and always dressed like a jockey, or trainer, in 
 a frock-coat, small-clothes, topped boots, striped 
 waistcoat, fancy neckerchief, with a horse or 
 dog brooch, and a whip or ash-sapling in his 
 hand. His opinion in theatrical affairs — which 
 he always (often without being asked) gave 
 without respect to the feelings of the party — was, 
 from its whimsicality and blunt honesty, both 
 sought for and dreaded. Matthews he couldn't 
 "abide;" his great and admired particularity in 
 his dress was very objectionable to Johnny, and 
 he used to say, 
 
 " Dang the feller, he's niver sooted ; there's 
 John Em'ry 'ull put on ony ko'it as cums to 
 hand, an' gang on, an' mak the peepl' laagh 
 twice as much as what he can." 
 
 It was part of his duty to provide clean tow- 
 els for the gentlemen ; and the nervous, anxious 
 Matthews would soil a napkin from one end to 
 the other in cleaning, and painting, and marking 
 his face, again and again, to obtain some par- 
 ticular expression ; this was a great offence to 
 Winter; and when he had left the room he'd 
 hold it up and exclaim, 
 
 " Did ye iver see sic a nasty beast as that 
 Mathoos? all'ays a washin' himsen; noo Mis- 
 tre Cummins is the cleanest man amang ye, an' 
 he ne'er washes himsen at all." 
 
 Poor Cummings, being afflicted with a dis- 
 ease of the heart, generally dressed at home, or 
 nearly so. 
 
 The sensitive, fidgety Matthews was actually 
 annoyed that he couldn't obtain any approbation 
 from Winter; and when the farce of the Re- 
 view was first produced, he prevailed upon John- 
 ny to go in the front, and give him his opinion 
 of his personation of Caleb duotem, in which 
 he intended to make (and did) a great hit. At 
 the conclusion of the performance, while un- 
 dressing, Matthews inquired, 
 
 " Well, Johnny, how did you like it V 
 
 " Beautiful, sir! beautiful! I ne'er seed nau't 
 like it." 
 
 " Ay, indeed !" said Matthews, delighted ; 
 "I'm glad you were pleased, Johnnv." 
 
 " Wha could help but be pleased?" said Win- 
 ter: " i'twar the varri best actin' 1 iver seed i' my 
 life." 
 
 " Yes, I think it was a decided hit," said 
 Matthews, gratified at having at length made a 
 convert of Winter. " And how did you like my 
 song! it went capitally, didn't it 1" " 
 
 " Ye'r song?" said Johnny, with a vacant 
 stare. "Oh, e'es, I remembers; i'twar a poor 
 jibber-jabber thing; I thou't nau't on't— but I 
 
 ha' seed mony sic creturs as thim, an - " i'twar 
 na'thral as life; i'twar beautiful, sir! beauti- 
 ful!" 
 
 Rejoiced at obtaining such unequivocal ap- 
 probation from Winter, who had never praised 
 him before, Matthews continued, 
 
 " Yes, Winter, I never was in a better hu- 
 mour for acting; I think it's decidedly my very 
 best part; don't you, Johnny ?" 
 
 "Me, sir!" said the implacable Winter: "I 
 niver thou't nau't aboot ye — not I !" 
 
 " Why^" said Matthews, astonished, " haven't 
 you just been paying my acting all sorts of com- 
 pliments?" 
 
 "You?" said Johnny : " I niver once thou't o' 
 ye; I wur praisin' Mistre Hope i' Dubbs; he 
 wur th' varri best i' th' hul piece." 
 
 Fitzgerald, though a vile actor, to give the dev- 
 il his due, had a very superior, and even clas- 
 sical knowledge of costume; and he had em- 
 ployed Winter to make him a suite of dresses for 
 Macbeth. When he was a lad, and bearing his 
 real name, he had been engaged by Wilkinson, 
 but discharged after a week or two, in conse- 
 quence of his impertinence and incapacity. This 
 Winter recollected, and, while fitting on a robe, 
 some departure he had made from his instruc- 
 tions caused Fitzgerald to fly into a violent pas- 
 sion, and use some coarse and insolent language 
 to the old man, who very calmly said, when the 
 gust was over, 
 
 "Now, ye see, ye mun get some ane else to 
 finish t' job, or do'tyersen; ye see, I recollect 
 ye when ye wur a poor ragged lad, an' wur 
 kick'd out o' theatre, Mistre Gerald; ye hadn't 
 FUz then !" and very coolly walked away. 
 
 Charles Wood was another heir-loom in this 
 establishment; no manager dared discharge him ; 
 he had been a member of the company even 
 longer than Cummings, and was a much older 
 man ; he was stone deaf, but the most cheerful, 
 good-tempered creature in existence ; he had 
 been a singer in his youth, and was the original 
 Eugene in the Agreeable Surprise, at the Hay- 
 market; he was always humming or whistling 
 a tune about the theatre, as "gay as a lark;" 
 his wife was in her dotage, and he had a large 
 family of children, most of whom had turned out 
 badly ; id est, the boys were all very wicked, and 
 some of the girls very good-natured ; but he 
 drew comfort even from them, and would say, 
 "Ay, ay, plenty of — and rogues in my family, 
 but no cowards," in reference to the care-for- 
 nothing behaviour of one of his boys on receiv- 
 ing sentence for some petty crime. 
 
 In endeavouring to pull on a tight boot one 
 night in a hurry, I boasted that I had "the pa- 
 tience of Job" — which people are very apt to do 
 when they have lost all their own — in the hear- 
 ing of Winter, who, from long habit, was a fre- 
 quent visiter of the dressing-room. 
 
 "Talk o' 'the patience o' Job!'" said John- 
 ny. " Look at Charley Wood, wi' twenty-ane 
 scamps o' childer, a queer wife, an' a guinea a 
 week ! ' Patience o' Job,' indeed ! Job be d — ! 
 look at Charley Wood a whislin' !" 
 
 During my sojourn in this company I formed 
 some friendships both lasting and valuable. 
 Among them I made one in rather a singular 
 manner. Paul Bedford, an actor and singer, 
 had introduced me to his brother, a professed 
 gambler, and a partner in a fashionable hell in 
 Pall Mall. During the York races he attended 
 an E. O. table in the gentleman's stand, to which 
 I had the entree. There were three horses to run
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 33 
 
 for the cup — Catton, Fulford, and, I think, Ever- 
 lasting. Catton was the favourite, at great odds, 
 but the knowing ones had some notion of Ful- 
 ford; and Bedford instructed me that if, at a cer- 
 tain point of the race, Fulford was ahead, to 
 " bet all I /iad." He was ahead at the right time 
 and place, and / did bet a guinea with an ele- 
 gant little old man, with powdered hair and a 
 cue ; and when the sport was over, he inquired 
 loudly for the gentleman to whom he had lost a 
 guinea. I presented myself. 
 
 " Why, my dear sir," said he, with great glee, 
 "how is it possible you came to bet on my 
 horse 1 Why, 1 had not the most remote idea 
 he could beat Catton ; my dear sir, it was my 
 own horse I was betting against ; I merely en- 
 tered him for the sake of the sport, and to please 
 some friends who were anxious to see what he 
 could do. Why, you must be a most excellent 
 judge; haven't I the pleasure of knowing you 1" 
 
 " Cowell, sir, is my name," said I. 
 
 "What, of the theatre"? why, certainly, cer- 
 tainly ! 1 thought I knew your face ; 1 saw you 
 in Goldfinch last night; an excellent perform- 
 ance — excellent. Allow me to give you my 
 card — Neville King ; you must dine with us to- 
 day; I'll introduce you to my friends." 
 
 And the bustling, agreeable little old man, 
 named me to some dozen noblemen and gentle- 
 men as his friend, " Mr. Cowell, of the theatre, 
 a great judge of horses, and a winner on the race." 
 His invitation to dine with the club was earnest- 
 ly repeated by several, and as I only had to per- 
 form Tiptoe, in the farce of " Ways and Means," 
 I consented. We had a jovial time ; 1 sung them 
 some songs suitable to the occasion, was indu- 
 ced to remain longer than was prudent, and when 
 I got to the theatre I was conscious that I was 
 very drunk. I had, fortunately, little change to 
 make in my dress, merely a footman's jacket in- 
 stead of my coat, and a silver band round my 
 hat, for, of course, I always wore topped boots 
 and breeches in the race week. Johnny Winter 
 dosed me with tea and pickles, for, to his taste, 1 
 had suffered in a good cause, and my brother 
 actors managed the first scene among them- 
 selves; the last chiefly consists in a very long 
 speech, in which Tiptoe is supposed to have been 
 taking a drop too much, and in depicting which 
 I had gained some reputation ; but it had " pleas- 
 ed the devil drunkenness to give place" to qualm- 
 ish stupidity. 1 cunningly avoided any effort 
 at acting, and as a large portion of the audience 
 were suffering, probably with exactly my sensa- 
 tions, the whole affair passed off insipidly 
 enough. I had just gained my dressing-room, 
 and began to sip some brandy-toddy, which 
 Winter had declared " the sovereign'st thing on 
 earth," when Fitzgerald strutted into the room. 
 " Why, Cowell !" said he, " I never was so dis- 
 appointed in my life ! Some of your admirers," 
 with a sneer, " told me you were very fine in a 
 drunken character, and I was induced to see the 
 last act. Why, my good sir, you have mistaken 
 the style of Tiptoe's intoxication altogether; he 
 has but a very short time to get drunk in, and, of 
 course, is highly excyt^d from the immediate ef- 
 fects of wine, swallowed in large quantities; but 
 you lost sight entirely of the exhilarating char- 
 acter of drunkenness, which the author intends, 
 and looked like a man who had been very tipsy, 
 and wanted to go to bed and sleep off its narcotic 
 remains. It was very bad, I assure you — you 
 were entirely mistaken." 
 
 When he had closed the door, Winter said, 
 
 " That poor ignorant thing knows more aboot 
 na'thral actin' than I iver thou't he did." 
 
 During Colonel Neville King's stay at York, 
 he showed great attention to myself and family. 
 I painted a portrait of Fulford, with which he 
 was highly delighted, and had it splendidly 
 framed and sent to Lincoln, where he resided. 
 
 Probably in the history of the turf, no two hu- 
 man beings were ever so perfectly pleased at 
 Losing a guinea and winning a guinea. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " "Tis thou, thrice sweet and gracious goddess ! (address- 
 ing myself to Liberty), whom all in public and private 
 worship ; whose taste is grateful, and ever will be so, till 
 Nature herself shall change. No tint of words can spot thy 
 snowy mantle, or chymic power turn thy sceptre into iron : 
 with thee to smile upon him as he eats his crust, the swaia 
 is happier than his monarch, from whose court thou art ex- 
 iled." — Sterne. 
 
 Of all the members of the York company at 
 that time, none ever arrived at any eminence in 
 the profession excepting Mrs. Humby. She 
 had been educated a singer, was excessively 
 pretty, and in simple, innocent characters, a 
 charming actress. She was the best Cowslip I 
 ever played with ; her husband was a very esti- 
 mable, and in money matters, an extremely pru- 
 dent young man, and went by the name of 
 " Young Calculation." Playing Solomon, in 
 the Quaker, one night, I made use of the usual 
 distich, 
 
 " Who sees a pin and lets it lay, may want a pin another day. 
 I'll pick it up and stick it here ; a pin a day's a groat a 
 year." 
 
 When Humby met me in the morning, he 
 said, " Cowell, you must alter that rhyme of 
 yours : it isn't correct; I've made a calculation. 
 and a pin a day is tenpence ha'penny a year, if 
 you purchase by retail." 
 
 The circuit consisted of York, Hull, Leeds, 
 Doncaster, and Wakefield, and at the latter 
 town I left the company — I am glad to say, to the 
 great annoyance and inconvenience of Fitzger- 
 ald, for I was an enormous favourite, and at 
 that time there were few professors of my line of 
 business out of London. Kilner succeeded me, 
 an excellent actor in hearty old men, which then 
 I didn't play ; he came soon after to this country, 
 and was long a great favourite at Boston, but of 
 late, like the genius of old, he has kept himself 
 corked up in a bottle. I was tempted to join the 
 Lincoln circuit, by the offer of one half more 
 salary than I received at York, to play only four 
 times a week; to have the book sent to me to 
 choose the character I preferred performing in 
 every piece ; to visit seven towns in a year, near- 
 ly close together, and have half the clear receipts 
 of one night in each for a benefit. This com- 
 pany had been for many years under the direc- 
 tion of Thomas Robertson, but through the ridic- 
 ulous speculations he had entered into at the in- 
 stigation of a particular friend, he had been 
 thrown into prison for debt, and I was engaged 
 by a committee of gentlemen who had under- 
 taken to regulate his affairs, and had secured to 
 me the strict fulfilment of their contract. It was 
 sundown on Sunday when I arrived at Lincoln. 
 I had, with my wife and two children, posted all 
 day from Wakefield, where I had finished my 
 engagement the night before, and performed 
 Domine Samson and Baron Willinghurst ; and 
 after putting my person in repair, I accompanied 
 my friend Armstrong, the leading actor (whom 
 I had known in the York company), to the lodg-
 
 34 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 ing of the lady manager. I am not considered 
 a faithful historian where women are concerned. 
 In consequence of my adoration of the sex, I 
 have been accused of being too partial in my 
 descriptions ; but if any of my readers are ac- 
 quainted with John Mills Brown, the comedian, 
 and will imagine him dressed in a very low- 
 necked, short-sleeved, black velvet gown, large 
 black necklace and ear-rings, dark sorrel hair 
 turned up behind, with ringlets in front, and a 
 very beautiful hand, and arm bare to the shoul- 
 der, they'll have a very correct likeness of Mrs. 
 Fanny Robertson, whose half-sister she was on 
 the mother's side. Her maiden name was Ross, 
 and her father the manager of the Edinburgh 
 Theatre, " long time ago," and celebrated in 
 Irish characters : and her mother was said to be 
 equal to Mrs. Jordan. 
 
 I was never introduced to a queen, but the et- 
 iquette observed and exacted by Mrs. Robertson, 
 I imagine, is all that will be required, if I ever 
 do go to court. Her boudoir was small, but ele- 
 gant ; an easel with drawing materials on a 
 stand in one corner, a superb harp in another, a 
 pianoforte and a profusion of books, music, 
 drawings, and other " knick-knacks." Her re- 
 ception of me was most favourable, and had she 
 really been a queen, I should have felt certain 
 of a seat in the cabinet. 
 
 The next night the theatre opened with the 
 comedy of Speed the Plough, and a Chip of 
 the Old Block ; I playing Sir Abel Handy and 
 Chip. The house was crowded, and I made a 
 prodigious hit. 
 
 The following morning I paid my respects to 
 the manager at the Castle, and was introduced 
 to the deputy-governor, alias the jailer, a very 
 pleasant, intelligent man, as everybody descri- 
 bed him, by the name of Merriweather. Though 
 his appellative didn't agree with his gloomy oc- 
 cupation, he had the reputation of being highly 
 qualified for his office ; he was formerly a tailor, 
 but having " a soul above buttons," he preferred 
 the name of his trade should begin with a J in- 
 stead of a T, had chosen to turn keys instead of 
 coats, and to lock up rather than to cut out. He 
 was a great amateur in horticulture, mineralogy, 
 conchology, zoology, and perhaps all the " olo- 
 gies" excepting, probably, ontology; his power 
 of expression in matters of science was a per- 
 fect oglio, and in attempting to convey his " use- 
 ful knowledge" to the uninformed, he more un- 
 intelligibly mixed it up for his own exclusive 
 gratification. The walls of his dining-room (he 
 gave excellent dinners) were decorated with 
 stuffed ducks, distorted cockle-shells, and "other 
 skins of ill-shaped fishes." His admiration of 
 the arts and sciences had caused him to enclose 
 nearly the whole of the Castle yard for a private 
 garden ; though it was originally intended for 
 the use of prisoners for debt (then often for life) 
 and traitors, and other delinquents to stretch 
 their legs in, before the law decided upon stretch- 
 ing their necks; but as the dessert-tables of the 
 bishop, the sheriff, and the judges were seasona- 
 bly supplied with the delicacies it produced, his 
 taste, and that of his pineapples, were greatly 
 admired. It was cultivated with both care and 
 skill, under his direction, by some petty rascals 
 who were indulged in digging to the clanking 
 music made by their own fetters encountering 
 the blade of a spade ; all wicked gardeners were 
 sentenced to six months' prison discipline at 
 least, if he had any influence in their case. 
 
 " Mr. Robertson is a particular friend of mine, 
 
 Mr. Cowell," said this St. Peter: " I am devoted- 
 ly fond of the drama, and have given him liberty 
 to walk in my heaven on earth, as I call my ru- 
 ral sanctum." 
 
 Unlocking a huge iron bar, which secured a 
 small, though high gate, overarched with two 
 prodigious jaw-bones of a whale, the merits of 
 which, after explaining, I have do doubt, in very 
 scientific, ossified language, we thridded the 
 "narrow pathway" till we overtook my new 
 manager, the privileged Jonas. 
 
 He was a small, handsome-featured man, with 
 amiability and humility quietly claiming pos- 
 session of the only expressions his countenance 
 was capable of. He was dressed in a dark-col- 
 oured morning-gown, soiled with powder on the 
 collar, though he had none in his hair; his beard 
 was long, shoes untied, and his whole appear- 
 ance forlorn and slovenly. Every debtor I ever 
 saw in prison in my life always looked as if he 
 owed money and could not pay it — though I'm 
 told sometimes their looks belie them. 
 
 His welcome was painfully polite, and our 
 short conversation ended with his expressing a 
 hope that he might shortly meet me in some 
 other than " (his lorctchcd place.'' Looking round 
 upon the most beautiful garden I ever beheld, I 
 thought of Sterne's Starling, and imagined I saw 
 " I can't get out" glistening in his moistened eye. 
 
 On my return to my lodging, if Falstaff had. 
 met my landlady in the passage as I did, he 
 would very probably have said, " Heigh, heigh t 
 the devil rides upon a fiddlestick," for as she 
 described her sensations, she was all in a " flus- 
 terJication." Following me up stairs, she flounced 
 herself into a chair, and with scarcely breath to 
 utler, exclaimed, 
 
 " Oh, sir, what do you think "? the high-sheriff 
 has been here and inquired for you, asked me 
 when he could be sure to find you at home, and 
 has left his card. Heaven help me, that I should 
 have ever let my lodgings to a player ; but as 
 what's done can't be undone, get out the back 
 way as fast as you can, and make your escape." 
 
 As a visit from this important functionary in 
 England is never paid, in his official capacity, 
 but to gentlemen who are either suspected, or 
 guilty of high treason; and as my poor landlady 
 couldn't imagine he would call upon me in 
 any other way, she had pictured to herself my 
 incarceration in the keep of the Castle, thence 
 drawn on a hurdle to the place of execution, my 
 head popped upon a pole like a robin redbreast, 
 and the balance of my body dangled from a gib- 
 bet. 
 
 The direction of her astonishment was chan- 
 ged, though rather increased than diminished, 
 when, on reading the card, 1 calmly said, " Colo- 
 nel Neville King— oh, my dear madam, he's a 
 particular friend of mine." 
 
 "A friend o' yourn, sir!" said the woman, al- 
 most in a scream. " My goodness gracious ! a 
 friend o' yourn'? Why, he's one of the greatest 
 gentlemen in the county; he's the high-sheriff, 
 sir: only to think of his being a particular friend 
 o' yourn. "Why, sir, I assure you he never 
 darkened my doors afore, though I've always 
 had the most genteelest of lodgers. Sally! put 
 some more fire on in Mr. Coward's parlour! 
 That's your name, I believe, sir!" 
 
 " No, madam— Cowell," I replied. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Cowen. I'll recollect," said she; 
 "only being so put out makes a body forget. 
 That gal has never dusted these chairs, I de- 
 clare. My last lodger was a lawyer's clerk and
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 35 
 
 his lad)', and Colonel King never once thought 
 o' calling upon him. I can't help thinking of 
 the colonel's being your particular friend. I 
 must get another gal ; she's too lazy for any- 
 thing, I do declare ; there's not a drop of water. 
 Sally! bring a nice fresh pitcher of water for 
 Mr. Cowitch ! There, I believe I have called 
 you wrong again." 
 
 " Cow-ell, madam," said I, with emphasis. 
 
 " Yes, sir, Gno-Ml ; yes, Ml, /tell 1 I shall be 
 sure to recollect it now. As I said before, Mr. 
 Cow-/ull, I always let to none but genteel peo- 
 ple ; never took in a player before, and wouldn't 
 you, only you was so highly recommended. I 
 must make that gal put this room nice to rights 
 every day ; perhaps Colonel King may call 
 again. What sweet children you've got, Mr. 
 Cow—" 
 
 "Ell," said I. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Cowhell. Send 'em down to get a 
 cake when they're hungry. I'll have your win- 
 dows cleaned to-morrow, and put you another 
 little strip of carpet in the bedroom, and try to 
 make you nice and comfortable. If Colonel 
 King calls, I'll tell him to walk up V 
 
 I nodded, and away she bustled to tell the 
 wonderful event to her husband and her custom- 
 ers, for she kept a pastry shop. It was still long 
 before a decent dinner-hour, and, minutely di- 
 rected by my landlady, I set off to return the 
 colonel's call. On the almost inaccessible hill, 
 called the Strait, which divides the lower from 
 the upper town, I met the " fine old English gen- 
 tleman" on his way down to request me to dine 
 with him and his brother, a clergyman, with 
 Avhom he was desirous I should be acquainted, 
 which I readily accepted, and we continued our 
 walk through the city ; he introducing me, as 
 we went, to those who were worth knowing, and 
 stopping several times to relate the guinea ancc r 
 dote and extol my judgment in horseflesh. His 
 brother I found more of the man of the world 
 than the colonel, but extremely kind and agree- 
 able ; my picture of the horse was criticised 
 with judgment, softened by politeness and parti- 
 ality ; he was very conversant with Shakspeare, 
 and regretted that the theatre, being under the 
 " shade of the Cathedral," he couldn't with pro- 
 priety witness my performance; but, out of the 
 Fulford cup, drank to his speedily having that 
 pleasure in London. I believe the prayers of 
 priests are attended to sometimes. A conversa- 
 tion between the player and the parson, on the 
 inutility of the drama in a moral point of view, 
 he armed with kind feeling and George Barn- 
 well, I with experience and the Beggar's Opera, 
 was suddenly interrupted by the colonel's say- 
 ing abruptly, 
 
 " Brother, I have an excellent idea. Mr. Rob- 
 ertson has for years been urging me to lend my 
 name to patronise a house — you know what I 
 mean — to put at the top of the play-bill, ' By de- 
 sire of Colonel King,' and all that sort of thing ; 
 but, though I wish him well, yet I have always 
 refused, for I should feel mortified by having 
 anything to do with the matter unless I had a 
 good house, that is, an overflowing house ; but 
 I was thinking Mr. Cowell and myself could 
 make a great thing of it between us at his ben- 
 efit, eh 1 High-sheriff of the county, and all 
 that — Lady Monson's in town, and she'll get the 
 Earl of Warwick to go ; and then there's Heron — 
 I never asked any favours of these people be- 
 fore, and I'll ask everybody ; and, eh— what do 
 you think, brother V 
 
 The parson thought it excellent; I thought i: 
 capital, and the next day, Wednesday, he wa^ 
 to go electioneering for "our benefit," as he 
 called it, and I was to open a box-sheet in the 
 morning. I did, of course, as he desired, and on 
 the following day every seat was taken ; the re- 
 ceipts were larger than any ever before in Lin- 
 colu. Singular to relate, the manager, who was 
 respected by everybody, was released from prison 
 on that very evening, and I led the good old man 
 on the stage amid the deafening cheers of the 
 audience. 
 
 After a pleasant and profitable season, the 
 company moved to Newark-upon-Trent, the 
 distance performed in about two hours. I had 
 introductions to everybody from everybody. The 
 pride of the theatrical population caused an ef- 
 fort to be made to exceed the Lincoln receipti, 
 on my benefit night there, without the aid of in- 
 dividual patronage; and, though the house was 
 smaller, some well-applied guinea tickets gave 
 them a powerful pound-and-shilling victory over 
 their more aristocratic neighbours. The same 
 success attended me at Grantham, Spalding, 
 Boston, Peterborough, and Huntingdon; and 
 my return through the circuit made " assurance 
 doubly sure." The only unalloyed period of per- 
 fect content and comfort I ever experienced (in 
 a theatrical point of view) were the nearly two 
 years I passed in this company. We never 
 played more than four nights in a week, with 
 the exception of the race week at Huntingdon, 
 and then we received one third more salary. To 
 the off-play days the manager laid no claim, for 
 rehearsals or any other purpose ; the actor's 
 time was his own; it was considered not paid 
 for, and, therefore, not taxed ; excepting prob- 
 ably twice in a year, the production of some 
 showy piece would make a night rehearsal ne- 
 cessary; and then, the voluntary assistance of 
 the company was requested in a respectful and 
 affectionately- worded note addressed to each in- 
 dividual, from the highest to the lowest, and the 
 business of the evening closed with an econom- 
 ical repast. Stars were never engaged to " strut 
 their hour upon the stage," for twenty pounds, to 
 the disadvantage, by comparison, of the poor 
 stock-actor, working haidfor twenty shillings & 
 week. The performers were selected with a rigid 
 regard to moral worth and deportment, and with 
 as much talent as is (I am sorry to say so sel- 
 dom) met with, hand in hand. The conse- 
 quence was, the actors and actresses were treat- 
 ed like human beings by the citizens, and, ac- 
 cording to their grade and acquirements, had 
 social intercourse with their fellow-men : they 
 remained, generally, in the company for years. 
 Among themselves they were like brothers and 
 sisters, but paying the respect due to age and 
 superior talents always observed in well-regula- 
 ted families. 
 
 Show me a manager on this wide continent 
 of America who has ever had (or has) the in- 
 stinctive moral propriety of feeling to pursue 
 such a course. No : they say, " Any way to make 
 money or get a living." But, as Colman ob- 
 serves in one of his plays, " the ways be so foul 
 and the bread be so dirty, that it would turn a 
 nice stomach to eat on't." 
 
 On each play day we rehearsed the perform- 
 ance of the night, with scenery, properties, and 
 the most scrupulous exactness; this over-and- 
 over-again drilling was a nuisance to those who 
 understood their business, and I was one who 
 thought so, but it secured the pieces being letter
 
 36 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 perfect, and you were sure to have a subordinate 
 stand where you wished, say what he should, 
 and when he ought. No Richard in that com- 
 pany would say, " Hark ! the shrill trumpet," 
 and then hear a Too-ti-to-too ! two minutes af- 
 terward ; but there the sound was " echo to the 
 sense." The same plays and farces which were 
 performed in one town were repeated in the 
 next, in the same rotation; and each performer 
 retained the same entertainment he had at first 
 selected for the whole year ; as, for instance, I 
 took Charles Dibdin's very agreeable operatic 
 play of the Farmer's Wife, and Midas, for my 
 first benefit, and they were only played on that 
 occasion everywhere through the circuit, and the 
 next year considered stock property. In every 
 town one or two plays or farces were " got up," 
 of which the performers were provided with 
 books or parts at least a month before ; and 
 these collectively formed a fresh list to start with 
 at Lincoln. The manager, with very good taste, 
 proved his superior confidence in the probity of 
 the softer sex, by employing a female money- 
 taker or trcasuress, a fine, fat, handsome woman, 
 by the name of Stanard, and mother of the ami- 
 able " Sister Rachael," now in this country. 
 
 Mrs. Robertson was a highly-accomplished, 
 strong-minded woman, and, notwithstanding her 
 uninteresting appearance, a very superior ac- 
 tress; but often loose and careless, from the ab- 
 sence of that wholesome stimulus to ambition — 
 competition. Her husband was humility per- 
 sonified; he employed a stage-manager, and 
 when he visited the theatre of a morning, you 
 
 might 
 
 from his manner, imagine it belonged to 
 
 any person but himself; as he passed round the 
 scenery on tiptoe, to take a seat at the corner of 
 the prompter's table, he'd bow to each actor he 
 met in the most respectful manner. The inner 
 lapel of his coat would be literally lined with 
 scraps of paper about two inches big pinned to 
 it, on which were written his memoranda for the 
 day; watching a leisure moment, he'd beckon 
 you towards him, and unpinning one of his little 
 manuscripts, read as follows : " Mr. Cowell will 
 be good enough to name what song he will sing 
 on Thursday evening, the 17th day of June 
 next" — it would then be probably the latter end 
 of May — " the performance being by desire of 
 the Lincoln Sharp Shooters." 
 
 '•' Oh, any you please, sir," I would reply. 
 
 " I would rather you would be kind enough to 
 name one," he'd sav, timidly. 
 
 " Well, sir, the Nightingale Club." 
 
 " Wait an instant, if you please ;" then turn- 
 ing the paper, he'd write on the bjck, "Mr. 
 Cowell is good enough to say he will sing the 
 song of the Nightingale Club on Thursday even- 
 ing, the 17th day of June next, the performance 
 being by desire of the Lincoln Sharp Shooters," 
 and repin it in the vacant place. Now this was 
 all very ridiculous, but it was very inoffensive, 
 and infinitely preferable to the arrogant, insolent 
 manners of some living managers, whom I shall 
 as faithfully describe in the next volume. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " Why, everything adheres together ; that no dram of a 
 scruple, no scruple "1 a scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous 
 or unsafe circumstance — What can be said ? Nothing that 
 can be can come between me and the full prospect of my 
 hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to 
 be thanked."— Twelfth Night. 
 
 At about this period, Stephen Kemble had 
 
 been appointed manager of Drury Lane by the 
 committee for the trustees, and immediately 
 proved his friendship, and the high opinion he 
 entertained of my talent, by offering me an en- 
 gagement of six pounds per week, to be increas- 
 ed to seven and eight, in the event of my success, 
 for the following seasons; explaining, that the 
 salaries were greatly reduced, but that this sum 
 gave me all the privileges of the theatre usually 
 granted to the principal performers; that neither 
 Harley nor Munden were expected to return, and 
 the opening, therefore, was an excellent one; 
 and assuring me he had the greatest confidence 
 in my being received most favourably by a Lon- 
 don audience. 
 
 Highly elated, I instantly submitted the affair 
 to Mrs. Robertson, for her advice and opinion. 
 
 " It cannot be disguised nor denied, Mr. Cow- 
 ell," said this clever woman, "that the loss of 
 your services will be severely felt by Mr. Rob- 
 ertson ; it may be long (if ever) before he may 
 be able to obtain a gentleman so highly esteem- 
 ed by the friends of the theatre to supply your 
 place ; but I most solemnly pledge myself that 
 no selfish consideration influences my advice 
 one atom, but, in the spirit of sincere and disin- 
 terested friendship, I urge you to refuse this offer. 
 Your income here, you are aware, with your 
 benefits for the last year, was eight pounds per 
 week, within a few shillings, and this year it will 
 exceed that sum ; this, you must recollect, is for 
 every week in the year; there you have a vaca- 
 tion ; and without a name long and conspicu- 
 ously known in London, you can employ your 
 talent to little profit during that period in the 
 country. Lent, Passion-week, and other holy- 
 days, with the respect demanded to be paid at 
 the death of every member of an aged and ex- 
 tensive royal family, will reduce your yearly in- 
 come nearly one half, and your expenses in. 
 London will more than double what is required 
 to live as you do here. There is not the most 
 remote probability of a diminution in your pop- 
 ularity, and the fact that you have refused a 
 London engagement for the sake of remaining 
 in this company, would so flatter the vanity of 
 these kind-hearted people, that they would feel 
 bound by gratitude to support you, with their ut- 
 most means, forever. Mr. Robertson is getting 
 old" — here she gave a little shake of her head, 
 and curled down her mouth as people usually do 
 after taking a glass of sea-water, or a seidlitz 
 powder without sugar — "and he has more than 
 once spoken of your succeeding him in the 
 management; nature never intended you to be 
 in a subordinate situation in life ; here you have 
 everything your own way ; but in London, no 
 matter what success you may meet with, envy, 
 jealousy, and various petty annoyances (the 
 most tormenting of any), will inevitably sur- 
 round you; the management encumbered by a 
 committee of noblemen and gentlemen totally ig- 
 norant or unmindful of the feelings and rights 
 of actors, and quarrelling among themselves 
 who shall most embarrass the interests of the 
 theatre to advance — in defiance of public taste — 
 some favourite mistress, and, through her influ- 
 ence, probably those who may impede or inter- 
 fere with your advancement; and — you may fail 
 — and then, to return here, with diminished lustre, 
 would be vexatious to yourself; and these good 
 people, relying on a London judgment, might 
 suspect they had been mistaken in your talent, 
 and adopt their opinion. There, I have made 
 you a long speech, and given you my most hon-
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 37 
 
 est opinion ; and now do as you please ; I shall 
 never say a word farther on ihe subject." 
 
 Half convinced of the truth and policy of her 
 advice, I might probably have adopted it, but 
 that she unfortunately said, " You may fail;" 
 this wounded my pride, and, to remove all doubt 
 of such a possibility, I "screwed my courage to 
 the sticking place" and accepted the engage- 
 ment. Every day, prior to my departure, I be- 
 came more fully satisfied with the decision I had 
 made. From the first hour I became an actor, 
 every energy of mind and body had been stretch- 
 ed to its utmost to achieve this grand desidera- 
 tum, and now the hoped-for stake for which 1 
 played came to my hand without my seeking it, 
 with advantages unprecedented — Stephen Kem- 
 ble, my proved friend, the manager, and a va- 
 cancy in my line of business in the theatre that 
 might not occur again for years. My suc- 
 cess with the public my vanity and experience 
 would not permit me to doubt for a moment, for, 
 after passing, with the highest approbation, " the 
 rough brake" of a York audience — the most dif- 
 ficult to please in England — I had little to fear 
 from the acknowledged liberality of a London 
 one. On my last night the company and the 
 manager gave me a handsome supper, and. 
 with the good wishes of a host of friends, I set 
 off for London, and the first play-bill I saw, on 
 entering the metropolis, announced Mr. Mun- 
 deii's re-engagement at Drury Lane. 
 
 I found the theatre in a deplorable condition; 
 an indifferent company, and badly selected, play- 
 ing to literally empty benches, excepting when 
 Kean performed, and his attraction had, from 
 the constant repetition of his plays, been worn 
 to a shadow of what it had been. To appear on 
 any night when he didn't act, was assuredly to 
 have an empty house ; therefore, by the advice 
 of Stephen Kemble, I opened in Samson Raw- 
 bold, in " Tkc Iron Chest" and Nicholas, in the 
 " Midnight Hour." My success was equal to 
 my warmest wishes. Several members of the 
 committee, particularly Colonel Douglass, paid 
 me some high compliments, and Kean, Kemble, 
 and the enthusiastic "little" Knight were warm 
 in their congratulations. The song, which is 
 not an effective one, was loudly encored, which 
 Mr. Smart, the leader, assured me, in the green- 
 room, he did not remember to have been so hon- 
 oured since the part was originally played by 
 Suett. The newspapers were all very appro- 
 ving; numbers of my Lincolnshire friends had 
 visited London for the simple-hearted purpose 
 of giving me their support, and, by using their 
 influence with their friends in town, the house 
 was better than usual, though it was the same 
 night that Farren made his bolstcrcd-up hit at 
 Covent Garden. 
 
 Everything in the power of Stephen Kemble 
 to aid my advancement was attended to with 
 great care ; I was never called upon to play any- 
 thing but a principal character, and his personal 
 kindness gave me an enviable position in the 
 company ; my chiefest annoyance was my not 
 having enough to do. The Lyceum closed, after 
 a few weeks, to make room for Matthews with 
 a new entertainment, called " A Trip to Paris," 
 and Harley rejoined Drury Lane; he was an 
 established favourite with the audience, and a 
 very general actor. He had founded his style 
 originally on Fawcett and Bannister, but he 
 didn't hesitate to draw largely on Munden, Lis- 
 ton, Knight, Matthews, De Camp, and others, 
 according to the nature of the character he had 
 
 to represent, or all of them at once, if the part re- 
 quired their varied powers ; but out of the patch- 
 work he made a very agreeable performance, and 
 only a nice observer would discover the stitch- 
 ing together. He was most indefatigable in 
 his profession, and in private life an inoffensive 
 man, though worldly-minded, and extremely pe- 
 nurious. We had been old friends at Brighton, 
 and when I first went to London he took me to 
 his lodgings to see his collection of prints. He 
 had a handsome apartment over a book-shop in 
 Bedford-street, Covent Garden, the wall of which 
 was decorated with a large number of portraits 
 of actors, all guarantied to have been given to 
 him in the handwriting of each on the margin. 
 Being so early in the day that a refusal was cer- 
 tain, he ventured to point to the sideboard and 
 invite me to take a little brandy, and made me 
 promise, very faithfully, that some day I would 
 take a chop with him, which promise, while in 
 England, he more than a dozen times made me 
 repeat ; but the day never arrived, nor did I ever 
 hear of any human being ever taking a meal at 
 his table. He was a good son and brother. His 
 mother and two sisters resided with him. They 
 kept no servant, and when he played they would 
 be seen seated above, at the corner next the 
 stage, in the second tier of boxes, for the double 
 purpose of starting the applause and saving fire 
 and candle at home ; and frequently, when it 
 happened to be a dull, poor house, they would 
 have all the applause to themselves, and, being 
 very persevering in their approbation, they were 
 often noticed by the audience, to the great 
 amusement of the actors and the constant vis- 
 iters of the theatre. But they continued most 
 faithfully to discharge this duty for years, and 
 to their timely hints Harley was indebted for 
 many an encore and round of applause. 
 
 Mr. Barnard, who was the walking gentleman 
 of the establishment, had solicited the services 
 of Russell, Gattie, Oxberry, myself, and Harley, 
 to play for his wife's benefit, who belonged to 
 the Greenwich company. We hired a glass- 
 coach, alias a better sort of hack, for the day, 
 and at about ten o'clock in the morning we 
 called and took up Harley, the last of the party. 
 After the rehearsal of Wild Oats, with " the fol- 
 lowing powerful cast" Rover — Russell (who 
 would cheerfully travel a hundred miles, get up 
 in the middle of the night, and give five pounds 
 into the bargain to play that character at any 
 time); Ephraim — Oxberry; Sir George — Gat- 
 tie ; Sim — Cowell ; and John Dory — Harley, 
 it was agreed that each should write down an 
 order for a cutlet, or chop, or anything they 
 pleased for dinner, without the knowledge of the 
 others, and then make it a general repast; when 
 it came to Harley's turn he declined, stating, as 
 an excuse, that he had dined before he set out. 
 "What, before ten o'clock 1" says Russell: 
 " why, Jack, you dine as early as poor Tokely 
 used to do. but I hope it's not from the same 
 cause." Tokely was a very intemperate, but 
 extremely clever man. Fawcett was stage-man- 
 ager of the Haymarket Theatre, where Tokely 
 was an immense favourite; he frequently came 
 quite inebriated to rehearsal, and Fawcett under- 
 took to advise him to refrain from drinking liquor 
 in the morning. 
 
 " I am fond of my glass of wine after dinner," 
 said Fawcett, " and a glass of grog after supper, 
 but to taste liquor before dinner is a vile, ungen- 
 tlemanly habit ; and for Heaven's sake, Tokely, 
 oblige me and yourself by refraining for the fu-
 
 38 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 ture; promise me you'll never drink anything 
 till after dinner." 
 
 Tokely pledged himself that he would not; 
 but a few days afterward he was absent after 
 the time called for the last rehearsal of a new 
 piece; when he arrived Fawcett was about to 
 rebuke him for his neglect, but caught a whirl' 
 of his breath. 
 
 " Faugh !" said Fawcett, " Mr. Tokely, I'm 
 ashamed of you ; you've been drinking again ; 
 remember what you promised !" 
 
 "But, sir, I've dined," said Tokely, very de- 
 murely. 
 
 " Dined V said Fawcett : " what, before eleven 
 •o'clock in the morning 1" 
 
 " Yes," said the comedian, " I dined early, 
 and that caused my being rather late at rehear- 
 sal." 
 
 Poor Tokely continued to dine early, and 
 ■died very soon afterward. 
 
 When the varied dinner was served, Harley 
 seated himself at the window with a newspaper, 
 but the savoury odour of the viands was too much 
 for his hungry resolution. 
 
 "That smells deliciously," said Harley: "al- 
 low me to take a little bit on a morsel of bread." 
 
 And though we all invited him to have a plate 
 and chair, and partake, he still continued to re- 
 fuse, and " pick a little bit" of everything, and 
 cheerfully took a glass or two of wine with us 
 all. Russell, who was a great wag, borrowed a 
 pound note of him; and when we made the set- 
 tlement, before starting home at night, he char- 
 ged Harley for his equal share of the dinner, 
 supper, and wine, and handed him two and six- 
 pence as the change of his note. He looked 
 daggers, but he never uttered a word the whole 
 way to London. 
 
 The eldest Miss Tree, a most amiable wom- 
 an, was the principal dancer of the theatre. 
 She had been married to, and separated from 
 an advertising dancing-master by the name of 
 Ctuin. Harley paid Tier great attention, and 
 everybody imagined it would be a match. 
 Some one was praising her very highly for her 
 performance of Columbine, in the Christmas 
 pantomime: 
 
 " Yes," said Tom Cooke, " she's very clever 
 as Columbine, and I'm told shortly she's going 
 to be Harley Quin." 
 
 But she never was, for she was in this coun- 
 try with her sister Ellen, and still Miss Tree. 
 
 In society Harley was agreeable and gentle- 
 manly, could sing a comic song extremely well, 
 and tell a studied, droll story with effect, but I 
 don't believe he was ever known to say a witty 
 thing naturally, or perpetrate a joke of his own 
 in his life. 
 
 During ihis season I played as an apology for 
 Munden, Knight, Harley, and Oxberry, in con- 
 sequence of the indisposition of one or the other, 
 at very short notice, and frequently with their 
 names in the bill, and was always most favour- 
 ably received by the audience; as I made it a 
 rule all my life to be at the theatre every morn- 
 ing at ten o'clock, whether wanted or not, and 
 generally in the green-room at night, if any one 
 was sick whose place I could supply, I was the 
 first to be called upon ; as it placed me frequent- 
 ly in a favourable point of view before the audi- 
 ence, in characters in which I was prepared — 
 and even if I had never seen the piece, bavins; 
 an extraordinary quick study, great presence of 
 mind, and fart to get through anything — these 
 sudden calls upon ray services (particularly as 
 
 they obliged my good friend the manager) were 
 rather pleasing to me than otherwise ; and they 
 occurred so frequently, that it became a joke for 
 the actors, and when I entered the theatre, at 
 morning or night, they'd salute me with, 
 
 " Here he is! Munden's sick!" or, "Cowell, 
 my dear fellow, you can go home ; everybody's 
 quite well," as the case might be. Even Kem- 
 ble would join in the joke, and say, in his fine, 
 fat, good-humoured manner, 
 
 " Doctor Cowell, I'm very sorry to inform you 
 that all your patients are in fine health this 
 morning." 
 
 I had just finished playing Cosey, in "Town 
 and Country," one night, when a message came 
 to me in my room that Harley, while pre- 
 paring for the afterpiece, had been seized with 
 an epileptic fit, and inquiring if I would under- 
 take the part of Goodman, in the Barmicide; 
 a splendid spectacle, which had been long in 
 preparation, and produced for the first time the 
 night preceding. It was a very long character 
 — some melo-dramatic business, interspersed 
 with two concerted pieces of music and a song. 
 1 undertook to get through if, with the part in my 
 hand; the only advantage I had was, that I had 
 seen it the night before, for there was no time to 
 read it — nothing puts an audience so out of hu- 
 mour as delay. An apology, slating the dilemma 
 the management was placed in, was made, and 
 I was received with the hearty encouragement 
 a London public know so well how to bestow. 
 During the intervals of the scenes, I got so far 
 possession of the part that I referred to it but 
 seldom, and in the last act did without it entirely. 
 To show the aptness with which an audience 
 there seizes upon and applies any portion of the 
 dialogue which serves to express their feeling, 
 I'll state the following as a proof. The lovely 
 Mrs. Orger had to say, in reference to some aid 
 I had atlbrded to the virtuous part of the plot, 
 " I'm sure we are all greatly indebted to Good- 
 man ; I don't know what we should have done 
 without his assistance." The house applauded 
 to the echo that applauds again; and at nearly 
 the end of the piece, my last speech was to the 
 effect, " Giaffar has done his duty, somebody else 
 has done his, and I trust, with submission, I 
 have done mine." And the curtain fell amid 
 deafening peals of applause. The management 
 and the critics gave me infinitely more credit 
 for the undertaking than it deserved, and I, of 
 course, retained the character during the run of 
 the piece. Harley's illness was continuous, 
 and I pledge myself / iicver once prayed for my 
 frioid's recovery. Actors are the most selfish 
 people in the world, and feel for one another on 
 the same principle as the midshipman's favour- 
 ite toast, "A long and bloody war!" explains 
 their sentiments. His death, or absence from 
 the theatre, would have greatly aided my ad- 
 vancement; but, unfortunately for me, and for- 
 tunately for the theatre, about this time Howard 
 Payne's tragedy of Brutus made a prodigious 
 hit, and was played nearly the whole of the sea- 
 son. 
 
 The theatre was so entirely prostrate at this 
 epoch, that the salaries failed in being paid, and 
 as a last resource, Payne's play, which had long 
 lain neglected, was, by Stephen Kemble's good 
 taste, put in rehearsal, and Kean -was prevailed 
 upon to study the part. After a number of vexa- 
 tious delays, which Payne bore with exemplary 
 patience, walking with the permission of a "day 
 rule" to the theatre (for he was a prisoner for
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 39 
 
 debt at the time in the Fleet or Bench) to meet 
 Kean by appointment, and then find him not to 
 be found, or not fit to be seen, it was at length 
 produced to an indillerent house. It was shock- 
 ingly cast ; Harry Keinble, whom the audience 
 would hardly tolerate, was the Tarquin ; D. Fish- 
 er, who had good sense enough since to turn 
 dancing-master, was the Titus ; and the balance 
 of the characters «?tsupported by a parcel oi' peo- 
 ple that it would be annoying even to mention 
 their names ; the fat, vulgar, housekeeper-look- 
 ing Mrs. Glover, who now plays a line of busi- 
 ness she was only ever fit to sustain, was the 
 Tullia; Water-gruel Mrs. W. West was the 
 other woman, and the pretty Utile dawdle, Mrs. 
 .Robinson, the Lucretia. On the first night, a 
 scene between her and Harry Kemble nearly 
 ended the fate of the play; but the next, Tar- 
 quin smothered her, or did something or another 
 to her immediately, without saying a word about 
 it, much to the satisfaction of the audience. 
 The public were greatly prejudiced against the 
 establishment, and assisted, no doubt, by the 
 emissaries of the rival theatre, the play, on its 
 first representation, made three or four narrow 
 escapes ; greatly to my annoyance, for, independ- 
 ent of my interested motives, I had a warm 
 feeling in favour of the author, both for his tal- 
 ent and amiable deportment. But Kean was 
 the Atlas of the night, and took the whole play 
 on his shoulders; his assumed folly elicited the 
 first general approbation from the house, and his 
 speech to Titus ending with 
 
 " Tuck up thy tunic, train those curled locks 
 To the short warrior-cut, vault on thy steed: 
 Then scouring through the city, call to arms ! 
 And shout for liberty !" 
 
 caused John Bull to shout too with all his 
 might: in fact, he always does shout when liber- 
 ty's mentioned, whether because he thinks he's 
 the possessor of the blessing, or " wants to," as 
 the Yankees say, I know not. The oration over 
 the body of Lucretia was the most heart-thrill- 
 ing, pathetic appeal to the passions I ever heard : 
 equal in solemn beauty to his manner of bid- 
 ding farewell to the attributes of war in Othello, 
 which never was spoken by any actor but him- 
 self as Shakspeare conceived it. At this time 
 Le Thiere's large painting of the Judgment of 
 Brutus was exhibiting at the Egyptian Hall, 
 Piccadilly, and being the work of a Frenchman, 
 everybody, of course, went to see it. The last 
 scene was grouped exactly after its manner; Le 
 vivant tableau had a most happy effect, and the 
 play, to my great delight, after all its struggles, 
 was announced for repetition amid universal 
 approbation. 
 
 In defiance of its almost unprecedented suc- 
 cess with the public, nearly the whole newspa- 
 per press seized their dissecting-knives to cut 
 up it and its author; columns were filled with 
 extracts from obsolete dramas, which Payne had 
 used for his purpose with all the freedom of an 
 old acquaintance; though scarcely one actor or 
 playgoer in fifty had ever heard of, or read them, 
 with the exception of himself, and those cross- 
 examining critics; one long and able article, 1 
 remember, was wittily headed : " The labour we 
 delight in physics Payne? 1 
 
 At all events, he deserved higher praise thnn 
 the compiler of Shakspeare 1 s play of Richard ike 
 Third, as it is called, for out of far inferior ma- 
 terials, he placed in the front rank of public opin- 
 ion an excellent tragedy, on a subject four or five 
 authors of celebrity had failed to make dramatic ; 
 
 revived the drooping laurel on the brow of Kean, 
 and with his overwhelming assistance saved 
 Drury Lane Theatre at that time from total ruin. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " Love's very pain is sweet ; 
 But its reward is in the world divine, 
 "Which, if not here, it builds beyond the grave." 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 If you were to listen to and believe half the 
 gruntings and grumblings of the peevish atoms 
 who inhabit this " wretched world," as they call 
 it, you might be led to imagine they were most 
 anxious to "shuffle off this mortal coil." This 
 goodly frame, the earth, is described by them as 
 a " steril promontory," " a foul and pestilent 
 congregation of vapours ;" that man delights not 
 them — "no, nor woman neither!" as Hamlet 
 says ; and they try to persuade you and them- 
 selves that any change must be for the better. 
 And yet I never saw one of these "discontented 
 papers" who didn't use " the little left of strength 
 remaining," in struggling with the grim tyrant 
 when it came to the awful pause. Now I be- 
 lieve that there are quite sufficient delicious lit- 
 tle inventions for our gratification to amply 
 keep pace with all " the natural shocks that flesh 
 is heir to," and among them, can any one be 
 more delightful than the unexpected renewal in 
 manhood of a sincere boyish friendship 1 This 
 I experienced in an unushered visit from George 
 Maryon. 
 
 He had been a midshipman in the navy, and 
 at the close of the war, had been left with a bul- 
 let in his body to remind him of his youthful 
 folly, and a very superior education for his fu- 
 ture support ; his brother was an artist with con- 
 siderable talent, and together they had establish- 
 ed an academy for young gentlemen at East 
 Lane, Walworth. My dear boy Joe, who al- 
 ways loved everything and everybody his father 
 admired, took a great fancy to my sworn friend, 
 and he was intrusted to his care as a pet and 
 "parlour boarder." Each succeeding Sunday 
 they paid us a visit; but my uncertain engage- 
 ments at the theatre deprived me, for some weeks, 
 of the power of absenting myself so far from its 
 purlieu. But the death of dueen Charlotte, 
 causing the establishment to be closed till she 
 was enclosed in the vault at Windsor, among 
 her poor relations, gave me an unenviable holy- 
 day — "no play, no pay" — and on a fine day af- 
 ter dinner, I set off to walk to Walworth, which 
 I understood to be only two or three miles dis- 
 tant. All my life I have suffered great incon- 
 venience from the absence of the faculty of re- 
 membering names. Once, in playing Lazarillo, 
 in " Two Strings to your Bow," I insisted that 
 my name was Pedrillo, to the great amusement 
 of the actors. Calling at the stage door to look 
 for letters, I inquired of West, the messenger 
 of the house, my shortest route to Wandsworth 
 instead of Walworth. 
 
 " Why, sir," said this experienced directory, 
 "it's a pretty good walk to Wandsworth — but 
 it's a straight line. Your best way will be to go 
 over Westminster Bridge ; and you'll find dozens 
 of coaches will set you down there for a shilling 
 or eighteen-pence." 
 
 I did as he advised, and, soon after passing 
 the Marsh Gate, I was overtaken by a long four- 
 horsed stage, with ''Wandsworth" named on its 
 end, as its place of destination. I hailed the 
 driver, and took a seat by his side. As he was
 
 40 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 not able to give me the desired information, when 
 we reached the village I alighted at the first tav- 
 ern, and requested to be directed to East Lane, 
 and Mr. Maryon's academy. 
 
 " I knows of no Heast Lane" said the land- 
 lady — I suppose, for she was very fat — " but 
 some calls this Hcast Bend, I'm sure I don't 
 
 know for what ; and there's Mr. M , he's a 
 
 harchitect, and keeps a sort of a 'cademy. He 
 teaches oome young men to draw churches, and 
 build 'ouses, and such like, I believe." 
 
 " That's the very man, madam," said I. I 
 thought of his brother, the artist, and the name 
 (which I purposely suppress, for fear, even at 
 this distant date, of creating a difficulty between 
 an elderly lady and gentleman, if they are still 
 alive) was as much like Mar-yon, as' Mar-von 
 is, as she pronounced it. According to her di- 
 rection, I entered a small garden, and rang the 
 bell at the door of a handsome house, standing 
 back from the road. After waiting a reasonable 
 period, I repeated the summons more energeti- 
 cally, and in a few seconds I heard a female 
 voice say, pettishly, " That boy is never in the 
 "way;" and the door was instantly opened by — 
 Anna! I caught her in my arms — I was afraid 
 of her falling, and, if she had, she would have 
 hit her head against the foot of the stairs, for the 
 passage was not more than eight feet long, and 
 she was standing on the inner edge of the mat — 
 a little, fat man, and a maid-servant, made their 
 appearance — but how they got there, Heaven 
 only knows ! — and, with their assistance, I pla- 
 ced her, senseless, on the sofa in the parlour. 
 After the lapse of a few minutes — passed by me 
 in a delirium, and by the man and his maids in 
 applying, in hurry and confusion, the usual rem- 
 edies, all which I remembered as a dream after- 
 ward, but then I had not the power to assist — 
 she opened her heavenly eyes, gazed, with a va- 
 cant stare, around the apartment, concealed her 
 face with her hands, and burst into an agony of 
 grief. 
 
 "Anne, my dear, Anne !"— if he had called 
 her Anna I believe I should have knocked him 
 down — "why, Anne, my dear," said the little fat 
 man, looking up at her as she was leaning back 
 on the sofa, with " the heart's blood turned to 
 tears" oozing through her taper fingers over her 
 wedding-ring, and chasing each other, like dew- 
 drops tinted with rose-leaves, down her snowy 
 arm, "what is all this, and who is this gentle- 
 man 1" 
 
 " Wait a minute — don't speak to me !" sobbed 
 poor Anna; "you shall know all — indeed you 
 shall — I — I'll tell you what a wretch I am — in — 
 in a minute." 
 
 The little fat man looked at me for informa- 
 tion, but I was so stultified with horror and re- 
 gret at this promised confession, which would, 
 in all probability, involve the happiness of her I 
 had so purely and innocently loved, that my be- 
 wildered thoughts deprived me of the power of 
 words to arrest the "evil communication;" and 
 I stood firmly, with the same apathetic, indiffer- 
 ent expression of face and manner, so often seen 
 in some poor wretch, listening to be told quietly, 
 that he is to be hanged by the neck until he is 
 dead, and his body given to the surgeons for dis- 
 section — and which natural display of intense 
 suffering is always placed to the account of un- 
 doubted courage and magnanimity of soul, in 
 Newgate Calendar criticism. After a lengthen- 
 ed pause, she suddenly rose up, and, with hys- 
 terical playfulness, said hurriedly, 
 
 "The surprise — the — no, not the joy — the as^ 
 tonishment, overcame me — it's — my cousin 
 you've heard me speak of," and again sunk 
 upon the sofa. 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! I'm her cousin, for the sake 
 of all parties," thought I. 
 
 "Oh yes; why, bless me, no wonder!" said 
 the little fat man. " Oh dear, yes, I remember. 
 I'm glad to see you, sir. I caught Anne one 
 day crying over your picture ; she told me that 
 it was her cousin — why, really, no wonder you 
 were surprised, my dear — she said, I think, you 
 were shot, or drowned, or something. I'm glad 
 to see you. She's got your picture yet. There, 
 that's it, tied to the black riband. Show it your 
 cousin, Anne — well, never mind, by-and-by — I 
 declare it's an excellent likeness ! a little too 
 fresh-coloured, perhaps — but, then, the uniform 
 makes a difference. But you must take a glass 
 of wine — Anne will get over it presently — and 
 I'll send for the children." 
 
 And away the nasty little fellow went. The 
 only balm I could lay to my tortured feelings at 
 that moment was, that he was very fat — and I 
 knew Anna could not bear fat — and that he was 
 a head and shoulders shorter than myself. But 
 "the children" made me sick at my stomach; I 
 felt faint ; and, without my saying a word, Anna 
 answered my look, 
 
 "Don't despise me. What could I do"? You 
 never answered my letters. Everybody said you 
 were dead, or had married some one else. God 
 help me ! he was rich, and all my friends per- 
 suaded — " 
 
 Me she would have said, and perhaps a great 
 deal more I'm glad I did not hear, but that the 
 door opened, and in came the father, without 
 doubt, of a little pot-bellied brat, the image of 
 himself, whom he was leading by the hand, and 
 followed by another "like the first," crying, and 
 sliding into the room, with a dirty nose. 
 
 " Take the baby up, Betsey," said the father. 
 
 " He won't let me, sir," said the maid. 
 
 "Ah, he's a spoiled child; but here's a fine 
 fellow," said the foolish-fond parent; "only three 
 years and a half old ; shake hands with the gen- 
 tleman, Joseph ; come, that's a good boy — it's 
 ma's cousin, my dear, that you were named 
 after." 
 
 But, thank Heaven ! my namesake wouldn't 
 do anything of the sort. 
 
 " We only breeched him yesterday," said the 
 father, his eyes half out of his head with delight. 
 
 And a pretty business they had made of breech- 
 ing the little beast. A nankin jacket and trou- 
 sers all in one piece, bedizened with mother of 
 pearl buttons all over the top, and daubed with 
 gingerbread over the bottom; and a slit in the 
 back, wide open, to let the little ball of fat in or 
 out, I suppose. 
 
 " Well, I'm heartily glad to see you — take a 
 glass of wine," said the good-natured man, 
 though I hated the sight of him. " Sir, here's to 
 ye. Oh do, my dear, take a little ; it will do you 
 good — now indeed it will ; well, if you won't, you 
 won't, I suppose. Anne has fretted a good deal 
 about you, I assure you." 
 I took my hat. 
 
 " Oh, you mustn't think of leaving us so soon. 
 Anne will be quite lively presently, now you've 
 got back. I've often heard her declare she 
 couldn't die happy unless she either saw or heard 
 something certain about you." 
 I moved towards the door. 
 "You mustn't think of going to town to-night;,-
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 41 
 
 we have plenty of spare beds, and you must tell 
 us how you escaped getting drowned, or shot, or 
 whatever it was." 
 
 I felt that victory could only be gained by an im- 
 mediate retreat; pleaded that business of the last 
 consequence demanded my presence in London 
 that night, but promised to return early on the 
 morrow, and pass the day with them ; took the 
 privilege of an affectionate cousin to embrace 
 his wife — whispered an eternal good-by — stumbled 
 over the mat, down two steps at the street door, 
 and departed. 
 
 " She gazed as I slowly withdrew : 
 My path I could scarcely discern. 
 So sweetly she bade me adieu, 
 I thought that she bade me return." 
 
 But I didn't, and have 
 
 Never seen Anna since. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " Say what abridgment have you for this evening 1 
 What mask 1 What music 1 How shall we beguile 
 The lazy time, if not with some delight V 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Stephen Kemble, and his sister, Mrs. Sid- 
 dons, to my poor thinking, shared between them 
 all the genius of that wonderful family. Extra- 
 ordinary natural advantages, highly-cultivated 
 minds, and long and intense study of the me- 
 chanical attributes so important to an actor, 
 rendered both John and Charles Kemble (but 
 particularly John) for years " the observed of 
 all observers ;" though I, in defiance of general 
 opinion, always considered Charles the superior 
 artist. "An two men ride on a horse, one must 
 ride behind;" and when John Kemble was at the 
 very zenith of his glory, with no shadow within 
 reach of his shade, his brother, with a better 
 voice, and finer face, was playing walking gen- 
 tlemen in the same theatre — Alonzo to his Rolla, 
 Lewson to his Beverly, Laertes to his Hamlet, 
 Cassio to his Othello, Prince of Wales to his 
 Hotspur, and so on. How would it have been 
 had their positions been changed] And even 
 in those comparatively subordinate characters, 
 Charles gained a most exalted reputation, and 
 the recollection of his excellence in that descrip- 
 tion of business painfully derogates from the 
 merit of any performer in that walk of the drama 
 since. After the retirement of the " great Kem- 
 ble," his most prejudiced worshippers were 
 obliged to admit that Charles was his equal in 
 most characters, and even honest enough to al- 
 low his superiority in some, and in a certain 
 grade of high comedy he stood alone — Mercutio 
 and Don Felix, for instance ; and it was witting- 
 ly said of his brother John, when he attempted 
 the latter part, : 'that he possessed too much of 
 the Don, and not enough of the Felix." 
 
 Stephen Kemble's extraordinary bulk depri- 
 ved him of the power of entering the arena with 
 his gladiatorial brother ; but his Macbeth and 
 Hamlet, by the adorers of mind, not body, will 
 never be forgotten; and his readings of Milton 
 and the Bible were superhuman. In his latter 
 days, from necessity, not choice, he only per- 
 formed Falstaff ; but even in that resource, for 
 his transcendent talent, he stood without a rival. 
 Fawcett delivered the wholesale wit of Fal- 
 staff in small parcels, with the pungent quaint- 
 ness of Touchstone. Bartley would make you 
 believe the knight had got fat behind the coun- 
 
 ter, while keeping a retail shop in the city.- 
 Dowton made him a very large-sized Sir An- 
 thony Absolute. Matthews played it as he did 
 Grunthrum, in "The Fortunes of War," or the 
 very whimsical character in one of his enter- 
 tainments, who inquires of everybody, " Am I 
 thinner, think ye V Warren had a great repu- 
 tation in the part in this country, and a sign for 
 a porter-house was painted in compliment to his 
 performance, in Philadelphia; but he, though a 
 very sensible actor, portrayed Sir John as if his 
 favourite beverage was beer, not sack. Hackett 
 and John CLuincy Adams have paid one another 
 some high compliments lately through the news- 
 papers on their true conception of the character, 
 which I think is highly probable to be the case ; 
 but when I saw Hackett in the part, some years 
 ago, I thought it was a very excellent imita- 
 tion of Matthews. 
 
 Stephen Kemble's face and figure were a guar- 
 antee for the character he gave himself: "Sweet 
 Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack 
 FalstafT; valiant Jack Falstaff, and, therefore, 
 more valiant, being, as he is, old Jack FalstafT;" 
 and alive to all the minute beauties of the au- 
 thor, he pointed them naturally, without force or 
 effort; and if the cavillers to excellence deny 
 that the performance was perfection, they must 
 admit that it put all competition in the back- 
 ground. In private life he was a good man, a 
 ripe scholar, a warm friend, and a delightful 
 companion. 
 
 During this season the principal green-room 
 was conducted with all the etiquette observed in 
 an apartment designed for the same purpose in 
 private life, and very properly too. A well-ap- 
 pointed room, especially when ladies are part of 
 its occupants, has great influence on the conduct 
 of its visiters in all classes of society, from the 
 magnificent drawing-room down to the splendid 
 "gin palace." There was an obsolete forfeit of 
 one guinea for any one entering it in undress, 
 unless, of course, in character. This being per- 
 fectly understood, was never likely to be incur- 
 red. But Alderman Cox, one of the committee, in 
 defiance of this well-known rule, dropped in one 
 evening in a riding-dress, with very muddy 
 boots and spurs. Tullia's train getting entan- 
 gled in one of them, Oxberry good-humouredly 
 reminded the alderman of the forfeit, which he 
 appeared to take (and I think did) in high dud- 
 geon ; but the next day a note was addressed to 
 the gentlemen of the green-room, begging them, 
 to accept a dozen of very fine Madeira in lieu 
 of the guinea forfeit; pleasantly stating that, 
 " as he was a very bad actor, he must be a mem- 
 ber of the second green-room, if of any, and, 
 therefore, did not consider himself amenable to 
 the laws of the first." To meet the matter in 
 the same spirit, with this wine, and other, we 
 agreed to give the alderman a dinner at the 
 Freemasons' Tavern, and a non-playing day in 
 Lent was selected. Sir Richard Birnie (the 
 Bow-street magistrate), Mr. Vaughen, M.P. (an 
 esteemed friend of Kemble's), and Fauntleroy 
 (the unfortunate), were invited to meet him ; 
 and the party completed by Stephen Kemble, 
 his son Harry, Carr, Hughes, Rae, Gatlie, Ox- 
 berry, Harley, Kean, Munden, Henry Johnston, 
 Irish Johnstone, Russell, and myself. Who 
 would not like to be one of such a parly once a 
 week! But they are nearly all gone now to — 
 " not where they eat, but where tliey are eaten: a 
 certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at 
 them." "Oh, the mad days that I have spent!
 
 42 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 and to see how many of my old acquaintance 
 are dead." Kean was observed to refrain from 
 wine, and when urged by his jovial companions 
 to "drink and fill," Alderman Cox said, 
 
 " In my official capacity" (he sal opposite to 
 Stephen Kemble), " I have excused Mr. Kean. 
 The fact is, I have made a promise for him that 
 he shall spend the evening with my wife, and if 
 he takes too much wine, I don't know what may 
 be the consequences." 
 
 The alderman laughed like an accommoda- 
 ting — alderman, and we smiled at his very con- 
 siderate philosophy. Kean withdrew early in 
 the evening, and the good-natured husband re- 
 mained with Kemble and four or five others, 
 myself among the number, till three in the morn- 
 ing. This is the same Alderman Cox who was 
 awarded heavy damages in a court of justice 
 against Kean, for destroying his domestic feli- 
 city; and this is the very Mrs. Oox whose in- 
 jured innocence " bellowed forth revenge" across 
 the wide Atlantic, and induced the good people 
 of Boston and New- York, in very purity of pur- 
 pose, to use her name as a watchword to drive 
 from the stage, as a punishment for some offence 
 given to the audience, " Shakspeare's proud rep- 
 resentative." 
 
 Though not a member of the institution, I 
 received the compliment of being appointed one 
 of the stewards at the annual Theatrical Fund 
 Dinner, at which the Duke of York presided, 
 with Kean facing him as master and treasurer; 
 and the talent of that great actor was even dis- 
 played in the simple matter of reading over the 
 list of subscribers. The amount given, or the 
 name of a popular donor, elicited, generally, 
 some demonstration of approval, according to 
 the sum or character of the party, and his pecu- 
 liar mode of announcing, " the veteran Michael 
 Kelly, ten pounds," obtained three rounds of ap- 
 plause. In the anteroom, appropriated to re- 
 ceive our distinguished guests, I met, for the 
 first time in London, my friend W.J. Dennison, 
 Esq., M. P., who had so unexpectedly assisted 
 to help me out of my scrape at Scarborough. 
 Shaking me heartily by the hand, and pointing 
 to the bit of blue riband at my buttonhole, he, 
 laughing, said, 
 
 "You see, Cowell, I told you how it would be." 
 
 Grimaldi, the celebrated clown, whom I had 
 never before seen without a red half-moon on 
 each cheek, was one of the stewards, and I don't 
 know why, but I felt astonished at finding him a 
 very agreeable, gentlemanly-looking man : we 
 formed an acquaintance which lasted while I 
 remained in England. 
 
 Tom Dibdin, the author and celebrated pun- 
 ster, also one of the stewards, arrived very late, 
 on a very miserable-looking nag, and his ap- 
 pearance altogether called forth some remarks 
 and merriment from those at the windows. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said he, on entering the room, 
 "you mustn't judge of anything by its looks; 
 that's the pony that plays the marble horse in 
 Giovanni in London, and can get as much 
 applause as any of you; it's the celebrated 
 Graphy." 
 
 "Graphy ! that's a strange name for a horse, 
 Dibdin," said some one. 
 
 " Most appropriate, though," said the punster. 
 "When I made up my mind to buy a horse, I 
 said, I'll bi-o-graphy ; when I mounted him I was 
 a tojHhgraphy ; when I want him to canter, I 
 say, ge-o-graphy ; and when I wish him to 
 stand still, and he won't, I say, but you au-tu- 
 
 graphy ; and, therefore, I think Graphy is a very 
 proper name." 
 
 On the last night of the season, for the benefit 
 of Old Rodwell, the box-book and housekeeper, 
 a gentleman was to make his first appearance 
 as Sylvester Daggerwood, and give imitations 
 of celebrated performers. I had played Frisk, in 
 My Spouse and I. on the same evening, and 
 could, therefore, only go in the orchestra to see 
 an excellent performance. He possessed all the 
 ease and familiarity of an old favourite, and his 
 mimicry was admirable. This was no other 
 than the irresistibly comic actor, and emperor of 
 topers, John Reeve, who a few years since paid 
 a visit to this country. 
 
 The theatre closed in a state of bankruptcy, 
 and was advertised for rent soon afterward; but 
 I had been prudent enough to provide an expe- 
 dient for the vacation, at any rate. Matthews 
 had been most successful in his entertainment 
 called " A Trip to Paris," and had rendered that 
 description of performance popular; and by se- 
 cretly robbing him of all his jokes and songs, 
 and localizing ihem to suit my hemisphere, I 
 compiled an excellent three hours' olio, called 
 " Cowell Alone," or a " Trip to London." The 
 use of all the theatres in the Lincoln circuit I 
 obtained gratuitously, and my success was enor- 
 mous. I played two, but never exceeded three 
 times, in each town to crowded houses; wisely 
 leaving off to the regret of my friends, with the 
 intention of returning. I merely visited the the- 
 atres belonging to my old circuit, with the ex- 
 ception of Louth, in Lincolnshire, thirty miles 
 from Boston; and at ihe urgent solicitation of 
 my friend Jackson, the printer (whose name was 
 nearly always found at the foot of the last page 
 of schoolbooks for boys of my age), I consented 
 to become his guest lor a week, and " show my 
 show" in the town-hall, the use of which was 
 tendered me, through his influence, by the author- 
 ities. It is the only picturesque spot in the 
 country, and the inhabitants the most hospitable, 
 jovial set of fellows (if they have not degener- 
 ated) that can be found anywhere ; here 1 gave 
 three entertainments, and had some difficulty in 
 getting away at the end of a fortnight. There 
 was a sort of moving festival among Jackson's- 
 friends while I was there. Smoking was great- 
 ly used as an abracadabra, in that fever and 
 ague country; and a certain set had a room, or 
 "snuggery," as they called it, detached from their 
 houses, for the purpose of freely enjoying that fu- 
 migating propensity. A t about three o'clock one 
 morning I was assisting Jackson home, in broad 
 daylight, from one of these noctes ambrosias, but 
 being full of wine, he couldn't find his way there ; 
 and I, being a stranger, couldn't conduct him in 
 a town so laid out that every house is, in fact, 
 in the country ; and, after a number of efforts to 
 gain the right path, he stopped and inquired of a 
 country boy, 
 
 " My lad, can you tell me where John Jack- 
 son lives'?" 
 
 " Eh," says the boy, " why you be John Jack- 
 son." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, you fool !" said my un- 
 steady friend : " I know I'm John Jackson, but 
 where do I live 1" 
 
 Elliston, that "diverting vagabond" and 
 scourge to actors, had become the lessee of Dru- 
 ry Lane, and made me an offer of four pounds a 
 week (it was said he made Munden an offer of 
 eight) to return, with great inducements as to bu- 
 siness — which, of course, I declined.
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 43 
 
 I had got as far as the beautiful little city of 
 Peterborough, and had still two towns untouched, 
 when I received a letter from Mr. Lee, stating 
 that the two young Rodwells, in conjunction 
 with Willis Jones, had purchased the Sans Pa- 
 nel from old Scott, and intended opening it with 
 as strong a company as they could get, and a su- 
 perior style of perlbrmance; and offering me an 
 engagement for the light and low comedy, and 
 that if I accepted, to come immediately to town ; 
 ■which I did. I performed that night, and the 
 next I was in London. 
 
 Scott's fame for manufacturing ink, pink sau- 
 cers, and liquid-blue dye, was coeval, and equal- 
 ly notorious, with Day and Martin's blacking. 
 At the time when all the little boys and girls in 
 London wanted to be Master Bettys and Miss 
 Mudies, Miss Scott developed strong symp- 
 toms of this dramatic disease ; and though her 
 extraordinary talent was undoubted by her fa- 
 ther and her friends, it was delicately hinted that 
 the greedy public not only expected intrinsic 
 merit (which she possessed) for their money, but 
 also that it must be hallowed o'er with beauty to 
 secure the first impression. No paragraph, how- 
 ever laudatory in its imbodying, would ever ex- 
 cite curiosity, the grand point to be obtained, un- 
 less it commenced or ended with, " This tran- 
 scendent little loveliness, this sylphlike master- 
 piece of Nature in her most bounteous mood, 
 whose cerulean beauty conjures the wandering 
 stars, and makes the little cherubim close their 
 wings with envy, to think they are not so fair, 
 last night astonished and delighted an over- 
 flowing house ; among the distinguished persons 
 present, we observed Lord CasTfereagh in the 
 stage-box, and Mrs. Siddons (as she thought, out 
 of sight) in the corner of the orchestra, with tears 
 in torrents bedewing their experienced faces." 
 
 Or, to bring the position more home to the 
 feelings of old Scott, argued his worldly adviser, 
 
 " How could you expect to sell your true blue, 
 iinot to be equalled, and to imitate this is forgen/, 
 were not flourished all over the label in pink arid 
 
 green 1" 
 
 Now Miss Scott, in addition to some natural 
 defects, had had the smallpox and rickets unfa- 
 vourably ; but as genius comes in all disguises, 
 she really had talent both as an actress and a 
 writer; and as a resource for the world's preju- 
 dices, old Scott gutted the back of his warehouse 
 and fitted up a theatre, where his daughter might 
 safely indulge her predilection for the stage. 
 Here for two or three years, assisted by some 
 young people, her pupils, she dramatized and 
 acted away "to a subscription party of her own 
 friends. In all cities there are certain sides of 
 the way in certain streets which the population, 
 from some cause or other, prefer to crowd, and 
 leave the opposite comparatively empty: just so 
 it is with the location I speak of; the best in 
 London for a theatre, hundreds of people enter 
 there attracted by the red baize doors and a gal- 
 axy of gas, who, when they set out on their ram- 
 ble, never dreamed of visiting an establishment 
 of the kind at all. And old Scott very wisely 
 obtained a license for a minor performance, 
 chiefly provided by his clever daughter ; and 
 thinking of her alone, called it the "Sans Pa- 
 nel," opened the doors to the chance customers, 
 and made a fortune ; and this was the very place 
 Rodwells and Jones had purchased. 
 
 I had never seen the interior in Scott's time, 
 but its origin was still strongly developed. A 
 wide passage under the first floor of a house, 
 
 leaving room for a small shop, on the right, in 
 the same building, led you to the entrances of 
 the boxes and pit, the latter being placed in the 
 back cellar. Though comparatively small, it 
 was most excellently planned, both for seeing 
 and hearing. The name was changed to the 
 Adelphi ; a good direction, being nearly opposite 
 to the street leading to that well-known terrace 
 on the Thames, where the immortal Garrick 
 once resided, and appropriate in reference to the 
 brotherly managers. 
 
 The whole of Scott's engagements had been 
 purchased, with the property; but of the merits 
 of the performers there was no means of judg- 
 ing, for they were put far in the back-ground by 
 the new company, with the exceptions of Jones, 
 the singer — the " Braham of America," as he 
 was foolishly called till Braham himself came, 
 in his old age, to dispute the title — and Gomer- 
 sal, who had been Miss Scott's " amiable foot- 
 pad" for years, and he grumbled through the 
 heavy business. Our party consisted of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Chatterly, who had both been great favour- 
 ites at the English Opera-house — he in old men, 
 and she in high comedy ladies ; Mrs. Alsop, a 
 daughter of Mrs. Jordan's, but no relation, by 
 blood, to William the Fourth. She had been at 
 Drury Lane, and was highly admired in romps 
 and chambermaids ; Mrs. Waylet, who has been 
 a great favourite in London ever since, played 
 boys, and lively singing characters; Mrs. Ten- 
 ant, long favourably known at the nobility's 
 concerts, the principal singer ; Mr. Watkins, 
 who was in this country some years, with Bur- 
 roughs added to it, the principal serious young 
 man; Wilkinson, the celebrated Geoffrey Muf- 
 fincap — and if he had never played anything else 
 but that and Dogberry, he would have been con- 
 sidered a great actor — was the low comedian; 
 John Reeve — a changeable part, and two other 
 characters, suited to his style then — and myself, 
 eccentric light comedy. Beautiful walking la- 
 dies, well-dressed young gentlemen, and dancers 
 by dozens. 
 
 The pieces were all original, and written ex- 
 pressly to fit the peculiar talent of the principal 
 performers ; and Wilkinson and myself, both 
 overpowering favourites, had the privilege of 
 producing any piece that we thought we could 
 make successful. The elegant little Planche 
 was my chosen author; but apiece was acted at 
 the Olympic, called " Where shall I Dine?" in 
 which Wrench had a part called Sponge, to 
 which I took a great fancy, and, by introducing 
 an appropriate song, which I was always re- 
 quired to repeat twice, I had the advantage of 
 him — supported, also, by our superior company 
 — and I played it every night, with the excep- 
 tion of three weeks, during the remainder of the 
 season, and for six in succession, twice on each 
 evening. Wrench was taken sick, and, to save 
 the run of the piece being stopped at the Olym- 
 pic, and show the magnanimity of the rival es- 
 tablishment, after performing the part first at the 
 Adelphi, while our ballet was proceeding 1 drove 
 to the other house, played it there, and returned 
 in time to dress, and act my character in 'the 
 farce. 
 
 As this book professes to be exclusively a his- 
 tory of my theatrical life, my domestic joys and . 
 sorrows should remain "untouched, or slightly 
 handled ;" but, in common justice, and to show 
 the difference in the hearts of men I am bound to 
 describe, I must in this instance deviate from 
 my allotted path. Mothers and fathers who read
 
 u 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 this page will readily believe I considered my 
 attendance on the deathbed of my youngest child 
 — a daughter, nearly five years old— paramount 
 to any other duty upon earth, and I absented 
 myself from the theatre. But every pay-day the 
 sum supposed to be due to me was enclosed, 
 with the earnest good wishes and anxious in- 
 quiries of Jones and Rod wells — though my sal- 
 ary was a large one, the run of two favourite 
 pieces suspended, and my absence from the the- 
 atre highly injurious to its interests, and pain- 
 fully inconvenient. At the end of three weeks, 
 Maria died; and setting at defiance "all forms, 
 modes, shows of grief," I instantly sent my de- 
 sire to be announced, and played the same even- 
 ing. Even at this distant period this recital is 
 painful to me, and, for some years after its oc- 
 currence, I dared not trust myself to refer to it; 
 but Time, who smooths the wrinkled brow of 
 care, has long since taught me to thank God, in 
 the same spirit that inspired the pretty lines of 
 Coleridge, that 
 
 " Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade, 
 Death came with, friendly care, 
 The opening bud to heaven convey'd, 
 And bade it blossom there." 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " If thou wert honourable. 
 Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not 
 For such an end thou seek'st ; as base, as strange. 
 Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far 
 From thy report as thou from honour." 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 While I was in treaty with Jones and Rod- 
 wells for an increase of salary for the next sea- 
 son, I very unexpectedly received a note from 
 Elliston, requesting to see me. I found him 
 seated in his room, enveloped in a morning- 
 gown ; his hair thrust up from his forehead, and 
 standing in all directions, after the manner of a 
 mad poet; a pen behind his ear, and another in 
 his mouth, and before him, on the table, a quire 
 or two of scribbled paper, and a folio edition of 
 Shakspeare, open at King Lear, which he in- 
 formed me he was revising, and intended to 
 place upon the stage " in a garb 'twas never 
 dressed before." In his bland and most insinu- 
 ating manner, " he regretted, with all his heart 
 and soul, that such enormous talent should be 
 wasted at a petty minor theatre — the Sans Pariel." 
 
 " It's called the Adelphi now," said I, inter- 
 rupting him. " I know it, my dear sir," he con- 
 tinued : " these young men have called it the 
 Adelphi ; but old True-blue's connexions, and 
 the apprentice boys, who constitute the audi- 
 ence, will see them d — d before they call it any- 
 thing but the Sands Parill, and look upon an 
 actor, no matter what talent he may possess, as 
 a Sands Parill player." After pointing out the 
 degradation attending belonging to a minor thea- 
 tre, though he had conducted one for years, that 
 " best of cut-throats," who had "a tongue could 
 wheedle with the devil," induced me to sign an 
 engagement for three years, at the same salary 
 I was receiving at the Adelphi, to commence the 
 Monday after Passion-week. The description 
 of business I was only to be called upon to sus- 
 tain was named in the following form: "All 
 such parts as are usually played by Messrs. 
 Munden, Dowton, Knight, Oxberry. and Harley, 
 or other performers holding the same grade in 
 the profession." This unexpected arrangement 
 greatly annoyed my friends Jones and Rodwell, 
 
 who produced the articles drawn as I wished, 
 and only wanting signatures, and all parties re- 
 gretted the hasty proceeding. But they prophe- 
 sied, from Elliston 's dishonourable reputation, 
 that he would be sure to break the engagement, 
 and if he did, I promised to return to them. 
 Among many verbal inducements held out to 
 me by Elliston (whose powers of persuasion 
 amounted to fascination), he suggested that I 
 might always command a few days, or a week, 
 to take a trip with my entertainment, and so in- 
 crease my salary, and relieve the treasury. 
 "As," to use his own words, " I shall not bring 
 you out till Harley goes to the Lyceum, which 
 doesn't open till June, and then I'll place you so 
 carefully before the public, that that prince of 
 impostors will never want to come back again." 
 It so happened that Crisp, the manager of the 
 Worcester circuit, made me an offer to go to 
 Chester for three nights, in the race week, com- 
 mencing on Easter Monday, for which he of- 
 fered me twenty pounds, and to pay all my ex- 
 penses there and back. Fully relying on my 
 services not being required at Drury Lane, I ac- 
 cepted the proposal, and, as a mere matter of 
 form, mentioned the arrangement I had entered 
 into to Elliston. 
 
 " You can't go, sir," said the barefaced cajoler. 
 
 "Why, sir," 1 replied, "you yourself pointed 
 out the advantage to the treasury my occupy- 
 ing as much of my time elsewhere as possible 
 would be between this and June." 
 
 " Why, so I did," said he : " that's all true 
 enough ; but if you refer to your articles, you 
 will find that permission for your absence must 
 be first had and obtained in writing, and I don't 
 think proper to write; for," continued he, in a 
 very important tone, " I find the interests of the 
 theatre demand that I should immediately bring 
 you before the public, and I intend to produce 
 ' Blue Devils' on Thursday next, with a. powerful 
 cast, and you must make your first essay this 
 season in the part of James!" 
 
 The man's style was so bombastically comic, 
 that to be angry, or even refrain from laughing, 
 was impossible; but I never asked for leave of 
 absence afterward. Though I generally played 
 excellent business — for, for the sake of annoy- 
 ing Munden, Harley, and others, he'd frequent- 
 ly cast me into parts they had a better claim to — 
 I still had my share of disagreeables, though al- 
 ways carefully kept within the letter of the law ; 
 for, secure in my engagement at the Adelphi, 
 which was purposely kept open, I was rather 
 desirous than otherwise that he should " tear the 
 bond." At length he cast me for Aruns, in 
 Payne's play of Brutus, and I remonstrated. 
 
 " Sir, this part of Aruns must surely have 
 been sent to me by mistake," said I; "it was 
 originally played by Mr. Yarnold, or some sec- 
 ondary young man, without any pretensions to 
 comedy." 
 
 " That, my dear sir," said he, in his soft, sooth- 
 ing manner, "was a great oversight in the man- 
 agement: its being given to the serious young 
 man you speak of was a great injury to the 
 play, which is a very dull, tedious affair, at any 
 rate, and this little bit of delicious comedy will 
 be a great relief to its monotony." 
 
 " Comedy, sir !" said I : " my dear sir, read the 
 part; there is not a comic line in it." 
 
 " I know it," said he, calmly, " I know it ; the 
 author has left the character entirely to the actor, 
 as he has every part of the play ; who could tell 
 what Brutus was meant to be, if Kean didn't.
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 45 
 
 act it! This part is intended as a comic relief, 
 such as Shakspeare desired Oswald to be in 
 King Lear; only this is infinitely more capable 
 of effect, and in your hands 'twill be irresist- 
 ible." 
 
 Thus assured as to its comic capabilities, for 
 the sake of the mischief, I learned the few lines. 
 On the night, I dressed myself, with the assist- 
 ance of the wardrobe-keeper, who entered into 
 the joke in the most outre manner possible, and 
 kept out of sight till the very moment I was 
 ■wanted. Kean not being at rehearsal, was un- 
 prepared to meet a comedian in the character, 
 and when I ran down the stage, after the man- 
 ner of Crack or Darby, in the burlesque dress, he 
 burst into an uncontrollable laugh, in which the 
 audience heartily joined, and after gabbling over 
 the few lines, to which Kean couldn't reply, I 
 made a comic exit at the opposite prompt side, 
 amid yells, shouts, hisses, and applause, and the 
 first person I met was Elliston. 
 
 " You can take off your warrior's dress, sir," 
 said he, with a half laugh, for he was as fond of 
 mischief as I was ; " we'll not trouble you any 
 farther; Mr. Russell will finish the part." 
 
 " You know you told me to make it as funny 
 as I could," said I. 
 
 "Yes, that's very true," he replied, "but I 
 didn't expect you to make it so d — funny.'" 
 
 And Russell retained the part for the remain- 
 der of the season. 
 
 A burletta, called Giovanni in London, founded 
 on the pantomime of Don Juan, had been drama- 
 tized in rhyme by Moncrief, and produced by 
 Elliston some time belbre, when he had the 
 Olympic, with great success ; and to the great 
 astonishment of the old school, this illegitimate 
 manager had it rendered into prose, and some 
 additions made to it, for Drury Lane ; engaging 
 the fascinating, and much- wronged Madame Ves- 
 tris, to represent the gay seducer. And the 
 number of hard male hearts she caused to ache, 
 during her charming performance of the charac- 
 ter, I am satisfied, would far exceed all the fe- 
 male tender ones Byron boasts that Juan caused 
 to break during the whole of his career. Har- 
 ley was cast Leporello, and I was desired to un- 
 derstudy it, and left out of the piece ; but at the 
 first rehearsal, Oxberry and Knight both refused 
 the parts allotted them, and Oxberry's was given 
 to me — "Mr. Porus, a coachmaker," without 
 one redeeming line, and on the stage, with little 
 to do all through the piece. I remonstrated, but 
 was answered that it was according to the spirit 
 of my engagement; that it was Mr. Oxberry's 
 part, or such as he ought to play, and that, for 
 his refusal, he had been forfeited; and that, if I 
 declined the character, my n ight's salary should be 
 stopped during the run of the piece, though the 
 fulfilment of my articles would still be claimed. 
 For an ambitious actor to have to play an objec- 
 tionable part for one night is bad enough, but he 
 can grumble through it, and forget the annoy- 
 ance in the morning ; but every night in the 
 week, for months, to be so afflicted, is putting 
 patience to a severe penance. Every scheme I 
 could invent to distress the performers, so that 
 I might be taken out of the piece, failed ; in fact, 
 rather rooted me more firmly in my disagreeable 
 position. Madame Vestris had to sing a very 
 long song, to the tune of " Scots wha' ha' wi' 
 Wallace bled !" which was always encored, and 
 to which I had to stand quietly, by right, and 
 listen; but I made up my mind I would get 
 clear from that nuisance, by "cutting mugs" at 
 
 the musicians, and making the people in the 
 front of the pit giggle all through the song; but, 
 to my horror and disappointment, when we came 
 off, the dear kind sou), instead of being angry, as 
 I wished and expected, said she thought " it was 
 extremely comical, and begged I'd do it every 
 night." Harley was the only one I succeeded 
 in annoying; I could give an excellent imitation 
 of him, and by speaking outside, and going 
 down the stage after his manner, I got the recep- 
 tion intended for Leporello, and when he came 
 on, the audience, for tear of being again taken in, 
 took no notice of him at all. The first night I 
 even deceived his mother and sister, and got the 
 first and last approbation I ever received from 
 them, I'm quite certain. After about five weeks 
 of this never-likely-to-end vexation, I consulted 
 my friend Rodwell, and we agreed to have two 
 guineas worth of Chitty's opinion, the celebrated 
 Chamber counsel, and he gave it decidedly as 
 his conviction that the article was rendered 
 void; and relying on this authority, Rodwell 
 bound himself to keep me harmless, and I signed 
 and sealed for the Adelphi, on my proposed 
 terms, for three years. Rodwell retained Adol- 
 phus as counsel in the event of an action, and 
 Elliston was apprized of my leaving the theatre 
 according to law ; and after some preliminary 
 forms, meaning nothing, I suppose, the affair 
 was dropped. 
 
 Elliston was a magnificent actor and delight- 
 ful companion, but a most unprincipled man: 
 his " Liar" could only be equalled by his " poeti- 
 cal prose" off the stage. When manager of the 
 Olympic, an actor by the name of Carles, who 
 was an overpowering favourite with the audi- 
 ence, had been discharged, in consequence of 
 intemperance, and, of course, he stated to his 
 friends that he had been shamefully ill used. 
 The frequenters of the Olympic, in Elliston's 
 time, were a very different class of persons to 
 the elegant audience Madame Vestris, in after 
 years, attracted there; and they, with fellow feel- 
 ing, sympathized with his supposed injuries ; 
 for though he told the truth, all his offence was 
 " only taking a drop too much ;" and a most pow- 
 erful party was arrayed, one evening, to demand 
 his reinstatement, and Carles took a seat in the 
 pit to await the joyful result. When Elliston 
 appeared, he was greeted with one universal 
 shout of "Carles! Carles ! engage Carles ! let's 
 have Carles ! Carles ! Carles ! Carles, or no play ! 
 Carles! Carles!" When, with his hand on the 
 spot the uninformed in anatomy imagine the 
 dwelling-place of the heart, and a face express- 
 ing veneration and submission, which he pos- 
 sessed such unequalled power to portray, he, 
 in action, entreated silence, and with all the un- 
 hesitating bluntness of truth, he burst forth with 
 pathetic energy, 
 
 " My best, my warm friends ! this ebullition 
 of feeling in behalf of one you suppose to have 
 been wronged shows the nobleness of your na- 
 ture, and I adore you for it :" intense silence. 
 " The man who would hesitate to stretch forth 
 his utmost might to rescue from the bitter fangs 
 of oppression the object of tyranny and persecu- 
 tion, is unworthy to enjoy the blessings of that 
 liberty for which our forefathers fought and 
 bled!" loud applause, and one little "huzza" 
 from an apprent ice-boy, nearly out of his time, 
 in the pit. "Iloved that man," pointing to Carles: 
 " oh ! how I loved him ; I idolized his tran- 
 scendent talent, and took him to my heart like a 
 brother:" here he produced a white handker-
 
 46 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 chief, and several gentlemen were heard to blow 
 their noses in the gallery. " To my poor think- 
 ing, he appeared the moving picture of all that 
 could adorn humanity ; he would, to be sure, 
 get a little tipsy sometimes:" here there was a 
 slight murmur among the audience; "but I al- 
 ways looked upon it as an amiable weakness — 
 we all get tipsy sometimes — I do :" here there 
 was an acknowledgment of the fact in the shape 
 of a Utile laugh. " But for the last week" — here 
 he looked directly at Carles — "he has been in a 
 continual state of intoxication, and has never 
 been near the theatre." Carles rose from his 
 seat. " Down in front '! hat's off! down in front .'" 
 was declared in a voice as double as the duke's, 
 and Carles sat down, and Elliston continued, with 
 a thick voice and hurried manner: "And on 
 going to his lodging this morning, to coax him 
 to return, which I have often done before, judge 
 of my horror and astonishment when I found 
 his wife and children starving for the want of 
 the common necessaries of life :" here some 
 one in the gallery was imprudent enough to 
 shout out, " Carles hasn't got no wife !" but a uni- 
 versal cry of " Pitch him over!" prevented any 
 farther remarks from that gentleman, and Ellis- 
 ton proceeded : " His lawfully wedded wife, the 
 most lovely, thin young creature I ever be- 
 held, whom this villain" — pointing at Carles in 
 the pit — "had torn from her fond, gray-haired 
 father's arms, to bring to misery, and leave her 
 to perish for want: the infant at her breast 
 screaming for the nourishment the starving 
 mother couldn't give; the little ones, four lovely 
 boys, clasping my knees and shrieking for 
 bread ; and in the corner of the room lay his in- 
 fant daughter, the most lovely, angel form I ever 
 beheld, a frightful, distorted corpse, too horrible 
 to look upon, who, the day before, had died for 
 want of food." Here there was a general mur- 
 mur round the house, but Elliston interrupted 
 its explosion by continuing, "I instantly sent 
 for food for the little ones, and with the sum this 
 villain," looking at Carles, and blubbering, 
 "could easily have earned, I provided a coffin 
 for the little cherub, and only half an hour ago 
 I returned from the funeral. Now, I appeal to 
 you as men, as husbands, and as fathers, should 
 I engage this inhuman monster 1" pointing at 
 Carles. " If you say so, he shall instantly be re- 
 instated." 
 
 "No, no!" Carles got up to speak. "Knock 
 him over! out with him! pitch him out !" and 
 a hundred such expressions, issued forth in one 
 enormous torrent, and poor Carles, who never 
 had a. wife in his life, nor a child, to tlie best of hit 
 knowledge, escaped, by miracle, from the infuria- 
 ted multitude, into the street, and Elliston got 
 peal on peal of applause, and the performance 
 proceeded. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " Oh, jracious God ! how far have we 
 Profaned thy heavenly Rift of poesy ? 
 Made prostitute ami profligate the muse, 
 Debased to cacli obscene and impious use : 
 Whose harmony was first ordained above. 
 For tongues of angels, and for hymns of love ? 
 Oh, wretched me ! why were we hurried down 
 Tiiis lubrique and adult'rate 
 (Nay, added fat pollution of our own), 
 T' increase the streaming ordures of the stage !" 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 When Stephen Kemble took the government 
 of Drury Lane Theatre, his ambition led him to 
 
 believe that he could replace the drama on that 
 proud and purely classic pedestal from which 
 the rude hand of ignorance had hurled it head- 
 long; and his refined taste gave him the intel- 
 lectual power for the Augean labour, but the 
 kindness of his nature deprived him of the 
 strength of heart necessary to begin the task : 
 dozens of actors and actresses he had remem- 
 bered when a boy, grown gray in the theatre, and 
 passed the day of pleasing, he humanely retain- 
 ed to choke the outlet of a limited treasury, and 
 thereby fettering the means which should have 
 been applied to furnish material for a market al- 
 ways requiring a quick return. His very name, 
 too, contradictory as it may appear at the first 
 glance, was an impediment to popularity. The 
 exalted station his brother John and Mrs. Sid- 
 dons had achieved, rendered them unapproacha- 
 ble to the multitude; this was a heinous fault. 
 The mob must ever have their idol, whether 
 in religion, politics, or the drama, upon familiar 
 terms ; the privilege of calling them, behind their 
 backs, " Old Sail Siddons," and " Black Jack," 
 was not sufficient ; they must ineet them at the 
 Harp, or Finche's, or the Coal-hole, ay they 
 could "Charley Incledon," or "Neddy Kean," 
 or they were not content ; they therefore looked 
 up to their splendid talent with awe for its sublim- 
 ity, with wonder at its attainment, and with envy 
 at the feeling distance at which, by comparison, 
 it placed themselves; and, in consequence, the vul- 
 gar public worshipped and hated them. Though 
 past the reach of prostration from their " high 
 estate," every trifle was seized upon with avid- 
 ity for the purpose of annoyance. Kemble, in 
 Prospero, alive to Shakspeare's meaning, that 
 the smooth current of the language should flow 
 with no grammatic bar to ruffle its enchanted 
 calmness, changed the harsh plural of the "ear- 
 piercing" ache, and filled the measure of the line 
 with pure poetic propriety. The scribblers by 
 rule seized upon this piece of pedantry, as they 
 called it, to cavil at, and, ridiculous to relate, 
 every night a portion of the audience, too igno- 
 rant to know the patois of St. Giles's was not their 
 mother tongue, whooped, yelled, and shouted at 
 the justly " lengthened line." With such a 
 prejudice existing against these two ornaments 
 of the profession, no wonder the scions of the 
 race were doomed without mercy to "expire be- 
 fore the flower in their caps ;" and, instigated by 
 this feeling, poor Henry Siddons, with every ad- 
 vantage of mind and education, was written off 
 the London stage lor no offence but his name ; 
 and, sad to tell, his disappointed ambition helped 
 to dig his early grave. His amiable wife, too, 
 an overwhelming favourite as Miss Murray, 
 suffered from the same cause, and the metropo- 
 lis of England lost the adornment of talent infi- 
 nitely superior to the overrated Miss O'Neil's. 
 
 Stephen Kemble, playing only one part, al- 
 ways appeared as a stranger to the audience, 
 who valued him merely as the "gross fat man" 
 who could play nothing but Falstaff, and his sou 
 Harry was, unfortunately, too nearly fair game 
 to easily escape. The committee, too, had five 
 opinions in every proposed amendment, and, of 
 course, made bad worse, though I must do them 
 the credit to say that, thanks to them, there were 
 more pretty women in the first and second green- 
 rooms than any one manager was ever able to 
 collect together again in my time ; among them, 
 the beautiful Mrs. Mardyn, who a short time 
 before, in the Plymouth theatre, was considered 
 incapable of delivering a message j but at Drury
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 47 
 
 Lane she played four or five principal charac- 
 ters during the season, to empty benches, and 'twas 
 said (and I believe, for I know the cost of such 
 material) received thirty pounds per week ! No 
 wonder the theatre went to ruin, and my esteem- 
 ed friend, Stephen Kemble, retired in disgust to 
 his pretty cottage at Durham. 
 
 Elliston took the reins under very different 
 auspices. He was the lessee, and literally un- 
 controlled, and a long and distinguished favour- 
 ite with the public ; his nature, too, admirably 
 fitting him not to allow old friendships, human- 
 ity, or kindness of heart to interfere with his in- 
 terests. His theatre, to use his own expression, 
 was not "intended as an hospital for invalids ;" 
 all the old servants of the public were, therefore, 
 discharged, or those only retained on salaries 
 graded to the extreme of what their abject neces- 
 sities obliged them to accept. For years the 
 manager of the Surrey and Olympic, he brought 
 •with him the experience purchased in that 
 school to add to his admitted knowledge of the 
 legitimate drama, and followed by crowds of 
 the utile, who, for the honour of belonging to 
 Drury Lane,, would act for little salary, or none 
 at all; always ready, and possessed, in an une- 
 qualled degree, of the fascinating power of per- 
 suading the public to anything he wished, he 
 took the direction of the theatre with the best 
 possible chance of success — for a time, at any 
 rate. His right-hand man was Winston, long 
 associated as the drudging partner with Cole- 
 man and Morris, at the Haymarket. He had 
 been disappointed in his hopes of becoming an 
 actor himself, and, with the same acrimony of 
 feeling an elderly virgin hates a blooming bride, 
 he detested the professors of an art he hadn't 
 warmth of soul enough to advance in. It was 
 his province to measure out the canvass and 
 colours for the painters, count the nails for the 
 carpenters, pick up the tin-tacks and bits of can- 
 dle, calculate on the least possible quantity of 
 soap required for each dressing-room, and in- 
 vent and report delinquencies that could in any 
 way be construed into the liability of a forfeit ; 
 of course, his prey was " such small deer" that 
 the gentlemen of the theatre wouldn't even con- 
 descend to spit upon him; but Smart, the lead- 
 er, who, in the legitimate sense of the word, de- 
 served that title, literally did void his rheum upon 
 his face, one night, before the company, which 
 the dastard wiped off, and, "with 'bated breath 
 and whispering humbleness," sued for pardon for 
 some dirty act. In the course of my experience 
 I have noted many such " valuable creatures," 
 as they are always called till they are found out, 
 pinned to the fortunes of a manager; and gen- 
 erally they get rich, and their employer gets 
 poor, and, in his tattered authority, exclaims, 
 " How strange it is that I should have been so 
 deceived in that man !" 
 
 King Lear, as threatened, was produced after 
 loud proclaim of preparation, and the tragedy 
 published as revised by the manager, and the 
 poor " nice-fruil-and-a-book-of-the-play" women 
 ■were obliged, on pain of dismissal, to add to their 
 ancient melody, " as adapted to the stage by R. W. 
 Elliston, fCsi/nire!" 
 
 Full measure was taken of the taste of the 
 Surrey and Olympic audience, in rendering the 
 beautiful play as much like a melodrame as 
 the nature of its action would permit. I wish I 
 had a bill to refer to ; but 1 remember great 
 credit ?/•■ 'dsed as due to the management 
 
 in correcting the hitherto inaccurate costume. 
 
 and Kean was clad in a crimson velvet gown, be- 
 dizened with gold buttons and loops down to his 
 feet! and Russell, as Oswald, in white silk stock- 
 ing!, and the same dress he wore for Itoderigo! 
 But the chief dependance of success was placed 
 on a bran-new hurricane on shore, " designed 
 and invented" by somebody, "after the celebra- 
 ted picture, by Loutherburg, of a Storm on 
 Land;" but, to give this additional effect, the 
 sea was introduced in the back-ground, the bil- 
 lows, painted alter nature, "curling, their mon- 
 strous heads and hanging them with deafening 
 clamours" — trees were made to see-saw back 
 and forth, accompanied with the natural creak * 
 creak ! attending the operation ; Winston had 
 hunted up, without any expense to tlie management, 
 every infernal machine that was ever able to- 
 spit fire, spout rain, or make thunder, and to- 
 gether were brought into full play behind the en- 
 trances. Over head were revolving prismatic 
 coloured transparencies, to emit a continual- 
 changing supernatural tint, and add to the un- 
 earthly character of the scene. King Lear would 
 one instant appear a beautiful pea-green, and 
 the next sky-blue, and, in the event of a mo- 
 mentary cessation of the rotary motion of the 
 magic lantern, his head would be purple and his 
 legs Dutch-pink. The common fault of all man- 
 kind is vaulting ambition, and, in the true spirit 
 of that feeling, every carpenter who was intrust- 
 ed to shake a sheet of thunder, or turn a rain- 
 box, was determined that his element should be 
 the most conspicuous of the party, and, together, 
 they raised a hurly-burly sufficient to " strike 
 flat the thick rotundity o' the world," and not a 
 word was heard through the whole of the scene. 
 Kean requested that it might " be let off easy" 
 the next night. " I don't care how many flashes 
 of lightning you give me," said he, " but, for 
 Heaven's sake, Winston, expel your wind and 
 cut out your thunder." 
 
 To keep his own name and that of his thea- 
 tre constantly before the public, he knew, from, 
 every quack's experience, was most important, 
 and every means to achieve this object was re- 
 sorted to by Elliston. A portico to the front en- 
 trance was built on one nig/it by torchlight, and 
 the police reports were continually decorated 
 with a long account of an aggravated case of as- 
 sault and battery, committed by R. W. Elliston, 
 Esq., on the person of a check-taker or an apple- 
 woman. The poor, persecuted Queen Caroline, 
 about this time had arrived in England to de- 
 mand redress for the unmanly accusations 
 brought against her by her husband, and Ellis- 
 ton, taking good measure of the weak point in 
 the character of his "friend, George the Fourth," 
 as he always called him, showed his one-sided 
 loyalty and ignorance at the same time, by 
 omitting " et regina" at the bottom of the play- 
 bills, and leaving " vivant rex." And so the sin- 
 gular plural remained for weeks till noticed by 
 the newspapers, which, perhaps, was what he 
 desired. But this paltry attempt to wound the 
 feelings of a suffering female, for the dirty de- 
 sire of pandering to the malignity of her de- 
 praved husband, was held in contempt and de- 
 rision by every thinking mind, and, 1 hope, by 
 even his King among the number. 
 
 By a succession of degradations, heaped un- 
 sparingly on the drama and its professors, be 
 laid the groundwork of that ruin to which his 
 followers brought 
 
 Poor Drury Lane.
 
 48 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " Sir, I desire you do me right and justice : 
 I am a most poor woman, and a stranger, 
 Born out of your dominions ; having here 
 No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance 
 Of equal friendship and proceeding." 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 After leaving Drury Lane there were six 
 weeks to elapse prior to the opening of the Adel- 
 phi, but, fortunately for me, when it was first ru- 
 moured that I was about retiring from that es- 
 tablishment, Moncrieff applied to me to under- 
 take the character of Leperello, which he offered 
 to prepare expressly for me, in a new piece called 
 " Giovanni in the Country," which he was then 
 dramatizing for the Cobourg. I consented, on 
 condition that my salary should commence im- 
 mediately, and that I should have the privilege 
 of resigning before the Adelphi opened, which 
 was readily acceded to ; and on a Saturday night 
 I bade farewell to " Old Drury," and on Mon- 
 day commenced an engagement " over the wa- 
 ter," in my favourite character of Sponge. 
 
 Glossop was the manager ; a very vulgar, ig- 
 norant man. 1 had little to do with him but in 
 the way of business, and he was always ex- 
 tremely civil and correct in his dealings where I 
 was concerned. His father was a soap-boiler 
 and candle-maker, and through some specula- 
 tions he had made, which appeared most ridicu- 
 lous to everybody, had unexpectedly, perhaps 
 even to himself, realized an immense fortune. 
 His son married Miss Fearon, whom I knew at 
 Plymouth as the " English Calalani !" She was 
 the pupil of a violin-player called Cobham, had 
 a delicious voice, and, from having been taught 
 from that instrument, her execution ever retain- 
 ed the brilliant, articulate character peculiar to 
 the "soul-awakening viol." She was, soon after 
 her marriage, separated from Glossop, and, as 
 Madame Fcron, visited this country as a prima 
 donna some years since. His connexion with 
 that lady probably induced him to dabble farther 
 with theatricals, for which he was totally unfit- 
 ted, " and the way he made the old man's soap and 
 candles melt was curiovs" as poor Moreland 
 would say. The decorations of the theatre were 
 the most gorgeous and costly of any in London ; 
 good taste was thrust out of the way to make 
 room for gold, and silver, and brass, and glass, 
 and gas, in all directions, till " the sense ached" 
 at the dazzling profusion. No expenditure was 
 spared in the production of the pieces; and the 
 house was crowded every night. I was a great 
 favourite, and I passed a pleasant and profitable 
 time till the day arrived to walk over Waterloo 
 Bridge, and be once more welcomed at my pet 
 theatre, the Adelphi. 
 
 The trial of Q,ueen Caroline, at about this 
 time, created the most intense and universal 
 excitement among all classes of persons ever 
 witnessed in London during my recollection. 
 There were two parties, equally violent in their 
 opinions— the king's, cruel and vindictive in 
 their accusations; and the queen's, boisterous 
 and vehement in their declarations of her inno- 
 cence. It absorbed every other topic of conver- 
 sation ; and the rancour with which either posi- 
 tion was maintained severed the bonds of old 
 friendships, and ruffled the social compact 
 round the domestic hearth. Politics, of course, 
 made "confusion more confounded;" the Radi- 
 cals took side with the queen, and had a most 
 overwhelming majority. The particulars of the 
 case " non mi recordo," and if I did, they have no 
 
 claim to a place in these pages; suffice it to say, 
 I was one of her most enthusiastic supporters; 
 for, admitting all they brought against her were 
 true, she was a icoman, and I always make it a rule, 
 in taste, to be on their side, whether they are right 
 or wrong. In our theatre, both the Rodwells and 
 all the actors were of my opinion, excepting 
 good-natured, foolish old Lee, the stage-man- 
 ager, Willis Jones, his father, who was the 
 treasurer, and Mrs. Waylett; she declared she 
 thought the queen had acted very imprudently ! ! 
 On the night of her acquittal the excitement was 
 terrific ; the military were ordered out, to intimi- 
 date the multitude by their presence, and in- 
 stantly suppress any treasonable outbreak by the 
 joy-intoxicated myriads who were parading the 
 streets, and rending the air with shouts of tri- 
 umph. Our theatre was crowded, and it so 
 happened that in the first piece some fifty su- 
 pernumeraries were employed. Highly elated 
 by the success of my party, I met these fellows, 
 ready dressed for the stage, awaiting the com- 
 mencement of the performance ; and, without 
 thought, in the fulness of my feeling, I proposed 
 " Three cheers for the queen!" which was instant- 
 ly given, with due dramatic precision, and re- 
 sponded to nine times by the audience, in a voice 
 of thunder! All the actors rushed upon the 
 stage, dressed and undressed, and old Lee, the 
 stage-manager, in his morning-gown ; but no 
 remark was made, and, delighted at so excellent 
 an opportunity of expressing my joy, I proceed- 
 ed to dress for the performance. At the conclu- 
 sion of the first act, there was a universal cry 
 for "God save the Q.ueen!" The number and 
 temper of the audience were tools too dangerous 
 to trifle with, and old Lee, who was foolish 
 enough to adore the king, and, in consequence, 
 hate the queen, had to address them in his " of- 
 ficial capacity ;" after, in his usual style, stating 
 that he was instructed " by Messrs. Jones and 
 Rodwell to inquire their pleasure 1" and being 
 answered by a thousand voices, " trumpet- 
 tongued," that they wanted " God save the 
 CLueen !" he went on to say that "we agnize no 
 anthem called 'God save the Q,ueen,' but if it 
 be the wish of the audience, at the end of the 
 first piece, the company will sing ' God save the 
 King.' " As he had stated, the whole of the la- 
 dies and gentlemen (as is usual on such occa- 
 sions) appeared at the appointed time, and Mrs. 
 Tennant commenced the first verse, amid some 
 interruption by the audience, 
 
 " God save great George, our king ; 
 Long live our noble king ; God save the — " 
 
 " Glueen !" I shouted with all my might. The 
 effect on the actors and audience was electrical, 
 and peal on peal of applause drowned the hear- 
 ing of the termination of the verse ; the second 
 was intrusted to Jones, now of the Park, who, 
 in a very gentlemanly manner, paused for my 
 " Queen !" some followers of my own and the 
 audience joined in the chorus according to my 
 reading, and after an encore, either I or the 
 "anthem," as Lee called it, got nine rounds of 
 applause. Not a word was said by the manage- 
 ment; Rodwells appeared delighted ; and Lee's 
 opinion no one considered worth looking at; 
 but, before the pay-day came, I heard it rumour- 
 ed that I was to be forfeited a week's salary, 
 and my participators in the treason, whom I had 
 seduced from their allegiance, were to be pun- 
 ished in proportion ; I was, therefore, prepared 
 for a defence, and proposed we should all go in 
 a body to the treasury, and that I should enter
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 49 
 
 alone, and endeavour to obtain a mitigation of 
 the sentence. When I presented myself, Mr. 
 Jones, an amiable and most gentlemanly man, 
 addressed me in the following manner: 
 
 " Mr. Covvell, I assure you it is with feelings 
 of the deepest regret that the management con- 
 sider it a dutv they owe themselves to mark, by 
 the highest penalty in their power, the most un- 
 paralleled breach of decorum ever committed 
 within the walls of a well-regulated theatre. Of 
 the correctness of this charge against you you 
 must admit the justice ; and of the offence itself, 
 I have no doubt your calm good sense has long 
 since made you both sorry and ashamed." 
 
 Here was a loophole for me to sneak out of, 
 "but, heartily despising such means of escape, I 
 replied, "You are greatly mistaken, sir, if you 
 imagine that my conduct was influenced by any- 
 thing but a cool, deliberate feeling of a right I 
 had, as an honest man, to unite my poor voice 
 with thousands to rejoioe at the escape of a 
 wretched lady from her malignant oppressor." 
 
 " Sir !" said he, with some warmth, "you and 
 I hold very opposite opinions on that subject, 
 and, however romantic yours may be, the thea- 
 tre was no place to express it in." 
 
 "Sir!" said I, with equal temper, "my ro- 
 mantic feeling in the cause of an injured woman 
 will ever cause me to set at defiance any arbi- 
 trary law oppression can ever invent ; and there 
 is no admitted one, in any theatre, under which 
 my supposed offence can be comprehended." 
 
 " Why, I admit," said he, hesitatingly, "that 
 there is no specified rule, but you are aware the 
 management has the power — " 
 
 " Yes," interrupting him, " they have the pow- 
 er over those — " 
 
 " But, my dear Mr. Cowell," said the kind old 
 man, not allowing me to end my angry sentence, 
 " if your feelings were so violent in the cause, 
 why didn't you control them till after the per- 
 formance, and then give vent to them in the 
 street 1" 
 
 " So I did !" I replied : " I assisted some hack- 
 ney-coachmen to break old Lee's windows, and 
 made him light up, in spite of the love he bears 
 to George the Fourth. But, sir, instead of con- 
 demning this ebullition o( mine, it ought to be 
 applauded as an act of policy ; for, if the singing 
 of ' God save the king" had been persisted in, the 
 exasperated public would have possibly destroy- 
 ed the theatre." 
 
 " Well, sir," said he, firmly, " I would rather 
 the property had been razed to the ground than 
 that an expression of partisanship so different 
 from my opinion should be bruited abroad. I 
 think very differently, though quite as enthusi- 
 astically on the subject as you do ; the friend- 
 ship of many I hold dear would be jeopardized 
 by my allowing such a wanton abuse of deco- 
 rum to pass unnoticed ; I therefore must, in 
 self-defence, retain your week's salary ; but no 
 doubt your general anxiety to forward the in- 
 terests of the establishment will soon give the 
 management an opportunity of justly restoring 
 the sum." 
 
 " Sir, I shall decline receiving it in any shape 
 but as a right !" I replied. " Understanding that 
 this stretch of power was to be assumed, I pre- 
 pared for the Times newspaper this little para- 
 graph, which, to prove how anxious I am to ex- 
 onerate you from any participation or approval 
 of my conduct, I'll read to you." And I produ- 
 ced the following: 
 
 " UnprecedentedCruelty and Oppression. 
 
 — On the night our beloved queen was acquitted of 
 the rile and infamous charges thai were fabricated 
 to achieve her ruin, a poor actor, in the fulness of 
 his heart, substituted ' queen 1 for ' king' in a fid- 
 some song the overstrained loyalty of the managers 
 of tlie Adelphi Tlieatrc endeavoured to thrust upon 
 the patience of the audience, and for this heinous of- 
 fence, in their opinion, these lawmakers have taken 
 from him his week's ivages, and his only means of 
 support for a wife and large family of children." 
 
 " Why, surely, Mr. Cowell," said the old gen- 
 tleman, placing his spectacles on his forehead, 
 and leaning back in his chair, " you never in- 
 tended to publish such a mischievous article'?" 
 
 " Most decidedly I do, sir," I replied. " In 
 yesterday's New Times, that queen's scourge, as 
 it's properly called, there's a very mischievous 
 article at my expense, which / know emanated 
 from the theatre, for the expression, that I am as 
 illegitimate in my politics as lam in my acting, is 
 the very words Lee appeared so tickled to have 
 hit upon, when I confessed to breaking his win- 
 dows." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Cowell," said the good old man, 
 " I see 'tis vain to convince you of your error — 
 there's your salary — destroy that foolish paper, 
 and let us forget the circumstance." 
 
 " But there are others implicated," said I. 
 
 " Oh, never fear," said he, " I shall not men- 
 tion the subject." 
 
 We conspirators met on the stage after re- 
 hearsal, and gave three loud cheers, but "named 
 no parties." 
 
 My engagement at the Adelphi being for three 
 years, with a probability of a lease, renewable 
 forever if I pleased, I was desirous of establish- 
 ing myself in some other theatre for the summer 
 months. Glossop offered me an increase of 
 salary, provided I would remain the whole sea- 
 son ; this, of course, I couldn't consent to. Mor- 
 ris made me an offer for the Haymarket, which 
 he intended to open that season by himself, 
 which I accepted ; but in arranging the points 
 of business, he stated the opening play was to be 
 the " Belle's Stratagem :" Dorecourt, Charles 
 Kemble; Flutter, Richard Jones; and I refused, 
 very foolishly, to open in Courtall, and ended 
 that affair. I had made up my mind to another 
 trip to Lincoln with my entertainment, when, at 
 the seventh hour, I received an offer from Will- 
 iam Barrymore, the author and stage-manager 
 for Astley, to undertake the principal character 
 in a magnificent equestrian drama, called "Gil 
 Bias," he was preparing. To obtain admitted 
 talent in those days, a high price had to be given 
 at a minor establishment; and Astley, following 
 the example of the Adelphi, and the fashion of 
 the time, had already engaged Henry Johnston, 
 and Mrs. Garrick, a delightful singer, from the 
 Haymarket. Astley's always opened on the 
 Easter Monday, and we closed in Passion-week, 
 and their season ended about the time the Adel- 
 phi commenced. The time suited me exactly; the 
 salary was unexceptionable; I should probably 
 have to play but the one part all the season, 
 and, in consequence, no rehearsals. I therefore 
 made the engagement, and with the assistance 
 of a jackass, caparisoned like a mule, with false 
 ears and a tail, for he had been " curtailed of his 
 fair proportion" of either to make him some- 
 times look like a ponv, I was carried up hill 
 and down dale as the renowned Gil Bias, with 
 great success.
 
 50 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 CHATER XXI. 
 
 " Poins. Come, your reason, Jack— your reason. 
 
 " Fahtaff. What, upon compulsion ? No : were I at the 
 strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell 
 you on compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion ! if 
 reasons were as plenty as blackberries, I would give no man 
 areasonupon compulsion, I."— First part of King Henry IV. 
 
 Sterne says, in one of his sermons, "There 
 are secret workings in human affairs, which 
 overrule all human contrivance, and counter- 
 plot the wisest of our councils, in so strange and 
 unexpected a manner, as to cast a damp upon 
 our best schemes and warmest endeavours." 
 Some sueh a " secret working" induced me 
 about this period to be most anxious to bid " my 
 native land good-night." 
 
 Oxberry was publishing an edition of plays, 
 with portraits of the principal performers ; his 
 engraver lived immediately opposite to my lodg- 
 ing, and when he had business with him he gen- 
 erally paid me a visit. He was in some trouble 
 one day in consequence of his not being able to 
 procure a likeness of Charles Kemble, in Romeo, 
 for which the publication of the tragedy was de- 
 tained, and though I had never spoken to Charles 
 Kemble in my life, his face was so " screwed to 
 my memory," I undertook to make a drawing. 
 He stayed to dinner with me, and during our 
 conversation while employed upon the sketch 
 (which was published with my name as the 
 artist), he happened to mention that Stephen 
 Price, the American manager, was a constant 
 visiter of the Drury Lane Green-room, intro- 
 duced by Wallack, who had been to the United 
 States, and went on to say that he had made him 
 an offer to cross the Atlantic. " Upon this hint 
 I spake." 
 
 " By Heaven, Oxberry, that would be the very 
 thing lor me." 
 
 " Why, that never entered my head," said he — 
 he knew my reason ; " but how will you be able 
 to manage with your engagement at the Adelphil 
 Price will jump at you, for to get a comedian is 
 the principal object of his visit to England." 
 
 "Why, Rod well and I are old friends," said I, 
 " and the management collectively have a warm 
 feeling towards me, and under the circumstances, 
 I have no doubt of their consent ; at all events, 
 if this American and I agree, I'll go at any risk." 
 " Oh, of that there is no danger," said Oxberry, 
 " and I'll see him to-night, and name you to him ; 
 he's a devilish pleasant fellow, when you get 
 used to him, but his manners are coarse in the 
 extreme ; if he is a fair specimen of the Yankees, 
 they must be a d— rough set. But they say 
 he's very rich, a counsellor, and a colonel in the 
 army, and the devil knows what. He's the Mr. 
 Harris of America, and owns all the Uiealres in 
 the United Stales .'" 
 
 On the following day I got a note from Stephen 
 Price, requesting that I would breakfast with 
 him at ten o'clock the next morning. He lodg- 
 ed in Norfolk-street, in the Strand. The door 
 was opened by a servant-girl; in answer to my 
 inquiry, she said, " Fll see," and in a minute a 
 negro man appeared, and showed his own teeth 
 and me into the parlour, where a cloth was laid 
 for breakfast. In a short time he returned to say, 
 "Mr. Price would be glad to see me upstairs." I 
 was conducted to a chamber; and on the bed, with 
 his feet wrapped in flannel, and his body in a wad- 
 ded silk morning-gown, lay Stephen Price. In 
 a peculiarly distinct, drawling manner, which, 
 till you got accustomed to it, had a very singu- 
 lar effect, he said the usual civil things on a first 
 
 meeting. The hesitency in his style of delivery, 
 didn't convey an idea that he was waiting for 
 words, lor he appeared a very well-informed 
 man ; but rather, that he was weighing the value 
 of each, and its probable consequences, before 
 he gave it utterance. As some one remarked of. 
 him, " Stephen Price is not a man to eat his 
 words, but he always chews them well up before 
 he spits them out." Of his person no opinion 
 could be formed, in consequence of its attitude 
 and costume ; his countenance was anything but 
 what would be called good, though capable of 
 an extremely agreeable expression ; small, bright, 
 mischievous eyes, an abominable nose — looking 
 like a large thumb very much swollen, and near- 
 ly "coming to a head," but decision and firm- 
 ness strongly marked around his mouth; his 
 appearance and manner were greatly at vari- 
 ance, for he looked like fifty, and talked like- 
 twenty. 
 
 " I must apologize to you, Mr. Cowell," said 
 he, "for asking you to take your breakfast in, 
 my bedroom; but after calling in at Astley's to 
 see you, Jeemcs Wallack and myself finished the 
 evening at Vauxhall, and I didn't get home till 
 four this morning; and the cons'quence is I 
 caught cold, and have got a fit of the b — gout 
 — I'm very subject to the d — thing. But Wal- 
 laces the d — b — I ever met with— nothing ever 
 hurts him." 
 
 I, of course, was exactly of his way of think- 
 ing. 
 
 " Mr. Oxberry informs me, sir," said he, " that 
 you have a desire to visit New-Yo-ork." 
 " I have, sir," I replied. 
 " Well, sir," said he, "I'll tell you, cand'dly, 
 that I'm d — if you'll do for New-Yo-ork, if you 
 are not a better actor than you a'peared last 
 night. I'll tell you what 'tis, there's a little b— 
 in the Park Theatre of the name of Nexon, who 
 can play that character quite as well as you can, 
 and he merely d'livers messages there." 
 
 "You hare, I conclude, then, an excellent 
 company," said I, a little nettled, "on your side 
 the water V 
 
 " A d — deal better company than they have in 
 any theatre in London," said he, faster than any- 
 thing he had said yet. " I have a young man, 
 a countryman of yours, of the name of Simp-son; 
 he's a much better actor than your cePbrated 
 Jones, somewheres about his size, and the most 
 industrious b — in the world. I have given him 
 one quarter of the Park Theatre, and made him 
 my stage-manager," looking at me as if to give 
 me a hope I might get a quarter if I minded my 
 hits ; but I said, as if ending the treaty, 
 
 "Well, sir, surrounded as you are by such a 
 galaxy of talent, it will be advisable for me to 
 remain in London 1" 
 
 "Why, sir," he replied, quickly, " I'll tell you 
 what 'tis : Jeemes Wallack and sev'ral of my 
 friends say that you're a b — good actor, but that 
 you won't act at Astley's. What will you take 
 to go to New-Yo-ork 1" 
 
 "Fifteen pounds a week," I replied. 
 " I'll give you ten pounds a week for the first 
 season," said" he, " and twelve for the second." 
 "Agreed," said I. 
 " When can you gol" said he. 
 " To-morrow," said I. 
 
 "Well, sir," said he, smiling, "I'm d— but 
 you are certainly the easiest man to make a bar- 
 gain I ever dealt with." 
 
 If he had known, however, as much as I did, 
 he would have offered me a guinea a week, and
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 51 
 
 I would have taken it ; but, Heaven be praised ! 
 he didn't, and he continued, 
 
 " There's an etemalfine ship, called the Tames, 
 sails from London on the first of September, and 
 another, called the Albion, on the same day from 
 Liverpool, in which I shall sail. The only dif- 
 'rence in the thing is, you get to sea a d — deal 
 quicker by going to Liverpool." 
 
 I gave the London ship the preference, as 
 more convenient on account of baggage, and 
 trat I might once more visit my old cruising- 
 ground the British Channel, and perhaps forever 
 bid farewell to the scenes of my boyhood. 
 
 The terms of benefits, and other important 
 items of the engagement, were pointed out and 
 specified in a plain, honest, business-like man- 
 ner. He was to see Captain Charles H. Mar- 
 shall, and secure the passages, and have the arti- 
 cles prepared for signature, during the little week 
 that was to- elapse before my departure. We 
 had a long and extremely pleasant conversation, 
 chiefly descriptive of the country I was about to 
 adopt. His style was peculiarly suited to mi- 
 nute detail, and information in that shape, then 
 so interesting to me, was highly entertaining; 
 and, to his honour be it said, I did not detect 
 by experience the most remote exaggeration in 
 any of the matters he named, always excepting 
 the talent of his dramatic corps, and even there 
 " his failing leaned to virtue's side." And upon 
 acquaintance, I found he made it a rule to speak 
 of all, while in his employ, in the most exalted 
 terms of praise, but, the moment they left him, 
 they were "d — impostors and b — scoundrels." 
 The coarse and highly objectionable epithets 
 with which he unsparingly larded nis conversa- 
 tion were delivered, apparently, so unconscious- 
 ly, and, from long habit, were mixed up so mi- 
 nutely with his discourse, that by those familiar 
 with him the peculiarity would pass unnoticed. 
 
 My lamented friend Rodwell met my case 
 with the feeling of a brother, but Jones was out 
 of town, and, without his concurrence, the neces- 
 sary form of release from my obligation could 
 not be effected; but, as " the affair cried haste," 
 he undertook to write to him. As Price very 
 justly said, " Anybody could play Gil Bias as 
 well as I did;" the part itself was little better 
 than a walking gentleman, and the jackass sus- 
 tained that part of the character ; and though 
 the author intended we should divide the ap- 
 plause, I quietly resigned my share in his favour. 
 I felt, therefore, confident that Astley would be 
 delighted to save my useless and large salary for 
 the next four weeks, but, to my great astonish- 
 ment — for I put the cause of my wishing to re- 
 sign on that footing — he declared himself more 
 than satisfied with my engagement, and refused, 
 in the most positive manner, to give up my arti- 
 cles. To him, of course, I said nothing of my 
 intention of sailing to America. On Friday 
 evening Willis Jones sent for me to the stage 
 door, presented me with a letter, full of kind 
 wishes-, from Rodwell, and the documents of our 
 agreement, and we parted — as warm friends al- 
 ways part. I complained of indisposition, and 
 Astley, who, unlike his father, was a most gen- 
 tlemanly creature — in manner and appearance 
 more like an eminent physician or a clergyman 
 than the manager of a circus — insisted that I 
 shouldn't play; and some young man, who had 
 bsen instructed, in case of an accident, to under- 
 studv the character, took the jackass ride for me, 
 and I packed up my baggage. The next morn- 
 ing I signed and sealed with Price, was introdu- 
 
 ced to the captain, who was our witness on the 
 occasion, and on Sunday evening I joined the 
 ship at Gravesend. 
 
 It was a dark, drizzly, melancholy night — a 
 fair specimen of Gravesend weather and the 
 parts adjacent — no " star that's westward from 
 the pole" to point my destined path, and furnish 
 food for speculative thought; and, after sliding 
 five or six times up and down some twenty feet 
 of wet deck, I groped my way to the cabin. The 
 captain was not on board, and I found myself a 
 stranger among men, for there were four besides 
 myself, or, rather, three, for one was asleep, I 
 suppose, for he was snoring very loud, in a berth 
 next to my state-room. Such stopped-headed 
 gentlemen are an abominable nuisance, near, or 
 in your dormitory on shore, in harbour, or 
 "caught in a calm;" but under way on the At- 
 lantic, he may breathe as loud and in any way 
 he thinks proper, without inconvenience to any- 
 body but himself. Of all gregarious animals, 
 man is the most tardy in getting acquainted: 
 meet them for the first time in a jury-box, a 
 stage-coach, or the cabin of a ship, and they al- 
 ways remind me of a little lot of specimen sheep 
 from different flocks, put together for the first 
 time in the same pen ; they walk about, and 
 round and round, with all their heads and tails 
 in different directions, and not a baa ! escapes 
 them; but in half an hour some crooked-pated 
 bell-wether, perhaps, gives a South-down a little 
 dig in the ribs, and this example is followed by 
 a Merino, and, before the ending of the fair, theii* 
 heads are all one way, and you'll find them bleat- 
 ing together in full chorus. 
 
 Now, in the case of man, a snuff-box, or a 
 mull, instead of the sheep's horn, is an admira- 
 ble introduction ; for, if he refuses to take a 
 pinch, he'll generally give you a sufficient reason 
 why he does not, and that's an excellent chance- 
 to form, perhaps, a lasting friendship — but te*> 
 "scrape an acquaintance" to a certainty; and 
 if he takes it, perhaps he'll sneeze, and you can. 
 come in with your " God bless you !" and so on, 
 to a conversation about the plague in '66, or the 
 yellow fever on some other occasion, and can 
 " bury your friends by dozens," and " escape 
 yourself by miracle," very pleasantly for half an 
 hour. But in this instance it was a total failure : 
 one said, "I don't use it;" another shook his 
 head, and the third emptied his mouth of half a 
 pint of spittle, and said " he thought it bad 
 enough to chaw." Well, as I couldn't with 
 propriety ask why he "didn't use snuff," and 
 the mandarin-man might be dumb for anything 
 I knew to the contrary, and expect me to talk; 
 with my fingers ; and if I had contradicted the 
 last I might, from his appearance and manner, 
 have got into a fight instead of a chat, I quietly 
 took a seat at the table, snuffed two tallow-can- 
 dles, and took a synopsis of the floating apart- 
 ment. There were two horse-hair sofas on 
 either side a table, twelve berths with red cur- 
 tains and sea-sick-yellow fringe, and, properly, 
 four state-rooms forward of the mizen-mast one 
 of which Price had engaged for myself and Mrs. 
 Cowell, and the one next to it was used as a pan- 
 try. I was speculating as to what kind of hu- 
 man beings were shut up in the other two, when 
 my curiosity was half removed by a female 
 leading out a beautiful little boy from one of 
 them. No matter what I may be with men and 
 women, I am always a great favourite with 
 dogs, and cats, and infants of a certain age, and 
 we generally get acquainted in an instant. He
 
 52 
 
 THIRTY TEARS, ETC. 
 
 had just gained that delightful period when chil- 
 dren think more than they have power to utter; 
 and I love to translate their innocent thoughts. 
 I had been obliged to leave my two dear boys to 
 follow me; and this little fellow, by reminding 
 me of them, seemed to have a claim to my af- 
 fection ; his mother was a simple, amiable crea- 
 ture in her deportment, and myself and wife 
 were rejoiced at meeting companions for our 
 voyage so suited to our feeling. She, with art- 
 less eloquence, told us that her husband, an Eng- 
 lish farmer in good circumstances, had sailed 
 for America more than three years before, and 
 that she had been prevented accompanying him 
 in consequence of the sudden illness of her 
 mother, " who is in heaven now," and, with her 
 beautiful baby, whom his father had never seen, 
 ■was journeying to her new home in the United 
 States. 
 
 In the morning the captain arrived, and in- 
 troduced me to the gentleman who didn't use 
 snuff, as Mr. Scovell, a part-owner of the vessel ; 
 he was a resident of New-York, and in partner- 
 ship with his brother, a merchant in South-street, 
 but a native of Connecticut; and after the river 
 in that state, which wanders "his silver wind- 
 ing way," the ship was named, and pronounced 
 by him as spelled, the Thames; contrary to the 
 usage of 
 
 "Full many a sprightly race, 
 Disporting on the margent green" 
 
 of" father Thames;" whether " bound 'prentice 
 to a waterman," or "on earnest business bent," 
 all there agree to call it " Terns." The gentle- 
 man who shook his head was a Presbyterian cler- 
 gyman, of the name of Arbuckle, of Pennsylva- 
 nia, a most amiable young man. The chaw 
 individual had a sick wife on board, a sufficient 
 excuse for his being very disagreeable ; and I 
 make it a rule never to remember the names of 
 persons I don't think it worth while to like or 
 dislike. My friend with the impediment in his 
 nose was Mr. John Kent, who claimed to be a 
 brother actor; he was engaged by Mr. Price, 
 but I had never been introduced to him before. 
 The captain was Charles H. Marshall, a very 
 good-looking, and very fine fellow, with " no 
 
 drowning marks upon him." The mate was 
 a weather-beaten, humorous "sea-monster;" 
 upon asking his name, he replied, 
 
 "If you're an Englishman, and I once tell 
 you my name, you'll never forget it." 
 
 " I don't know that," I replied ; " I'm very un- 
 fortunate in remembering names." 
 
 " Oh, never mind!" said he, with a peculiarly 
 sly, comical look: "if you're an Englishman 
 you'll never forget mine." 
 
 " Then I certainly am," I replied. 
 
 "Well, then," said he, dryly, "my name's 
 Bunker! and I'm d — if any Englishman will 
 ever forget that name !" 
 
 "All in the Downs the fleet lay moored," as 
 visual; perhaps twenty sail, bound to all sorts 
 of places, and waiting for all sorts of winds, and 
 we were obliged to follow the fashion of that 
 abominable stopping-place ; but the few days' 
 detention gave our small party time to get ac- 
 quainted e'er that 
 
 " The vessel spread her ample sail 
 From Albion's coast, obsequious to the gale." 
 
 My pet and playfellow and myself were 
 sworn friends ; and 'twas delicious, each night, 
 to listen to him while, with his little hands to- 
 wards heaven held, kneeling at his mother's feet, 
 and gazing with childish earnestness on her face, 
 made beautiful by the expression of pure piety, 
 repeat in lisping tones, soft and sweet as music 
 at a distance, prayers and blessings on a father 
 he had never seen. On a Saturday night he went 
 to bed apparently well, and the next morning he 
 was a corpse ! he had died of the croup. 
 
 A fair breeze had sprung up, and orders were 
 necessarily given to unmoor. He was hurried 
 to the burial-ground at Deal. The mother's 
 agony was frightful; and when she saw him 
 placed in "his narrow eell." "Oh! the cry did 
 knock against my very heart !" and the last tear 
 I shed upon my native land moistened 
 
 AN INFANT'S GRAVE. 
 
 " As one who, in his journey, bates at noon, 
 Though bent on speed," 
 
 I'll here end the first volume.
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS 
 
 IN 
 
 ENGLAND AND AMERICA: 
 
 INTERSPERSED WITH 
 
 ANECDOTES AND REMINISCENCES 
 
 OF A VARIETY OF PERSONS, 
 DIRECTLY OR INDIRECTLY CONNECTED WITH THE DRAMA DURING THE 
 
 THEATRICAL LIFE OF 
 
 JOE COWELL, COMEDIAN. 
 
 WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 
 
 IN TWO PARTS. 
 
 PART II.-AMERICA. 
 
 " So many particulars may perhaps disgust a philosophical reader ; but curiosity, that weakness so com- 
 mon to mankind, deserves a higher name when it is employed upon times and persons of which posterity 
 has no other means of forming an opinion." — Chambaud. 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, 82 CLIFF-STREET. 
 
 1844.
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1843, hy 
 
 Harper & Brothers, 
 
 hi the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New- York-
 
 T HI RTF FEARS 
 
 PASSED AMONG THEPLAYE R S. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Home of the free ! Land of the great and good, 
 
 Whose heritage is glory ! Hail to thee '. 
 Thou oft. undaunted, nobly hath withstood 
 
 Europa"s best and proudest chivalry ; 
 And, conquering, won a mighty destiny 
 
 First rnid the nations ; and thy flag of light 
 Gleams on all climes, a brilliant galaxy, 
 
 To guide to Freedom from foul Slavery's might ; 
 Typing thy hero-sous' apotheosis bright." 
 
 Lewis Foulke Thomas. 
 
 We left the Downs on the 8th of September, 
 1821, and, after a tedious and most boisterous 
 passage, on the 23d of October, as the sun "went 
 down into the sea," the welcome cry of " Land, 
 ho !" from the ibretop, cheered the spirits of the 
 mind-tired passengers and worn-out crew. We 
 had a light, fair breeze and fine weather, and we 
 stood boldly on all night. For though " the A. 
 No. 1, copper-bottomed, good ship Thames," as 
 she was rated on the books at Lloyd's, had well- 
 nigh sent " Old Kent and I," parson and all, to 
 the bottom, the captain was "of very expert 
 and approved allowance," and at daylight — tor 
 be sure I was in his watch— for the first time in 
 my life, I beheld the Highlands of Neversink. 
 Marshall and myself had become great friends, 
 and, being most anxious to get to the city, he kind- 
 ly allowed me to take the yawl with four hands, 
 and as Scovill was equally desirous, he accom- 
 panied me. After four hours' good rowing we 
 met the tide, and were obliged to make a landing 
 on Staten Island, about two miles from the Quar- 
 antine ground. Leaving the boat in the care of 
 the people, the owner and myself walked to the 
 ferry. The steamer Nautilus, which was still 
 puffing and blowing in the same line of business 
 when I was last in New- York, six years ago, 
 ]anded us at the Battery. Scovill took me to 
 his counting-room and introduced me to his 
 brother, who very sedately, yet kindly, welcom- 
 ed me to his country, and their porter conducted 
 me to the Park Theatre. Price was standing 
 on the steps, and as the ship was not yet even 
 reported " below," he had no expectation of see- 
 ing me, and, in fact, had begun to suspect the 
 ship was below in the genuine sense of the word. 
 Jt was after the time of rehearsal, and Simpson 
 had left the theatre. Price gave me the address 
 of a boarding-house he had kindly provided for 
 me, and, of course, asked me to dinner, which I 
 declined, on the score of having placed myself, 
 as it were, under the conduct of Scovill for the 
 day, and he would, of course, expect me, but 
 promised to be at the theatre in the evening. 
 
 I returned to the counting-room. Both the 
 merchants inquired if I had seen Mr. Price- 
 how I liked the city. " Wasn't it very superior 
 
 to London? 1 ' and so on; handed me a news- 
 paper, turned the top of a candle-box inside out, 
 and begged I would be seated. For an hour or 
 more they continued in conversation, and I to 
 read the National Advocate, every advertisement 
 decorated with a woodcut of little boys pulling 
 on boots, ladies having their hair dressed, and 
 other useful and necessary arts illustrated, on a 
 sheet of paper about the same size as two pages 
 of the Penny Magazine. I had read it all through 
 once, and got so far the second time as the price 
 
 for advertising, and "published by Phillips 
 
 and edited by M. M. Noah," when one Scovill 
 looked at his watch and the other asked the 
 time — they were partners even to a watch — and 
 they both agreed it was the dinner-hour; took 
 their hats; begged I wouldn't disturb myself; 
 "would be happy to see me at any time; Is/wuld 
 always find the morning news," and walked off. 
 During the passage Scovill had been very un- 
 well, and very frightened, and, under the cir- 
 cumstances, I had been able to render him some 
 very valuable services ; any attention while suf- 
 fering from terror or sea-sickness is very apt to 
 produce strong symptoms of gratitude at the 
 time, and I don't know what Scovill had not 
 promised to do for me when he got to New- York. 
 But I had a right to expect a dinner; for soon 
 after leaving the ship in the morning, in conse- 
 quence of shipping a spray now and then, and 
 the boat, having been so long out of the water, 
 leaked a little, we were obliged to bail ; at the 
 sight of this operation his heart failed him, and 
 he entreated us to go back ; but upon assuring 
 him that there was not the least cause of alarm, 
 to change the subject of his thoughts, I presume, 
 
 " Trembling and talking loud," 
 
 he said, " Of course you'll dine and spend the 
 day with me and my dear brother'?" and I said, 
 "Yes." But I conclude his dear brother didn't 
 calculate there was any advantage to be gained, 
 in a mercantile point of view, by an acquaint- 
 ance with a play-actor, and as I was not likely 
 to be of any farther use to my sea friend, the little 
 expense was very prudently saved. 
 
 Tumbling by accident over such specimens of 
 humanity, on first landing in a strange country, 
 frequently lays the foundation of a lasting prej- 
 udice against a whole people. I stood for a few 
 seconds on the threshold of that inhospitable 
 door, 
 
 "And sighed my English breath in foreign clouds." 
 My acquaintance with Price was too slight 
 to return to him and explain my disappointment, 
 and accept his proffered dinner; and, indeed, 
 how could I tell but that he had also repented of 
 his impulsive civility, and that I might receive
 
 56 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 a second, and, from him, a more severe mortifi- 
 cation 1 I had refused to be introduced to the 
 boarding-house Price had selected, preferring 
 that my dear wife should form an unbiased 
 opinion of the necessary comforts required for 
 our new home. There was no human being to 
 my knowledge I was acquainted with in New- 
 York, with the exception of Barnes, who, I found, 
 was a member of the company ; he had ever 
 been very kind to me while at Plymouth — he 
 used to call me his son — and if I had been, he 
 could not have shown more anxiety to give me 
 every instruction in his power, in my early at- 
 tempts at low comedy. But some years had 
 elapsed since we parted, and the Atlantic rolled 
 between the land where our friendship had been 
 formed, and inviting myself to dinner was rather 
 an odd way of renewing it. I could not tell, too, 
 if change of air, as well as circumstances, might 
 not have an effect on that " charm that lulls to 
 sleep," and give likely cause " to steep his senses 
 in forgetfulness." 
 
 When we left the ship, Scovill had provided 
 himself with a "hunk" of gingerbread— that is, if 
 a cake of molasses and flour, without spice, could 
 be so called — and myself and the men with some 
 bread and pork, and a keg of water; nearly all 
 the luxuries the ship could boast of, with the ex- 
 ception of some sea-sick ducks, a pig with the 
 measles, and a sheep in a consumption ; for, as 
 the never-to-be-forgotten Bunker said, 
 
 " It coughs like a Christian, don't it, parson?" 
 
 It will readily be imagined that I had a most 
 devouring appetite, for, with the exception of a 
 " bite" in the boat, I had not tasted food since 
 the night before. I had put in my pockets, more 
 for show than service, some thirteen or fourteen 
 English shillings : New- York was then a very 
 different place of accommodation for travellers 
 from what it is at the present day ; no oyster-cel- 
 lars that you could tumble into at every corner ; 
 " restaurat" staring you in the face in every 
 street ; and coffee-houses, and all sorts of houses, 
 capable and ready to accommodate a stranger. 
 The only two places of the kind in existence 
 then, even when you were directed where to find 
 them, was " Morse's," a very humbly-fitted-up 
 cellar, where a table-cloth was never seen, and 
 a clean knife only by waiting till the operation 
 was performed, under a store in Park Row, where 
 now, I suppose, there are thirty ; and there you 
 could get a fried beef-steak, raw oysters, or soup 
 made of the same material, which at that time I 
 considered sauce for codfish by another name ; 
 and one of a little better class, kept by a French- 
 man, under Washington Hall, then the second 
 best hotel in the city. After wandering about I 
 knew not whither, " oppressed with two weak 
 evils," fatigue and hunger, I entered what in 
 London would be called a chandler's shop, put 
 some money on the counter, and inquired if they 
 would sell me for that coin some bread and but- 
 ter and a tempting red herring or two I saw in 
 a barrel at the door. 
 
 "Why, what coin is if!" said a fellow in a 
 red-flannel shirt and a straw hat. 
 
 "English shillings," I replied. 
 
 " No," said the fellow, " I know nothing about 
 English, shillings, nor English anything, nor I 
 don't want to." 
 
 I thought, under all the circumstances, and 
 from the appearance of the brute, it might be 
 imprudent to extol or explain their value, and 
 therefore I " cast one longing, lingering look be- 
 
 hind" at the red herrings in the barrel, and turn- 
 ed the corner of the street, where I encountered 
 two young men picking their teeth, for which I 
 have never forgiven them. 
 
 The feelings created by the war with Eng- 
 land, then long since over, was still rankling in 
 the minds of the lower order of Americans, as if 
 it were yet raging, and their hatred of an Eng- 
 lishman they took a pride in showing whenever 
 in their power. In every quarrel, domestic or 
 national, it will always be found that the con- 
 queror is the last to forget, and generally the last 
 to forgive. The language necessarily used in 
 boasting of success rekindles the fury of a fire 
 the dews of peace should always quench. In 
 England it had ceased to be spoken of, or even 
 alluded to. But, it must be acceded, a war 
 there, or in any monarchical government, cre- 
 ates very different feelings (if any at all) from 
 the "one spirit" which actuates a free and sov- 
 ereign people, whose lives, whose fortunes, and 
 whose sacred honour were pledged by their fa- 
 thers to defend their homes and liberty, and who 
 with one accord exclaim, " United we stand, 
 divided we fall." But in my country, such an 
 event being declared against any power, with a 
 large portion of its inhabitants only occasions re- 
 gret, or delight, according to how much it may 
 interfere with or advance individual interest;, 
 and the combatants themselves, hired to fight, 
 never care for what, nor even inquire the cause 
 of quarrel, but, with bulldog courage, seek the 
 "bubble reputation, even at the cannon's mouth." 
 
 The turning I had made from the grocery was 
 into a badly-paved, dirty street, leading up a 
 slight ascent from the river to Broadway, and at 
 about half the distance, to my joy, I beheld, over a 
 dingy-looking cellar, " Exchange Office. Foreign 
 gold and silver bought here," I descended three 
 or four wooden steps, and handed my handful of 
 silver to one of "God's chosen people," and, af- 
 ter its undergoing a most severe ringing and 
 rubbing, the (I have no doubt) honest Israe\ite 
 handed me three dirty, ragged one-dollar bills, 
 which, he said, " s'help me God is petter as 
 gould." As all I wanted then was that they 
 should be better than silver, my politics at that 
 time didn't cavil at the currency, and I hastily 
 retraced my steps to the red-shirted herring deal- 
 er, and, placing one of the dirty scraps of paper 
 on the counter, I exclaimed, with an air of con- 
 fidence, " There, sir, will that answer your pur- 
 pose V He was nearly of the Jew's opinion, for 
 he declared that it was "as good as gold," and I 
 gave him a large order, and made my first meal 
 in the United States seated on a barrel, in a grocery 
 at the foot of Wall-street. 
 
 The best sauce to meat is appetite, and my 
 herrings and bread and butter put me in a much 
 better humour with myself and even-body else. 
 From information gleaned from my anti-English 
 friend and his customers, I was assured that the 
 ship would be up by the evening tide, and anchor 
 for the night in the stream, by nine or tea 
 o'clock, and I engaged an owld counthryman to 
 take me on board. Thus relieved in mind and 
 body, I sallied forth again, up Wall-street and 
 through Broadway. The pavement was horri- 
 ble, and the sidewalks, partly brick and partly 
 flagstones, of all shapes, put together as nearly 
 as their unlrimmed forms would permit. The 
 Park, which Scovill had spoken of with en- 
 thusiasm, 1 found to be about the size of Port- 
 man Square, but of a shape defying any geo- 
 metrical term to convey the form of it. It had
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 57 
 
 been surrounded by a wooden, unpainted, rough 
 fence, but a storm on the first of September, the 
 power of which we had felt the full force of, 
 twenty days after, on the Atlantic, had prostra- 
 ted the larger portion, together with some fine 
 old buttonwood-trees, which either nature or the 
 good taste of the first settlers had planted there, 
 and the little grass the cows and pigs allowed to 
 remain was checkered o'er by the short cuts to 
 the different streets in its neighbourhood. The 
 exterior of the theatre was the most prison- 
 like-looking place I had ever seen appropriated 
 to such a purpose. It is not much better now ; 
 but then it was merely rough stone, but now it's 
 rough cast, and can boast of a cornice. Ob- 
 serving (he front doors open, I ventured in, and, 
 opening one of the boxes, endeavoured to take a 
 peep at the interior of the shrine at which I was 
 either to be accepted or sacrificed; but, coming 
 immediately out of the daylight, all was dark as 
 Erebus. A large door at the back of the stage 
 gave me a glimmer of that department, and gro- 
 ping my way through the lobby, I felt, at the ex- 
 tremity, a small opening, and proceeding, as I 
 intended, very cautiously, tumbled down three 
 or four steps, and was picked up at the bottom 
 by some one in the dark, who led me on the 
 stage. 
 
 " Have you hurt yourself?" said this im- 
 mensely tall, raw-boned fellow, with his shirt 
 sleeves rolled up over an arm the same size 
 from the wrist to the shoulder. 
 
 " No," I replied, " but I wonder I didn't." 
 
 " Have you any business herel" said he. 
 
 "No, nothing particular," said I. 
 
 " Then you can go out," said he, and he point- 
 ed to the opening at the back. 
 
 I took the hint and direction, and found myself 
 in an alley knee deep with filth the whole width 
 of the theatre. I continued my walk up Broad- 
 way, and as I went the houses diminished both 
 in size and number, and in less than a mile 1 was 
 in the country. On my return, the theatre doors 
 were open, and the audience already assembling. 
 Phillips, the singer, was the "star," and the per- 
 formance, " Lionel and Clarrissa." The opera 
 had not commenced, but I took a seat, with about 
 twenty others, in the second tier. The house 
 Avas excessively dark; oil, of course, then was 
 used, in common brass Liverpool lamps, ten or 
 twelve of which were placed in a large sheet- 
 iron hoop, painted green, hanging from the ceil- 
 ing in the centre, and one, half the size, on each 
 side of the stage. The fronts of the boxes were 
 decorated, if it could be so called, with one con- 
 tinuous American ensign, a splendid subject, 
 and very difficult to handle properly, but this 
 was designed in the taste of an upholsterer, and 
 executed without any taste at all ; the seats were 
 covered with green baize, and the back of the 
 boxes with whitewash, and the iron columns 
 which supported them covered with burnished 
 gold! and looking as if they had no business 
 there, but had made their escape from the Co- 
 burg. The audience came evidently to see the 
 play, and be pleased, if they possibly could, with 
 everything; the men, generally, wore their hats; 
 at all events, they consulted only their own opin- 
 ion and comfort in the matter; and the ladies, I 
 observed, very sensibly all came in bonnets, but 
 usually dispossessed themselves of them, and 
 tied them, in large bunches, high up to the gold 
 columns; and as there is nothing a woman can 
 touch that she does not instinctively adorn, the 
 varied colours of the ribands and materials of 
 
 which they were made, were in my opinion a 
 vast improvement to the unfurnished appearance 
 of the house. 
 
 Phillips as Lionel, and Mrs. Holman as Clar- 
 rissa, shared equally the approbation of the 
 audience: the current of whose simple, unso- 
 phisticated taste had not then been turned awry 
 by fashion, obliging them to profess an admira- 
 tion of the enormities of the German and Italian 
 school, which, in these days of humbug and re- 
 finement, they alone pretend to listen to. Simp- 
 son was the Jessatny. As it happened, 'twas one 
 of Jones's very good parts. The audience ap- 
 peared to back Price's opinion, judging from the 
 applause, but, for my own part, / was of a very 
 different way of thinking. Barnes was Colonel 
 Oldboy : in vulgar old men, such as Delph or 
 Lord Duberly, he was excellent; but, though 
 Oldboy is extremely coarse in his language, he 
 is still a gentleman of that school, and, therefore, 
 a character out of Barnes's direct line. It was 
 either the very first or second appearance of my 
 friend Peteriilichings, one of the best general 
 actors now on the continent; he was the Mr. 
 Harman, and I honestly believe he was even 
 more stupid than 1 was at the same point of ex- 
 perience. But for the friendly interference of 
 the amiable Miss Johnston, through his embar- 
 rassment he would inevitably have been shut 
 outside the drop at the finale to the first act, and 
 his narrow escape seemed greatly to add to the 
 amusement of the good-tempered audience. 
 
 Fully satisfied that 1 had nothing to fear, 
 judging by the way the portion of the perform- 
 ance I had witnessed that evening had been ap- 
 proved of, I set off in good spirits to my appoint- 
 ment at the foot of Wall-street. The night was 
 very dark, not a lamp was to be seen, save a 
 twinkle from a little light through the closed 
 glass door of a solitary chemist's shop, in the 
 whole distance; 'twas about eight o'clock, and 
 every store was shut ; nor did I meet more than 
 thirty persons during my walk. Look at Broad- 
 way and Wall-street now ! I found my Irish 
 Charon true to his appointment, but the ship was 
 not expected for two hours at least. I inquired of 
 mine host if I should be an intruder by remaining 
 in his shop, and being answered in the negative, 
 I ordered some more bread and butter, and a her- 
 ring "to close the orifice of the stomach," and 
 took my old seat on a barrel of pickled shad, as 
 it proved to be; for, after a while, the head slip- 
 ped in, and so did the tail of my new black coat, 
 which I had had made out of respect to the 
 memory of poor Queen Caroline. To make my- 
 self as amiable as possible in the estimation of 
 four or five gentlemen, short of shirt and long 
 in beard, who may frequently be found in such 
 places, I treated, " like a man," to two or three 
 rounds of grog and cigars. I was then no con- 
 noisseur in the latter article, having never smo- 
 ked tobacco in any shape in my life ; but to act 
 up to the pure agrarian principles I professed, I 
 undertook a "long nine" and a couple of glasses 
 of "excellent brandy," as old red shirt said. On 
 the passage I had never even tasted wine or 
 spirits, though those luxuries were included in 
 the thirty-five guineas apiece cabin fare. So illy 
 prepared, the " long nine" soon knocked me over 
 as flat as a nine-pounder : I was sick; 
 
 "The dews of death 
 Hung clammy on my forehead, like the damps 
 Of midnight sepulchres." 
 
 I was perfectly in my senses, but was incapa- 
 ble of sound or motion, or, I should more proper-
 
 58 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 ly say, voice or action. In these days the march 
 of improvement in such matters, would have 
 doomed me to the certainty of having my throat 
 cut, then stripped, and thrown into the dock; 
 and the next dav a coroner's inquest would have 
 quietly brought in a verdict of "fowid drowned," 
 and no more would be said about the matter. 
 But at the untutored period I speak of, they were 
 content to take only my movables, id est, my hat. 
 cravat, watch, snuffbox, handkerchief, and the 
 balance of the dirty dollars. My incapacity to 
 make resistance saved my coat, for I was so lim- 
 ber they couldn't get it off whole, and after, in 
 their endeavours, splitting it down the back, and 
 the tail being in a precious pickle, they con- 
 cluded it would be more honourable to let me 
 keep it — carried me down to a boat, rowed me 
 off to the ship, and delivered me to Old Bunker, 
 as "a gentleman very unwell." 
 
 This is " a full, true, and particular account" of 
 my manner of passing one day out of upward of 
 Eight Thousand I've seen in the United States. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 •" My name is Pestilence : hither and thither 
 I nit about, that I may slay and smother ; 
 All lips which I have kissed must surely wither, 
 But Death's — if thou art he, we'll work together." 
 
 Revolt of Islam. 
 
 The next day the ship got into her berth long 
 before I got out of mine, and it was nearly sun- 
 down when we drove to our new abode at the 
 corner of Greenwich and Dey streets. Price 
 bad selected a boarding-house kept by an Eng- 
 lish widow, considerately thinking our tastes 
 would be better understood by a countrywoman 
 of our own. It is too late in the day to give ad- 
 vice on this subject; but I soon learned that in 
 any dealings in which an English man or woman 
 should properly be the subordinate party, to avoid 
 them as I would a pestilence. Intoxicated with 
 the supposed sudden possession of what is called 
 ■liberty and. equality, they mistake " impudence for 
 independence." To use a homely phrase, "They 
 don't know which way their 'ed 'angs," and their 
 unbridled ignorance, as well as being inconve- 
 nient, has often made me blush lor my country. 
 
 This lady had been a lady's maid according 
 to her own account, and, to use her idiom, " Had 
 ■moved in the first society, till left by her dear hus- 
 band, who was gone to Abraham's bosom, to keep a 
 boarding-house .'" She had two very genteel young 
 women for daughters, who, in London, might 
 have got a living by clear-starching and stitch- 
 ing ; here, the foolish mother prided herself upon 
 "their not being able to do anything at all." 
 
 It was a large house, the lower story occupied 
 as an extensive grocery. The private entrance 
 was carpeted all over, and crowded with house- 
 hold furniture; some of it appeared as if it had 
 no business there, but I soon found out it was 
 all the fashion ; for example, there were two di- 
 ning tables, one with mahogany leaves down to 
 its ankles, very much in the way, against the 
 wall, and another more so, making believe to 
 get out of it, by being turned up on its tripod 
 leg behind the street door. 
 
 There were two well-appointed parlours, one 
 for dining and the other for sitting, with sofas, 
 mirrors, and a pianoforte, upon which, I was de- 
 lighted to hear, the ladies couldn't play. The 
 ajiartment allotted for the use of myself and Mrs. 
 
 Cowell was all over the store and the two par- 
 lours into the bargain; a sort of sized room that 
 any strolling company in England would be de- 
 lighted to meet with, in the event of not being 
 able to procure the Town Hall. There were 
 eight large windows — three on one side and five 
 on the other; a little fireplace in one corner, with 
 four bricks, instead of andirons, supporting two 
 or three sticks of green wood, hissing and boil- 
 ing to death, and making water instead of fire 
 all over the hearth ; a bedstead, without posts or 
 curtains; four chairs, about twelve feet apart, 
 by way of making the most of them, and a piece 
 of ragged carpet, about the same portable size of 
 those used for little spangled children to dislo- 
 cate their bodies on, to a tune on the tambarine, 
 about the streets of London. After starving with 
 cold and hunger, and taking lessons in the Cock- 
 ney dialect, whether I liked it or not, for two 
 weeks, I moved to a plain, honest Yankee wom- 
 an's — Mrs. Gantley — where I remained till I 
 could procure a house. 
 
 There is still a remnant of the custom, but 
 then it was universal, for all classes of citizens, 
 tradesmen or otherwise, no matter how advan- 
 tageously they were situated for either business 
 or comfort, to change their abode on the first of 
 May. From that date all houses and stores 
 were rented for one year; and the hurry, bustle, 
 turmoil, and confusion into which that day threw 
 the whole population of New- York, from the 
 highest to the lowest, cannot be conceived; it 
 could be compared with nothing but itself. A 
 town besieged, or a general conflagration, would 
 fail to convey an idea of the ridiculous effect of 
 an immense mass of men, women, and children, 
 loaded with articles of household utility or orna- 
 ment, taking shelter, with much seeming anx- 
 iety, in some abode, from which another party, 
 loaded in the same manner, were making their 
 escape. The streets crowded with carts, wag- 
 ons, and carriages of every denomination — en- 
 gaged, perhaps, three months before — teeming 
 over with chairs and tables, in the hurry, appa- 
 rently, packed on purpose to tumble off, to the 
 great delight of the cabinet-makers and others, 
 who took no interest in the matter beyond the 
 mischief. No better proof of the national for- 
 bearance, and government of temper natural to 
 the Americans, than such a trial of patience as 
 this could possibly be invented ; and yet even 
 the demolition of a favourite basket of china, or 
 a dray carrying a load of furniture nobody could 
 find out where; or the porter's placing a ponder- 
 ous piece of furniture in the fourth story of Nc. 
 80, when it was expected in the front parlour of 
 No. 1, were causes for merriment, especially to 
 those who had the right to be annoyed ; and, with 
 the exception of some disputed points of etiquette 
 among the Irish carmen, the whole day's ,: toi 
 and trouble" — for 
 
 " My business in this state 
 Made me a looker-on here in Vienna" — 
 
 appeared to be considered an excellent frolic. 
 
 Simpson I found to be a blunt, plain man, 
 who welcomed me without either warmth or 
 ceremony ; he hadn't a morning-gown, but the 
 most amiable expression of countenance I think 
 I ever beheld. For the convenience of the the- 
 atre, I was to appear in L'Clair, in the "Found- 
 ling of the Forest ;" and Crack, in the " Turn- 
 pike Gate," was suggested, or, rather, insisted 
 upon by Price as the farce ; for, having formed 
 a " Gil Bias" opinion of my talent, he was de-
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 59 
 
 termined to be satisfied at once if I was equal to 
 what my friends in London had represented. 
 Barnes was a great favourite in that character, 
 and him, I found, I was expressly engaged to 
 supplant in the favour of the audience. 
 
 1 was merely underlined "from Drury Lane/' 
 my "first appearance in America," on one of 
 Phillips's off-nights, and, in consequence, the 
 house was very little better than it probably 
 would have been without my playing at all. My 
 reception was kind in the extreme; and at the 
 end of the first piece, Price came round and paid 
 me some very high compliments. Simpson said 
 some civil things ; but i could plainly see peep- 
 ing through them that he thought me " very dear 
 for the money." I was then only twenty-nine 
 years of age, and the contrast between the young 
 soldier and Crack was very great ; and my ap- 
 pearance, when disguised for the latter part, I 
 suppose, gave hope to the junior partner, from 
 his altered manner, that I might be worth my 
 salary. Old Kent and Simpson had been to- 
 gether in the Dublin theatre. I had never seen 
 Kent play, but I found great expectations were 
 formed of his making a hit. He had selected 
 Sir Anthony Absolute and Looney M'Twolter, 
 "to astonish the natives in," and, without any 
 consultation of my taste on the subject, I, of 
 course, was cast Acres and Caleb Gluotem. His 
 next night was to be the " Road to Ruin," for the 
 sake of his Old Dornton — I to play Goldfinch — 
 and to show his versatility, he was to sing Bel- 
 ville, in " Rosina," and I to play the pretty part of 
 William. To all this I had no right or cause to 
 make the least objection; but the first act of the 
 u Turnpike Gate" changed the state of affairs. 
 Captain Marshal], whenever it didn't blow, 
 would blow the flute, exclusively to please him- 
 self— 
 
 " How sour sweet music is when time is broke and no pro- 
 portion kept !" 
 
 and two tunes, which I couldn't discover to be 
 at all like any air I had ever heard before, I 
 found were great favourites with my friend, and 
 these, I was informed, were " Yankee Doodle" 
 and " Hail Columbia ;" and unexpectedly intro- 
 ducing these then unhackneyed tunes in a song 
 1 manufactured for the occasion, produced a 
 great effect, and my success altogether was im- 
 mense. 
 
 "Simp-son," said Price, hobbling down the 
 same steps 1 had tumbled, "look here; as to 
 playing the ' Review' on Thursday night is all 
 d — nonsense ; the farce will be this Crack-thing. 
 Cowell," giving me a hearty shake of the hand, 
 "you've made the greatest hit, sir, that ever was 
 made in Ameri-ca. Look here, Neddy, what's 
 the play o' Thursday'?" 
 
 " The ' Rivals,' " said Simpson. 
 
 " Well, here, Cowell," said Price, " if you 
 don't like that part of Acres, say so, and you can 
 play whatever you choose." 
 
 " I have already said so to Mr. Cowell," said 
 Simpson ; " but he assures me 'tis a favourite 
 character." 
 
 And so he had, and, like a sensible man, he 
 paid me all the attention the good opinion I had 
 earned deserved. I became at once a decided 
 favourite with the audience; and that enviable 
 position, I am proud to say, I have maintained, 
 in all the principal cities of the Union, up to the 
 present hour. At the termination of the per- 
 formance I was introduced to some half dozen 
 critics and admirers of the drama, among them 
 
 M. M. Noah, then the high-sheriff, who has ever 
 since, when in his power, shown me great kind- 
 ness and attention. That night I felt a triumph- 
 ant, self-satisfied sensation, I never experienced be- 
 fore nor since. 
 
 Simpson had only been married a short time, 
 and, like myself and others, was waiting till the 
 first of May to go into housekeeping; but he 
 gave a very handsome dinner, on Sunday, at his 
 boarding-house, kept by the widow of George 
 Frederic Cooke, where I met Price's two broth- 
 ers, William and Edward, Noah, Jarvis, the cel- 
 ebrated painter, and most eccentric character, 
 and a large party of gentlemen. Simpson, true 
 to Price's description, was the most industrious 
 man I ever knew; he generally played in every 
 piece that there was any necessity for his appear- 
 ing in, whether in his line or not, greatly to his 
 own disadvantage, for in a certain range of 
 characters he was excellent. For six days in 
 the week he was scarcely out of the theatre ; but 
 on Sunday, it must, be a very urgent point of 
 business that would induce him even to write a 
 letter. He seldom visited, but generally gave a 
 dinner to a choice circle of friends; and it was 
 some engagement, more for policy than taste, 
 which prevented my being his guest on those 
 occasions while I remained in New-York. At 
 the end of some twelve nights 1 had a benefit, 
 the profits arising from which I had sold to Price 
 for our passages, which it considerably exceed- 
 ed, and he generously offered me the overplus ; 
 but I, like John Astley, stuck to my bargain, 
 whether good or bad. 
 
 I was now strongly urged by Simpson and 
 Price to go to Boston for two weeks, and receive 
 half the proceeds of an engagement there ; but • 
 to this no persuasion could induce me to con- 
 sent. My argument was, that as I had never 
 achieved" the position of a "star" in my own 
 country, I would not subject myself to ridicule 
 in attempting to shine out of my sphere in this. 
 My foolish modesty on this point, if it might so 
 be called, has been amply compensated for by 
 the host of impostors who have yearly scoured 
 the country since, till they have drained it dry 
 as hay; with nothing under heaven to recom- 
 mend them but an announcement from one of 
 the London theatres, and T. R. C. G. or T. R. 
 D. L., in gilt or conspicuous letters, on every 
 book or manuscript they have an opportunity 
 to place upon a prompt-table. The managers, 
 secure in a profit, aid the imposition; they de- 
 mand their charges, and, should the he or she 
 humbug prove too gross, even for the indulgence 
 of the most indulgent audience in the world, no 
 blame can attach to them for introducing novel- 
 ty so highly self-recommended. The theatres 
 being numerous and "far between," if some 
 well-paid-for puffs succeed in exciting curiosity 
 for a night or two, they travel round the Conti- 
 nent, and escape to Europe before they are fair- 
 ly found out ; often with a well-lined purse, as 
 proof of the easy gullibility of the hospitable 
 Americans, and send " his fellow of the self- 
 same flight the self-same way." 
 
 Some years since, in travelling down the Mis- 
 sissippi, a Swiss or German steerage-passenger 
 made himself conspicuous by singing all man- 
 ner of outlandish songs an octave above com- 
 mon sense — a squeaking falsetto, resembling 
 the excruciating appeals to humanity a pig 
 makes while having his nose bored, or under- 
 going other necessary or ornamental surgical 
 operations — and collecting, by this unnatural
 
 60 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 exertion of the lungs, divers bits and picayunes 
 from the deck-hands and other admirers of " mu- 
 sic out of tune, and harsh ;" and, a few days af- 
 ter my arrival at New-Orleans, Caldwell under- 
 lined " Signer Carl Maria Von Bliss, from the 
 Royal Academy of Music at Vienna!" or some- 
 where ; and, to my astonishment, it proved to be 
 this yelling German, who had put my ear out 
 of joint, and helped to wood the boat on the pas- 
 sage down. Of course, this was too much of a 
 joke ; but the warm-hearted Southerners, find- 
 ing the fellow was in poverty, made him an ex- 
 cellent benefit, though they couldn't endure his 
 music. 
 
 Cooper succeeded Phillips, then the theatrical 
 god of America; and he behaved like a most 
 disagreeable one to all the mortals beneath him. 
 He was to open in Macbeth; the rehearsal was 
 called at ten o'clock; Mrs. Wheatley, Barnes, 
 and myself were the Witches ; we went through 
 our first scene, and so far in the second as Mae- 
 beth's entrance ; he had been on the stage an in- 
 stant before he was wanted, but then he was 
 missing. 
 
 "Call Mr. Cooper!" says Simpson. 
 
 " He's gone in the front!" says the boy. 
 
 "Go lor him, sir!" said Simpson. 
 
 Mrs. Wheatley, Old Jack, and myself told, or 
 listened in turn, to two or three excellent jokes 
 before Cooper arrived. Then he gave long and 
 particular directions to Anderson, the prompter, 
 as to the exact time of the commencing of the 
 march, and the exact time of its leaving off, and 
 had just got as far in the dialogue as to inquire, 
 
 " What ar-re these," 
 
 when the thought occurred that we should look 
 better, or he could act better, if he had a witch at 
 each entrance. He appealed to Simpson, who 
 grumbled out something, and the Fusdli groupe 
 was desired to take open order, and Mrs. Wheat- 
 ley went half up the stage. This wouldn't do, 
 unless the meeting was supposed to be with 
 three old women, in lifferent streets ; and the 
 word was given, " As you were !" and 'twas 
 finally agreed that Barnes and I should stand at 
 the first entrance, and Mrs. Wheatley close to 
 the wing at the second. The manner of direct- 
 ing these alterations and improvements, and the 
 time occupied in making them, put my patience 
 to a severe test; and at this critical juncture a 
 boy entered, and delivered him a note, and he 
 coolly sat down to the table to answer it. This 
 was the climax; and, leading Mrs. Wheatley 
 off the stage, I said, with much temper, 
 
 "Mr. Simpson, I can put up with this rude- 
 ness no longer; I'm going home!" 
 
 Simpson, whose endurance was the wonder 
 of everybody, followed me off the stage: 
 
 "Oh! nonsense, Joe! nonsense! come back! 
 it's only his way." 
 
 "D — his way!" said I; and home I went. 
 
 At night Barnes explained to me the altera- 
 tions which had been made in the usual busi- 
 ness, but I had made up my mind to play the 
 part exactly as I had done it with Kean, at Dru- 
 ry Lane, with Munden and Knight as my allies, 
 right or wrong; and when Barnes and Mrs. 
 Wheatley were stirring the boiling gruel at the 
 back of the stage, I was very coolly standing in 
 the comer. I couldn't but admire the man's 
 splendid talent; and he had administered to my 
 vanity by waiting every night to see my farce, 
 and making it part of his bargain, as he receiv- 
 ed a per centage, that I should appear on his 
 
 nights ; but I looked upon him as a brute, not- 
 withstanding; and he never spoke to me, nor I 
 to him. One night, while he was performing 
 Virginius, I was seated on a sofa, placed under 
 a large glass, in the green-room, when he came 
 in to adjust his toga. I moved my head out of 
 his way, and not my person ; he came close up 
 to the glass, and then stooped his head within 
 six inches of mine, and stared me straight in the 
 face, and I said, " Booh !" He looked perfectly 
 astonished, and walked out amid a hearty laugh 
 from the ladies, for I was an excellent clown in 
 their estimation. A day or two after he address- 
 ed me behind the scenes with, 
 
 " Mr. Cowell, no one has been civil enough 
 to introduce me to you, therefore I'm compelled 
 to do it myself!" and, after paying me some 
 very handsome compliments, ended with invi- 
 ting me to dine with him; and we have been 
 very intimate ever since; nor do I know, in my 
 large list of acquaintances, a more agreeable 
 companion than Thomas Cooper. During my 
 residence in the Northern States, I was a fre- 
 quent guest, for a day or two at a time, at his 
 delightful cottage, at Bristol, Pennsylvania , 
 where the luxuries attendant Upon affluence 
 were so regulated by good taste, that Cooper 
 never appeared to such advantage as when at 
 home. His family was numerous, and very in- 
 teresting. He used to boast of never allowing 
 his children to cry. 
 
 " Sir, when my children were young, and be- 
 gan to cry, I always dashed a glass of water in 
 their face, and that so astonished them that they 
 would leave off; and if they began again. I'd 
 dash another, and keep on increasing the dose 
 till they were entirely cured." 
 
 His second daughter, Priscilla, who is marri- 
 ed to the son of John Tyler, the present Presi- 
 dent of the United States, is perhaps indebted 
 to some of her father's lessons lor that affable, 
 yet dignified deportment which commands the 
 admiration of all parties. 
 
 The Park company was not extensive, but 
 very useful, consisting of 
 
 Messrs. Simpson, Barnes, Pritchard, Ritch- 
 ings, Phillips, Nixon, Anderson, Reed, Banker, 
 Mayvvood, and myself. Mesdames Wheatley, 
 Barnes, Holman, Barrett; Miss Johnson, Jones, 
 Brundage, and Bland. 
 
 If there were more, I have forgotten them. Of 
 course, we all had to play nearly every night, 
 and I never escaped. Gillingham was the 
 leader; a good-tempered, eccentric fellow, with 
 an odd kind of nervous affection, which made 
 him appear as if he was continually endeavour- 
 ing to bite his own ear; this singularity was 
 most conspicuous when he was under the influ- 
 ence of liquor, which was very frequently the 
 case; and one night, while accompanying one 
 of my songs, he made a more than usual ener- 
 getic snap over his shoulder, lost his balance, 
 and fell into the orchestra, carrying with him 
 the second violin, his own stool, and a music- 
 stand, to the great amusement of the audience. 
 He was, strange to say, as fond of eating as he 
 was of drinking, and, when searching for a lodg- 
 ing, his first inquiry would be, "Madam, have 
 you a gridiron 1" and if the answer was " Yes," 
 the kind of rooms, or the price of them, was a 
 secondary consideration ; but if "No," he turn- 
 ed on his heel and vanished without another 
 word. This efficient conductor, with six or 
 eight other professors, formed a very wretched or- 
 chestra, but then even so many, and of such a
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 61 
 
 quality, could only be obtained at a very high 
 price; they never came to rehearsal but on very 
 particular occasions, and even then they were 
 paid extra, and all the music in the performance 
 was gone through, one piece alter another, and 
 an hour selected the least likely to interfere with 
 their teaching, or other out- door avocations. 
 Times are sadly changed. I wonder how many 
 good musicians there are at this day out of em- 
 ployment 1 I know fifty at least. Robbins was 
 the principal artist, and also played the double 
 bass ; he always came to rehearsal, for he'd do 
 anything rather than paint. H. Reinagle, Ev- 
 ers, and H. lsherwood, an apprentice to Robbins, 
 completed this department, and among them 
 they would perpetrate two scenes in a month. 
 By a law, of their own making, I suppose, they 
 only made believe to work from ten o'clock in 
 the morning till four in the afternoon. In short, 
 at the period I speak of, perlbrmers, and others 
 employed in a theatre, couldn't be obtained; nor 
 were there a sufficient number of American actors 
 on the whole continent to form a company : for- 
 tunately for the young population of that day, 
 they had something better to do. Out of the 
 members I have named at the Park, all were 
 English with the exception of Reed, Woodhull, 
 Phillips, Banker, and Nixon. Woodhull had 
 considerable talent, though he contented himself 
 with being an imitator of Pritchard, and natu- 
 rally so like him that a stranger could scarcely 
 tell the difference. He died soon after he had 
 formed a style of his own and began to be es- 
 teemed a good actor. Phillips was an uncle to 
 Noah — I don't mean "the ancient mariner," but 
 the editor — and through his influence, perhaps 
 to aid his own talent, he was engaged to play 
 walking gentlemen, but was anything but inter- 
 esting in his appearance ; if a profile of his per- 
 son had been taken in black, you couldn't have 
 told the difference between it and the shadow of 
 a boy's top with two pegs. He very prudently 
 took to playing old men, and, in a secondary 
 line, became very respectable. Poor Banker 
 didn't live long enough to "come to judgment;" 
 and Nixon delivered messages then, and was 
 still explaining that "the carriage waits" when 
 I last saw him. All the females worth speaking 
 of were English, with the exception of Mrs. 
 Wheatley, and she, I believe, is a native of 
 New- York, and a much better actress, in my 
 opinion, than all of them put together, without 
 in the least degree intending to speak slightingly 
 of the acknowledged talent of the other ladies. 
 When I joined the company, Mrs. Barrett, the 
 mother of George, played the old women. She 
 was a very ladylike creature, excessively tall, 
 and in her day, no doubt, had been very good- 
 looking, and greatly esteemed in the higher 
 walks of the drama, but brought with her for the 
 task she then undertook nothing but her appro- 
 priate age and knowledge of the profession. 
 
 Light comedy men and interesting ladies, 
 when they get into years, as a last resource un- 
 dertake to play old men and women : this is a 
 great affliction to the audience, and to those who 
 have to perform with them; memory, hearing, 
 and seeing, all impaired ; the recollection of what 
 they have been distressing themselves, and what 
 they are everybody else. Acting is — acting; 
 and a young woman of eighteen or twenty is just 
 as capable, or more so, of playing Mrs. Mala- 
 prop, or the Duenna, than an old lady of forty-five 
 is to play Juliet, or Sophia in the Road to Ruin ; 
 and yet those latter characters are often so rep- 
 
 resented. Few pretty women will sacrifice their 
 love of admiration, and consent to be 
 
 " An angel of lore in the morning, 
 And then an old woman at night." 
 
 But Mrs. Wheatley was an exception to the gen- 
 eral prejudice, and whenever there was an ap- 
 propriate part in a new piece in which I was in- 
 terested that Mrs. Wheatley could with propri- 
 ety be cast, I used to urge all my power with 
 Mr. Simpson to have her in the character ; and 
 I boldly assert, that had she had the good luck 
 to have commenced her career in London at 
 that same period, she would have established a 
 distinct path in the intricate maze of the drama, 
 where alone nature, leading truth, and exquisite 
 humour would have ever dared to follow. 
 
 The season terminated on the fourth of July, 
 to commence again on the first of September. 
 
 Rather as an acknowledgment than a return 
 for the many acts of kindness I had received 
 from both Price and Simpson, I undertook to 
 decorate the theatre gratuitously. Henry lsher- 
 wood I selected for my assistant, a lad of great 
 promise as an artist; but the little that Robbins 
 was able to teach him he had neglected to impart, 
 and his after success in his profession I have 
 been much flattered by his attributing to my en- 
 couragement and instruction. Glass chande- 
 liers were purchased to supply the place of the 
 iron hoops ; the procenium was arched and rais- 
 ed; no expense was spared for material; and, 
 dressed in gray and gold, the next season the 
 " Park" assumed the responsible appearance it 
 has maintained ever since. Price went to Eng- 
 land lor recruits, and Simpson and the larger 
 portion of the company into the country, 
 
 " To keep the flame from wasting by repose." 
 
 The season was unusually warm, and about 
 the middle of August great alarm was created 
 by some cases of yellow fever occurring in the 
 northern part of the city. In a day or two the 
 contagion crossed Broadway, and a death be- 
 ing reported at the Custom- House, in Wall- 
 street, the panic became universal and frightful- 
 ly ridiculous. The whole population in that 
 section of the city who were well or able, beat 
 a retreat with bag and baggage — the sick and 
 poor at the expense of the authorities — the move- 
 ment on the first of May would bear no compar- 
 ison. Well-dressed women with " a blanket, in 
 the alarm of fear caught up," were seen drag- 
 ging along a squalling child, without a hat, 
 through the blazing sun, and the fond father fol- 
 lowing with a bed on his head, and perhaps a 
 gridiron or a pair of tongs in his hand. All the 
 ferry-boats to Hoboken, Powles Hook, Staten 
 Island, and Brooklyn were constantly plying, 
 loaded down with passengers, who seemed to 
 think drowning a secondary consideration ; and 
 in one hour the thickly-inhabited and largest por- 
 tion of New- York was deserted by every human 
 being. The district supposed to be infected was 
 boarded up, the streets covered ankle deep with 
 lime, and all intercourse prohibited. My family 
 were fortunately in New-Jersey, and my house, 
 though far enough from the point of danger to 
 ensure my own safety, was still too near, in the 
 estimation of my friends, for them to make it a 
 sanctuary, so John Kent and I kept bachelor's 
 hall, for not a soul would venture to pay us a 
 visit. He was a faithful old negro, who for 
 years had been employed in the theatre as a 
 sort of deputy property-maker ; he professed a 
 great regard for me in consequence of my being
 
 62 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 "a countryman !" for, happening tc be born on the 
 Island of Jamaica, lie prided himself upon being 
 "English." Twice a week we made it a rule 
 late at night to trespass on the uninhabited re- 
 gion, John loaded with a huge basket of coarse 
 f>rovisions for the starving cats, who instinctive- 
 y believe " there is no place like home," and, 
 after a donation or two of the sort, the numbers 
 that would surround us, the moment they heard 
 us approach, would be past belief: I found it a 
 most whimsical mode of cheating a long, dull 
 night of part of its death-like solitude; not an- 
 other thing that breathes and stirs would we 
 meet in our walk, excepting a single horse, per- 
 haps, trotting along with an unattended hearse, 
 and the driver smoking a cigar or whistling 
 " Yankee Doodle." 
 
 I had once witnessed the full horrors of this 
 scourge to mankind in the West Indies, and 
 though a great number fell victims in New- York, 
 yet, by comparison with what I had seen, to my 
 mind it was disarmed of its terrors; but not so 
 with the generality of the inhabitants, and I firm- 
 ly believe half the deaths were caused by fright 
 alone. 
 
 A fine, jovial fellow, a jeweller, by the name 
 of Irish, had "a dog he loved," who a day or 
 two after his master's flight, it was supposed, 
 had strayed back to the old dwelling, in the very 
 heart of the infected district; and though he 
 valued the animal as dearly as he could a child, 
 and danger in " any shape but that" he would 
 have despised, yet, though suffering actual ago- 
 ny at the thought of the poor little wretch being 
 starved to death, he could not summon strength 
 of mind enough to go in search of him, nor hire 
 any one who would. Though " to do good is 
 sometimes dangerous folly," I undertook the task, 
 and after a fight on the steps with the half-fam- 
 ished wasp, i succeeded in tying him up in 
 my handkerchief, and bundled him back to his 
 master. 
 
 Many of the retail dealers from Broadway 
 and Pearl-street, after the first alarm had subsi- 
 ded, had erected temporary sheds for the sale of 
 their various merchandise at Greenwich Village, 
 which could then only boast of a state-prison 
 and some dozen scattered houses, and, in conse- 
 quence, the place suddenly assumed the appear- 
 ance of a fair. The young clerks and appren- 
 tices, having little else to do, had displayed their 
 wit in various jokes in rhyme on their make- 
 shift signs; Irish applied to me for one "accord- 
 ing to the fashion of the time," and I perpetra- 
 ted the following: 
 
 Charles Irish, that brave-looking fellow, 
 
 Watchmaker, late of Wall-street, 
 Took fright at the fever called yellow, 
 
 And to this place has made his retreat ; 
 Now in this don't you think he was right? 
 
 For had he stayed there and got sick, 
 He'd no more wind his clock up at night. 
 
 Or sell you a watch upon tick. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "E'en ere an artful spider spins a line 
 Of metaphysic texture, man's thin thread 
 Of life is hroken : how analogous 
 Their parallel of lines ! slight, subtle, vain." 
 
 Sickness, a Poem, by William Thompson. 
 
 The first of September came, the then regular 
 period of commencing the season at the Park, 
 and no abatement of the epidemic. But the 
 panic which this unexpected visitation had cre- 
 
 ated having in part subsided, a number of the 
 inhabitants had returned to the city, though but 
 few to their houses; and. in consequence, the 
 town and village were crowded with idlers, in- 
 cluding the actors, with long faces and empty 
 pockets. As a resource, it was proposed to fit 
 up the Circus in Broadway, belonging to West, 
 as a temporary theatre; the same building that 
 is now called Tattersal's, and then literally out 
 of town. My friend, Sam Dunn, the long Yan- 
 kee carpenter, who picked me up and trundled 
 me out the first day I tumbled on an American" 
 stage, had all prepared in a few days, and we- 
 went into successful operation; playing to busi- 
 ness which enabled us to pay all the expendi- 
 ture, and two thirds salary the first three weeks, 
 and then the whole amount, till the Park open- 
 ed. When the affair was past a doubt, Simpson- 
 packed up his fishing-tackle and took the reins 
 of government. Like most large cities, places 
 of public amusement in New- York depend for 
 their chief support on strangers and visiters; 
 but the inhabitants then attended the theatre from- 
 the fact of there being nowhere else to go ; even 
 most of the churches were shut up — I have fre- 
 quently found the parsons, whether at sea or on 
 land, the very first to run from danger — and the 
 houses were well filled nightly. I took one of 
 my benefits there, and had upward of eight hun- 
 dred dollars at circus prices. 
 
 That excellent actor, John Clark, whom Price 
 engaged upon my recommendation, and Watkin- 
 son, to play the old men in the place of Barnes, 
 who had left for England at the end of the 
 season, arrived at the very height of the sickness ; 
 and poor Charles Matthews and Price popped? 
 in in the thick of it, but, fortunately, none of 
 them suffered from anything but fright. 
 
 Matthews made his appearance in Goldfinch, 
 and was very coldly received ; he introduced his- 
 two excellent songs, " The picture of a play- 
 house." and " A description of a ring-fight;" nei- 
 ther being then understood, they were not en- 
 cored, and the whole performance might be con- 
 sidered a failure; but, fortunately for him and 
 the management, he had studied on the passage 
 M. Morbleau, and Price, who was a great di- 
 plomatist in theatrical politics, knowing the ad- 
 vantage of an original part, urged him to play 
 that character in the farce, and in that he made 
 a tremendous hit. 
 
 Little dependance was placed on his entertain- 
 ments; but, contrary to all expectation, his main 
 success was hinged upon them. He was more- 
 highly relished at Philadelphia and Boston than 
 at New-York, though he drew crowded houses 
 everywhere he went. Price followed him like 
 a shadow, and nursed him like a child. He was 
 really an amiable, good-hearted man ; but his 
 nervous irritability — commenced, no doubt, in 
 affectation, and terminated in disease— rendered 
 him extremely objectionable to those who were 
 not inclined either to submit to, or laugh at his 
 prejudices; and his uncontrolled expressions of 
 disgust at everything American would have 
 speedily ended his career, but that Price man- 
 aged to have him continually surrounded by a 
 certain set, who had good sense enough to ad- 
 mit his talent as ample amends for his rudeness. 
 He actually came to rehearsal with his nose 
 stopped with cotton, to prevent his smelling " the 
 d — American mutton chops !" who could even 
 laugh at such folly 1 It was positively neces- 
 sary to his health and happiness to have some 
 fresh annoyance every day, He hadn't been in
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 63 
 
 New- York a week, when he got a letter from , ered, in the first scene, digging away in a Turk 
 some poor woman, who craved his assistance, ish garden ; I was a sort of overseer, and enter- 
 
 on the score of having known him before at Old 
 York : this was most deliriously disagreeable ; 
 he showed the letter to everybody — explained the 
 persecutions he had experienced in the same 
 way in England : " And now," said he, " dam'me, 
 they are full cry after me in America i" Upon 
 this hint, Price and myself, in disguised hands, 
 sent him two or three epistles every morning, 
 dated from the Five Points, or Chapel-street, from 
 some "disconsolate English widow," or "« poor 
 forsaken young wo?nan." And by introducing 
 the names of persons he might happen to men- 
 tion in his convivial anecdotes, or those whom 
 I had heard speak of him while at York and 
 other places, he had no doubt of their authenti- 
 city, and one purporting to be from Johnny 
 Winter's niece, stating that " she remembered his 
 flaying Lingo when she was a child, icas now in 
 great distress, and, for the love he bore Jier uncle, 
 claimed his aid," kept him fully employed in ima- 
 ginary misery for a week. 
 
 At his last engagement that season, his attrac- 
 tion decreasing, Price cajoled him into playing 
 Othello, which drew a full house ; and he was 
 actually childish enough to believe he could play 
 it — not in imitation, but in the manner of John 
 Kemblel But no matter whose manner it was 
 intended to convey, he made the Moor the most 
 melancholy, limping negro I ever beheld. The 
 audience were exactly of my way of think- 
 ing; and but for the high favour he had gained, 
 they would have smothered him, long before he 
 smothered Desdemona. 
 
 Before I left England Tom, and Jerry was in 
 preparation for the Adelphi. Burroughs, alias 
 Watkins, was to be the Corinthian; Wilkinson, 
 Logic ; and Jerry, Moncrief had written for me, 
 but when I came to America, by omitting the 
 songs and otherwise altering the character, from 
 what was exclusively meant to suit my style, 
 Burroughs played the part, and Wrench was en- 
 gaged for Tom. Simpson had had the manu- 
 script for some time, but was under the appre- 
 hension that an American audience would never 
 tolerate the vulgar slang nonsense. At my ear- 
 nest solicitation, at length the experiment was 
 made, but so positive was he that the piece could 
 not succeed, that little or nothing was done to 
 assist it; it was even carelessly rehearsed at the 
 back of the stage while business of more sup- 
 posed importance occupied the front; but, not- 
 withstanding, Tom and Jerry, in its day, drew 
 more money than any other piece ever played in 
 the United "States ! 
 
 M. M. Noah, who had already produced sev- 
 eral dramatic pieces with success, manufac- 
 tured a play called The Grecian Captive, which 
 was performed for his uncle's benefit, A. Phil- 
 lips. I was cast for what was said to be the 
 best part in the piece; at all events, it was the 
 longest; all I ever did know about it was the 
 name, and that was Goodman. The drama was 
 supposed to be written in blank verse, that is, 
 good, wholesome, commonplace language, the 
 wrong end foremost, after the manner of Sheri- 
 dan Knowles : 
 
 "And to cram these words into mine ears 
 Against the stomach of my sense," 
 
 for one night only, was out of the question, and 
 I made up my mind to speak the meaning of the 
 part after what flourish my nature prompted, and 
 so, indeed, I believe, had all the performers. 
 Simpson and some other captives were diseov- 
 
 ed to them, after the manner of Sadi, in the 
 Mountaineers, and recognised, somehow or an- 
 other, in the captive I was chiding for idleness, 
 " a beloved master," and Simpson and I were 
 proceeding with an interesting dialogue after 
 this fashion : 
 
 " Captive. My faithful Goodman, do I behold once more 
 That honest form ? 
 
 " Goodman. Master, most dearly loved, 
 Let an embrace assure me that I do not dream'."' 
 
 And as we were suiting the action to the word, 
 he whispered in my ear, 
 
 " Dam'me, Joe, look at the books." 
 And, upon turning to the audience, every one 
 in the front had a copy in his hand. To in- 
 crease the attraction, the play had been publish- 
 ed, and every purchaser of a box-ticket had been 
 presented with a book, which arrangement I had 
 never heard of till then. I am not easily embar- 
 rassed, but this annoyed me exceedingly. If I had 
 not been the principal victim in the business — 
 for I was on the stage nearly the whole of the- 
 piece — I could have enjoyed the anxiety of the 
 audience endeavouring to find out where we 
 were. You might see one thumbing over the 
 leaves one after another, then turn them all back,, 
 listen an instant, and then begin again. An- 
 other appeal to his neighbour, and he shake his 
 head in despair. I was assured very seriously 
 by a young critic, the next day, that I had actu~ 
 ally sometimes cut out a whole page at a time. But 
 I could not laugh at it ; I was angry, and con- 
 sidered the arrangement a rudeness on the part of 
 Mr. Phillips. At nearly the close of a long and 
 laborious season, a whole company had cheer- 
 fully, for the sake of serving him, undertaken 
 to get through with a composition that the author 
 himself could never wish should see daylight; 
 and though Phillips knew that not a soul could 
 learn more than the action, he, for the sake 
 of a few dollars, lets an audience into a secret 
 which, for their own sake as well as ours, they 
 had better not have known. 
 
 Towards the end of the first act I had to be 
 seized and taken off to prison. Supernumeraries 
 were not easily obtained in those days ; gener- 
 ally they consisted of young men with souls oMove 
 buttons; Booths and Forrests in the shell, full of 
 starts and attitudes, and terribly in earnest in all 
 they had to do. If they had to seize you, they 
 really seized you, and left the print of their fin- 
 gers on either arm for a week ; and if they had 
 to knock you down, the odds were large against 
 your ever coming to time. I was well aware of their 
 reality propensities, and had particularly requested 
 them in the morning to " use all gently." But 
 Woodhull — " a pestilence on him for a mad wag," 
 he's in his grave long ago — delighted at my an- 
 noyance, and determining, if possible, to increase 
 it — having taken a leaf out of my own book — 
 told these gentlemen, who were engaged to do 
 as they were bid by everybody, that I had chan- 
 ged my mind, and that at the word they were to 
 rush upon me with all their force and trip me 
 behind, which, I being off my guard, they did 
 most effectively. When I could scramble on> 
 my feet again, with all my might I floored the- 
 first man I met with, and then rushed off the 
 stage. Poor Nixen was my victim, and he 
 " only gave the order," was not to blame, and 
 therefore promised to thrash me after the play; 
 but as I had bunged his eye up by mistake, he 
 looked over the matter with the other. I was
 
 ■■64 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 most ridiculously angry, and vowed I would not 
 go on the stage again. But Simpson smoothed 
 me down, and my friend Noah acknowledged the 
 bad taste of the books being distributed, and 
 confessed the language " was very hard to learn." 
 
 "And so is Peter Piper picked a peck of 
 pickled pepper," I stuttered out ; " but it's hor- 
 rid trash ibr all that." 
 
 In the last scene, Phillips, half frightened 
 ■to death, came on wriggling, on the back of a 
 j'eal elephant ; and an unexpected hydraulic ex- 
 periment he introduced — I mean the elephant — 
 to the great astonishment and discomfiture of 
 the musicians, closed the performance amid the 
 shouts of the audience. 
 
 Now, though I and my numerous assistants 
 had effectually damned the piece, the kind-heart- 
 ed Noah, the next day, in his own paper, wrote 
 an excuse for the performers, and placed the 
 whole blame to his imprudence in permitting 
 the books to be given away. 
 
 West, with a fine company of performers, and 
 a magnificent stud of horses, paid a yearly visit 
 to New- York, to the serious injury of the thea- 
 tre; and, in self-defence, Price and Simpson 
 were desirous to buy him out. To effect this, 
 resort was had to stratagem, in which I played 
 a very useful part. My particular intimacy 
 with the management being notorious, with 
 binding oaths of secrecy, I named to those well 
 fitted to instantly convey the news to West, that 
 the Park proprietors intended erecting a most 
 splendid amphitheatre in Broadway, on the va- 
 cant lot where the Masonic Hall now stands; 
 a model, somewhat after the plan of Astley's, 
 was placed in the green-room, and imagination, 
 aided by the whisper abroad, soon gave it a lo- 
 cal habitation and a name. A delinquent from 
 the circus (Tatnal) was engaged, and employed 
 to break two horses in a temporary ring, boarded 
 round, in a lot on the alley at the back of the 
 theatre. These broad hints at opposition soon 
 brought matters to an issue ; and at a fair 
 price, and easy mode of payment — for a large 
 portion of the amount was raised by the re- 
 ceipts after they were in possession — Simpson 
 and Price, and some others, who then objected 
 to be known to be interested, and, through 
 my means, shall not now, purchased the build- 
 ings, lease, engagements, horses, wardrobe, 
 scenery, and a prohibition against West again 
 establishing a circus in the United States. 
 And, well pleased with such a winding-up to 
 his experiment, West, with a handsome fortune, 
 went to England ; for, when he arrived in Amer- 
 ica, he had not the means to pay for the passa- 
 ges of his company until Price and Simpson ad- 
 vanced the money, and engaged the horse and 
 foot to " Timouf the Tartar" and " Siege of 
 Belgrade" for the Park Theatre. 
 
 A Frenchman, by the name of Barriere, had 
 fitted up a small garden at the back of a confec- 
 tioner's shop in Chatham-street, with two or 
 three dozen transparent lamps, and 
 
 " Seats beneath the shade, 
 For talking age and whispering lovers made ;" 
 
 and, by selling "sweets to the sweet" at a shil- 
 ling a head, had made a great deal of money; 
 which, to rapidly increase, he raised a plat- 
 form, called it an orchestra, covered it with can- 
 vass, engaged a French horn, clarionet, fiddle, 
 and a chorus-singer from the Park, with the 
 gentle name of Lamb, who bleated a song or 
 -two, and with this combination of talent attract- 
 
 ed crowds every night, to the great injury, "in 
 the springtime of year," of the theatre. Price 
 put in force some fire-proof law, prohibiting all 
 canvass or skin-deep establishments within a 
 certain limit, and the old Frenchman was obli- 
 ged to strike his tent; but, with the ice-cream 
 profits, he purchased bricks and mortar, and 
 built the Chatham Theatre. 
 
 While this was in embryo, Mrs. Baldwin, a 
 sister to Mrs. Barnes, turned the brains of some 
 half dozen would-be-acting young men and wom- 
 en, and a private house in Warren-street into a 
 theatre, and opened a show there. Tom Hilson 
 had been seduced away from the Park, where he 
 had been a great favourite in my line of busi- 
 ness, by Charles Gilfert, a German musician, 
 who had married Miss Holman, and was, in 
 consequence, manager of the Charleston, South 
 Carolina, Theatre. On Hilson's necessary re- 
 turn to the North in the summer, being shut out 
 by me from the Park, he accepted a star engage- 
 ment at this old lady's concern, and drew crowd- 
 ed houses. Gilfert, who was a very enterpri- 
 sing, talented man, with some powerful friends, 
 already began to talk of a theatre in the Bowery; 
 and Hilson, in such an event, being a dangerous 
 ally, I sacrificed my taste to aid my friends, and 
 on the fourth of July, 1823, took the control of 
 the circus, vacating my position at the theatre, 
 to be filled by Hilson, and Harry Placide as his 
 assistant, in my very extensive round of charac- 
 ters. 
 
 Hilson was the son of a picture-dealer by the 
 name of Hill, a man of some wealth; for in 
 that day, copying and repairing pictures, and 
 giving them an ancient name and appearance, 
 was as profitable as passing counterfeit money, 
 and relieved of the disgrace and danger; and, 
 indeed, I have seen copies of pictures so excel- 
 lent, that they were cheap at the price the origi- 
 nals could command. Who ever grumbled at 
 paying a dollar to see Booth play Richard the 
 Third, provided they had never beheld Kean in 
 the same character 1 
 
 His family being averse to his imitating Na- 
 ture instead of art, Tom bade adieu to his coun- 
 try, denied his father by putting the son to his 
 name, and came to America, where he might 
 freely indulge his predilection for the drama. 
 But, having entered the profession more after the 
 manner of an amateur, than an actor who had 
 regularly and patiently climbed the rounds of 
 the Thespian ladder, the drudgery of the trade 
 he never could surmount. He required time for 
 study, and a choice of characters, in which for 
 years he was indulged; while Harry Placide 
 quietly filled up the interstices with such care 
 and skill, that ultimately the trifling space Hil- 
 son occupied was not worth paying largely for 
 by the management, nor the vacancy likely to be 
 noticed by the audience. Poor Hilson took ref- 
 uge in the West, and left Placide the undisputed 
 master of the field. 
 
 He died suddenly, about two years afterward, 
 at Louisville, Kentucky. In characters requi- 
 ring homely pathos, if they can be so described, 
 such as the old father in "Clari," he could not 
 be equalled; in humorous parts, in endeavour- 
 ing to be broad, he was coarse. As a man he was 
 most estimable. He married Miss Johnson, one 
 of the very few who make you feel truly proud 
 that you belong to the same profession. They 
 lived but for each other; and when he died, a 
 beautiful little girl was all that tied her to the 
 earth, who, shortly after, being seized with a ma-
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 65 
 
 lignant fever, the widowed parent vowed one 
 grave should hold them, and wildly inhaled her 
 infant's poisoned breath till saturated with dis- 
 ease. But God spared the child, and the poor 
 mother perished. 
 
 I loved them both as I would a brother and a 
 sister, which is much to*say " in this all-hating 
 world." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Have they not sword-players, and every sort 
 Of gymnic artists, wrestlers, riders, runners, 
 Jugglers and dancers, antics, mummers, mimics, 
 To make them sport?'' — Sampson Agonistes. 
 
 I now look back and laugh at the contradict- 
 ory feelings I experienced the first day I walked 
 through the aisle-like stable, to be introduced to 
 the members of the circus as their future man- 
 ager ; each stall occupied by a magnificent ani- 
 mal, knee-deep in unsoiled straw, platted into a 
 kind of door-mat fringe on its outer edge, to se- 
 cure the particles from littering the snow-white 
 pavement. The childish pride I felt as "to my- 
 self I said," 
 
 " I'm monarch of all I survey, 
 My right there is none to dispute," 
 
 was checked by the recollection of the sacrifice 
 I was about to make of my profession; and for 
 the life of me I could not suppress the thought 
 that there might be some of my legitimate asso- 
 ciates who, in speaking of my appointment, 
 would apply to me that coarse but common com- 
 bination of words and wit, "horse — and saw- 
 dust" manager; which, though, in point of fact, 
 it amounts to the same thing as "sole director 
 of the celebrated equestrian company," yet, by 
 taking away the dignified name of the office, all 
 that remained was mental slavery of the worst 
 kind, because totally at variance with my taste 
 or former pursuits. But Tom Ash, the chair- 
 maker and celebrated financier, said I should 
 make a fortune "by the operation" and, with this 
 imaginary gilding, I swallowed the pill. 
 
 My few weeks' experience at Astley's I found 
 of infinite service in my new undertaking; at all 
 events, it gave me the power of backing my di- 
 rections with "that's t/ie way we always did it at 
 Astley's," and such authority was indisputable. 
 To successfully command an army, a banditti, 
 or a circus, it is all-important that the corps 
 should have implicit confidence in the capability 
 of their leader; and who could doubt mine, when 
 J had graduated at Astley's ? Large additions to 
 horse and foot had been made, and the company 
 was both extensive and excellent : a stud of 
 thirty-three horses, four ponies, and a jackass, 
 all so admirably selected and educated, that for 
 beauty and utility they could not be equalled 
 anywhere. The concern was already popular, 
 and the powerful influence of the proprietors in- 
 cog, made it (oh, enviable democratic distinction !) 
 a very fashionable resort, and our success was 
 enormous. Of course, like others when first 
 placed in power, I made a total change in my 
 cabinet. John Blake I appointed secretary of 
 the treasury and principal ticket-seller ; and to 
 prove how excellent a judge I was of integrity 
 and capacity, he was engaged at the Park at the 
 end of the season, and has held that important 
 situation there ever since. A delicious speci- 
 men of the Emerald Isle, with the appropriate 
 equestrian appellation of Billy Rider, received 
 an office of nearly equal trust, though smaller 
 
 chance of perquisites — stage and stable door- 
 keeper at night, and through the day a variety 
 of duties, to designate half of which would oc- 
 cupy a chapter. He was strict to a fault in the 
 discharge of his duty, as every urchin of that 
 day who attempted to sneak into the Circus can 
 testify. Conway the tragedian called to see me 
 one evening, and in attempting to pass was stop- 
 ped by Billy, armed, as usual, with a pitchfork. 
 
 " What's this you want? Who are ye? and 
 where are you going?" says Billy. 
 
 " 1 wish to see Mr. Cowell," says Conway. 
 
 "Oh, then, it's till to-morrow at'lO o'clock, in 
 his office, that you'll have to wait to perform that 
 operation." 
 
 "But, my dear fellcw, my name is Conway, 
 of the theatre ; Mr. Cowell is my particular 
 friend, and I have his permission to enter." 
 
 " By my word, sir, I thank ye kindly for the 
 explination — and it's a mighty tall, good-looking 
 'gentleman you are too," says Billy, presenting 
 his pitchfork; " but if ye were the blessed Re- 
 deemer, with the cross under your arm, you 
 couldn't pass me without an orther from Mr. 
 Cowell." 
 
 Bob Mayvvood, on his benefit night, during 
 my first season at the Park, mistaking the noise 
 made by the call-boy and some of his playmates 
 frolicking behind the scenes, before the curtain 
 was up, for the commencement of the perform- 
 ance, poked his nose through the door in the 
 flat to take a peep at the house before he went 
 on, when one of the lads, supposing Bob's nose 
 was that of his comrade, sneaked softly by the 
 side of the scene and tweaked it most abomina- 
 bly; discovering his mistake, the boy was off 
 and under the stage before Maywood could get 
 to the front. I was greatly amused at poor 
 Bob's astonishment and anger at this mysterious 
 insult. A reward was offered for the discovery 
 of the offender, but as I alone was witness to 
 the deed, he wasn't likely to be found out. In 
 the course of the evening a fine-countenanced, 
 bold-looking, red-headed rascal, with an extra- 
 ordinary large mole on his chin, exhibiting half 
 a dozen hairs of the same complexion, came 
 sidling up to me, and, with a roguish smile, said, 
 
 " Don't you go to tell on me, sir." 
 
 "Oh, oh," said I, "then you are the villain 
 who pulled Bob May wood's nose, are you ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the boy ; " but indeed I 
 thought it was George Went's." 
 
 This was my first acquaintance with Tom 
 Blakeley. I faithfully kept his secret; and he, 
 in gratitude, was always on the alert to run of 
 an errand, or do any little job I required ; but if 
 he should see me and Maywood in conversa- 
 tion, he'd come up, with a mischievous twinkle 
 in his eye, and say, 
 
 "Will you have a stick of candy, sir?" or 
 " an apple," and give me an imploring don't-tett 
 look. 
 
 I liked the young rogue, but the run of the 
 piece in which boys were required being over, I 
 lost sight of him; but a few days after my ta- 
 king the circus, a well-grown lad presented him- 
 self as an applicant for a situation, and by the 
 extraordinary mole on the chin I instantly rec- 
 ognised my young friend of nose-pulling celeb- 
 rity. For old acquaintance' sake I gave him a 
 small salary to do "anything," but his great in- 
 dustry and propriety of conduct soon made him 
 a most valuable member of the company. He 
 afterward became an excellent actor, and for 
 some years was a great favourite at the Park
 
 66 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 and Bowery. He was the first to introduce rve- 
 gro singing on the American stage, and his 
 " Coal "Black Rose" set the fashion for African 
 melodies which Rice for years has so success- 
 fully followed. While at Philadelphia, Tom 
 was called upon by the city authorities to give 
 security for the maintenance of a "little respon- 
 sibility ';" this he appeared to consider a most 
 vile plot against his moral character, and, indig- 
 nantly declining any parental honour of the sort, 
 retained Colonel James Page as his counsel, and 
 the cause went to trial. An alibi — that most im- 
 portant point in any case, but particularly so in 
 one of this kind — was, with much plausibility, 
 very nearly established, when the prosecuting 
 attorney begged permission to introduce what 
 he called a very material witness. A young 
 woman, dressed in virgin white, with a black 
 veil, advanced, and, removing a cap from the 
 head of an infant, disclosed to the eyes of the 
 court and jury a fine head of bright red hair, and 
 the fac- simile of Tom's mole on the chin. The 
 cause was instantly decided to the satisfaction 
 of all parties — perhaps excepting the unexpected 
 father; though I thought I saw a smile of re- 
 sponsible parental pride play over his counte- 
 nance as he named me as his security to the 
 parish, and declared that, "As I have to pay for 
 a child, I'll have the worth of my money, and 
 keep it myself." And to his credit be it told, 
 that he did, and educated it respectably, and 
 is now proud of an amiable and interesting 
 daughter. 
 
 Among the horses was a cream-coloured Han- 
 overian charger, of extraordinary beauty and 
 immense size, and went so proud in action, "as 
 if he disdained the ground." Though nothing 
 in his life was applicable to his name but the 
 leaving of it (he was killed at sea), he was called 
 Nelson. 
 
 Immediately after taking the direction of the 
 establishment, I made myself acquainted with 
 the titles and general character and qualifica- 
 tions of all the horses, but was not so well in- 
 formed as to how the grooms, minor people, and 
 musicians were called ; and among the latter 
 was a clarionet player, with less talent but with 
 the same name as the horse — Nelson. But, as 
 Juliet says, 
 
 " What's in a name ? thai which we call a rose, 
 By any other name would smell as sweet." 
 
 On a Sunday, in the forenoon. Rodgers, an 
 equestrian performer, and father to one of the 
 first riders of the present day, called at my house, 
 and requested to see me on very particular busi- 
 ness. Upon inquiring his errand, he said, with 
 much solemnity of manner, 
 
 " I'm very sorry to inform you, sir, that poor 
 Nelson is dead." 
 
 " Dead !" said I, with astonishment : " why, 
 Mr. Rodgers, it's impossible! he was well enough 
 last night;" for, in passing through the stable, I 
 had stopped to caress the beautiful animal, and 
 he was as full of mischief and spirit as usual. 
 
 " Oh no, sir," said Rodgers, " he was very un- 
 well for two days, and scarcely able to perform." 
 
 "Why, I knew nothing of it," I replied; " why 
 didn't some of them let me know? There was 
 no necessity for his being employed in anything 
 but the entree; and, indeed, if he was sick, he 
 shouldn't have been used even for that, if I had 
 known it." 
 
 " You're very kind, sir, I'm sure," replied the 
 friend of the dead musician. " He'll be a great 
 
 loss to the concern ; and he was such a kind,, 
 good creature." 
 
 " Why, as to his kindness, I can't agree with 
 you there; he was most difficult to manage; 
 but his loss, as you observe, will be irreparable. 
 When did he die?" 
 
 "Early this morning. I was up with him all 
 night. He kicked and rolled about in great ag- 
 ony, and you might have heard his groans for 
 half a square." 
 
 " Poor creature ! And what did they say was 
 the matter with him. Mr. Rodgers 1" I inquired. 
 
 "The colic, or something of that sort; and 
 we think it was brought on by his eating cu- 
 cumbers." 
 
 "Cucumbers!" said I: "why, where did he 
 get cucumbers'!" 
 
 " Mr. Blyth," he replied, "received some as a 
 present, and he gave poor Nelson two or three." 
 
 " Well, my clear sir, they never could have 
 hurt him; and if they were likely to do so, Mr. 
 Blyth, of all others" — he was our riding-master 
 — " would never have given them to him; you 
 may depend upon it, Rodgers, it was the hots." 
 
 " Oh dear, no, sir," said he, with a confident 
 veterinary manner : " that's a disease as horses 
 often dies on; but his was quite different; his 
 body was all drawn up in a heap, and the sweat 
 poured oft" him in pailfuls; we dosed him with 
 brandy ard laudanum, and kept rubbing of him, 
 but before the doctor arrived he was a gone 
 horse;" and then, with a sigh, he continued, 
 " There's George Yeaman, and Williams, and a 
 few more as came out with Old West along 
 with him, wishes to pay him the compliment of 
 giving him a funeral, and wants to know if you 
 would be good enough to attend ?" 
 
 " Oh, pooh ! that's perfectly ridiculous, Rodgers. 
 I respect your innocent-minded, good-hearted 
 feeling ; I have quite as good a right to be sorry 
 for his death as any of you, but a funeral is all 
 nonsense ; we'll have him hauled away early in 
 the morning, and thrown in the river." 
 
 " Sir!" said he, looking aghast. 
 
 " Are you going back to the circus, Mr. Rod- 
 gers 1" I inquired. 
 
 " No. sir," said he, " but I live within a door 
 or two." 
 
 " Well, then, you will greatly oblige me if 
 you will call and tell Peter, or any of the grooms 
 you may find there, to employ a butcher, or any 
 one who understands the business, and have 
 him skinned." 
 
 " Sir! what! skinned 1" said Rodgers, in as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 "And if you please, tell them to have it done 
 carefully, and be sure not to cut off his ears and 
 tail ; I intend to have him stuffed." 
 
 " Stuffed !" said Rodgers. 
 
 '■' Yes," said I; " and on the fourth of July, or 
 other great occasions, we'll have him hoisted 
 out for a sign, or use him for a dead horse, at 
 any rate." 
 
 This brought our equivocal conversation to a 
 climax; and, highly delighted at finding it was 
 Nelson the musician instead of Nelson the 
 horse who had been killed with cucumbers and 
 kindness, the next morning I joined the mourn- 
 ers, and saw the poor fellow "quietly inurned." 
 
 During the time Lafayette was travelling 
 through the Union, receiving the enthusiastic 
 homnge of all classes of persons, and, by the only 
 mode in his power, showing his gratitude by 
 kissing all the young women, shaking hands 
 with the old, and blessing the little children, it
 
 PASSED AMONfi THE PLAYERS. 
 
 67 
 
 so happened that my company was always in 
 some city where he was not; but on his return 
 to New-York, I fortunately encountered him, 
 and through the influence of the committee of 
 arrangements, he honoured the circus with a 
 visit, which, of course, produced an overflowing 
 house. The box appropriated for the use ot 
 himself and suite I had decorated with as many 
 flags as 1 could borrow from volunteer and fire 
 companies, mechanic and masonic societies, 
 with the French and American ensigns enfold- 
 ing each other in divers affectionate attitudes, 
 interspersed with a profusion of every descrip- 
 tion of vegetable matter, with the exception of 
 boughs of oak and laurel, which Billy Rider had 
 been desired exclusivelv to obtain. 
 
 " There, sir, that's what you sent me for," said 
 Billy, throwing down a huge bundle of shrubs. 
 "No, sir, it is not; I said oak and laurel/' 
 "Divil a sprig of laurel is there, I believe, 
 in the whole State of Jarsey. By my word, 
 sir, it was down to Weehawk I was, and back 
 again twiced. As to oak, by the powers, 
 there's plinty o' that at the tops o' trees where 
 no mortal man could touch a leaf of it, av he 
 had the legs of Goliath. By my troth, now, 
 they are mighty green and pretty— see the 
 red birries on that darling there— depend on it, 
 sir, d_ the difference will the ould gineral 
 know; he's had something better to do than to 
 be bothering his brains about bothany ; and all 
 those flags and finery, that's the thing itself, sir, 
 to tickle a Frenchman." 
 
 And I believe Rider was partially right, for 
 upon conducting the marquis to his box, for the 
 sake of saying something, I apologized for the 
 lack of preparation in consequence of the short- 
 ness of the notice I had received of the honour 
 he intended; and with earnest sincerity of man- 
 ner, he exclaimed, 
 
 " Sir, it is most superb !" 
 It was notorious that he never remained more 
 than half an hour, at farthest, at any theatre he 
 attended; but (in my opinion) he showed his 
 taste by witnessing the whole of our perform- 
 ance, and expressing his admiration at the prac- 
 tical jokes of the clown. I had, of course, sent 
 refreshments to the party, which the committee, 
 like all committees, appeared to enjoy most 
 heartily; but observing the general didn't par- 
 take, I inquired personally if there was anything 
 he "particularly wished," and he requested "a 
 glass of sugar and water." Old Hays, the cele- 
 brated police-officer, whom I had stationed at 
 the door to prevent his being killed with kind- 
 ness, I despatched for the desired beverage ; and 
 wishing " to take a drink" with the good old 
 man, 1 ordered two glasses, slyly whispering 
 Hays to put some gin in mine : when he return- 
 ed, he gave me a cunning sort of thief-catching 
 wink to direct me to my " sling;" but the gener- 
 al having the first choice, got the gin, and I the 
 sugar and water. We drank without a remark ; 
 I don't know if the marquis ever repeated his 
 dose, but I pledge my honour I never have 
 mine. 
 
 -«fr- 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 "The south and west wj.nds joined, and, as they blew, 
 Waves, like a rowling trench, before them threw. 
 ********** 
 
 Thousands our noyses were, yet we, 'mongst all, 
 Could none by bis rishr name, but thunder call. 
 Lightning- was all our light ; and it rain'd more 
 Than if the sunne had drunke the sea before. 
 
 Some rofhu'd in their cabbins lye, equally 
 Grieved that they are not dead, and yet must dye ; 
 And, as sin-burden'd sorties from grave will crcepe 
 At the last day, some forth their cabbins peep, 
 And tremblingly aske, What news?"— John Donne. 
 
 The following towns constituted our circuit.-. 
 New- York, Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore,. 
 Washington City, and Charleston, South Caro- 
 lina. At the last-named place a large building- 
 had been erected, but without a stage; and 
 Blythe had been usually sent there with an ex- 
 clusively equestrian company, to perform during 
 the winter months ; but, on Kean's revisiting the 
 United States, as he had never been to the 
 South, it was thought good policy to engage 
 him, hire the theatre there, which was to rent, 
 make some additions to my dramatic corps, and 
 open both establishments on alternate nights. 
 Eighteen of the most valuable horses were se- 
 lected ; the remainder, with Blythe, and a few" 
 of the grooms who couldn't "cackle," were left 
 to occasionally perform equestrian pieces at the 
 Park; and, with fifty-five souls, including mu- 
 sicians, artists, and carpenters, I set off" for the 
 sunny South. 
 
 The journey by land, in the depth of winter r 
 was out of the question; it was therefore deter- 
 mined that we should sail from Baltimore; and 
 the ship Orbit, Captain Fish, was engaged for 
 the purpose. She was a fine, roomy vessel, and 
 built expressly for one of the line of packets be- 
 tween New- York and Liverpool, but not proving 
 fast enough to compete with her magnificent al- 
 lies, had been taken out of the trade. We paid 
 one thousand dollars for the use of her, furnish- 
 ing our own bedding and provisions, and fitting 
 up, at our own expense, the stables upon deck, 
 and the temporary berths and state-rooms be- 
 tween. 
 
 On a fine, sunshiny Sabbath morning, though 
 unseasonably warm for the month of January, 
 we hauled off from the wharf, and were towed 
 into the tide, to float down the beautiful river- 
 harbour of the "Monumental City," 
 
 " With glist'ning spires and pinnacles adorn'd." 
 
 There was not a breath of air stirring, nor a rip- 
 ple on the water to disturb the equilibrity of 
 man or horse — a calm so profound as to realize 
 the immortal Donne's beautiful illustration, 
 
 " In one place lay 
 Feathers and dust, to-day and yesterday ;" 
 
 and, in the language of naval postscripts, "offi- 
 cers and crew all well, and in fine spirits." The 
 ladies had the exclusive use of the regular cabin . 
 and forward of it some divisions were made to 
 form state-rooms for myself and family, and the 
 married folks; and berths, or bunks, were erect- 
 ed on either side of the remaining space for the 
 rest of the company. They formed themselves 
 into different messes; the subordinates, espe- 
 cially those who had had experience in mari- 
 time matters, acting as stewards. Billy Rider 
 was in great request ; he had crossed the Atlan- 
 tic three times, and once been cast away in a 
 British bark bound to Belfast. The horses, 
 well trained to go through fire or water, appear- 
 ed to care little about the novelty of their situa- 
 tion. The grooms and carpenters were divided 
 into three parties, one of which was appointed 
 to constantly watch and attend them, and every- 
 thing appeared to promise a pleasant trip. 
 
 About noon a light breeze sprung up from the 
 northward, and we made sail ; towards sundown 
 it freshened considerably, and, as only a solitary 
 lantera was allowed to swing below, all the
 
 68 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 landsmen unemployed had a good excuse for 
 sneaking quietly to their berths. The next day 
 the wind still continued favourable; and the fol- 
 lowing morning I was rejoiced to find we had 
 got rid of our pilot, and cleared the Capes. The 
 wind kept in our favour the whole of the day 
 and night, though blowing unequally, in sudden 
 gusts and flurries, with cold and drizzly rain, 
 demanding an additional allowance of blankets 
 for the horses, and an extra glass to the men. 
 About midnight it suddenly chopped round to 
 the southeast, and soon increased to a violent 
 gale, which lasted five or six hours, knocked up 
 a tremendous sea, and then lulled away to an 
 awful calm. The swell was dreadful; and the 
 rolling of the ship, being accelerated by the 
 treading of the horses on either side up and 
 down, according to the action of the vessel, 
 caused everything that was movable below to 
 roll and jump, according to its specific gravity, 
 from one side to the other, at regular intervals; 
 and among trunks, boots, books, demijohns, 
 broken pitchers, and plates, in a sitting posture, 
 looking the picture of patience, was poor Harry 
 Moreland, arm and arm with William Isher- 
 wood, sliding to and fro, and exclaiming at ev- 
 ery pause, " Curious!" Rider had fast hold of 
 the hanging part of the chain-cable, a portion 
 of which was upon deck, and the rest in the 
 hold; he had mistaken it, I supposed, for a 
 stanchion, and was dangling backward and 
 forward like the pendulum of a clock, express- 
 ing, with a woful countenance, his contrition at 
 having "aten a meat dinner with a frind the 
 Saturday before." I gave him absolution and an 
 order on deck in the same breath. His boasted 
 experience was now required. During the blow 
 the spar on the starboard side, that was lashed 
 fore and aft to partly support the divisions of 
 the stalls, and keep the horses in them, had part- 
 ed, and caused some confusion ; and now the 
 ship rolled so heavily, and the horses backing, 
 or actually hanging by their halters at every 
 lurch, it required all the exertion of all the hands 
 I could muster to replace it : from the crew I 
 could get no assistance ; they were too busily 
 engaged in sending down the royal-mast and 
 top-gallant-yards, close-reefing topsail, bending 
 storm-stay-sails, and making "all snitg," to re- 
 ceive the coming tempest, full warning of which 
 Avas given in the most unequivocal and terrific 
 forms. The air felt hot and thick— you could 
 actually touch it — the swell increased; and 
 when the helpless ship rolled over the sullen 
 liquid hi.lls, the little sail she carried flapped 
 against the masts, w«hich shook to their founda- 
 tions, as she tumbled, as it were, into the abyss, 
 which seemed yawning to receive her. It was 
 about ten o'clock in the day, but pitch-black 
 clouds, so slowly moving that you couldn't see 
 them move, appeared to crawl all over us from 
 every point — " above, about, or underneath" — 
 and in a minute we were in "darkness more 
 dread than niglrt." 
 
 You could not see your hand, nor the ropes to 
 which you clung with instinctive horror; weath- 
 er-beaten "old sea dogs" trembled and stood 
 aghast, mumbled out God, and mixed up pray- 
 ers and oaths in whispers. Suddenly the zig- 
 zag lightning seemed to tear asunder the curtains 
 of eternity, plash on the deck, and struggle at 
 your feet! And, on the instant, thunder, " so 
 loud and dread" it shook your very heart, made 
 you hold your breath, and feel both deaf and 
 Wind. 
 
 We heard it rushing on Us ! "Look out there, 
 men; take care of yourselves!" was a broad hint 
 from our jolly fat-headed captain lor all my val- 
 iant party, with the exception of worthy John 
 Hallam and little Sinker, to tumble head over 
 heels below — and well they did. It struck us 
 forward, and with such overwhelming violence 
 we could feel her tremble to the core, as she in- 
 stantly keeled over on her side. The sea was 
 fairly lifted up and hurled over us in torrents, 
 with a noise so great and uniform it knocked all 
 sound out of the world; we could not hear, and 
 we could not see, but when the instantaneous 
 flash showed a glimpse of horror which made us 
 shut our eyes. By the gasping sensation in my 
 throat, I believed she was quietly settling down, 
 and all was over. I could not pray for cursing 
 my foolhardiness in not skulking below with 
 the rest, and being drowned with my wife and. 
 children. I had lashed myself to the belaying- 
 pins, near the weather mizzen rigging, and was 
 literally hanging over the " black profound," and 
 to stir from thence with life was impossible. How 
 long we were in this predicament I cannot even 
 guess at, but, of course, not long — real hurri- 
 canes do not last long. The ship seemed to la- 
 bour to get her keel once more under water, 
 and by the more frequent but less effulgent 
 flashes of lightning we could see the fore-top- 
 mast, yard and all, hanging overboard, but not a 
 vestige, on the leeward side, of the poor horses 
 nor their stables ; but on the other I fancied I still 
 saw a head or two. The mountain-like waves 
 had been blown into something like smooth 
 water by the extraordinary violence of the wind, 
 which had greatly abated, though it still blew 
 tremendously. The clouds began to separate, 
 producing a supernatural kind of light, which 
 would be considered awful even in the last scene 
 of a melodrame. Close by me I found the cap- 
 tain made fast, without his hat, and the mate 
 and several of the crew huddled together around 
 the mizzenmast. I could see them screeching 
 to each other, and the mate, a capital sailor — I 
 wish I could remember his name — partly tum- 
 bled and partly rolled from his moorings, and 
 with a desperate effort, with life or death at the 
 ends of his fingers, caught hold of the ropes be- 
 layed to the main bitts, jerked himself forward, 
 seized the lashings of the long-boat, which still 
 maintained her station, though emptied of her 
 contents — two learned ponies — crawled along 
 under the lee of her gunwale, and, with some- 
 thing like the agility of a drunken monkey, 
 gained the weather fore rigging, and with the 
 assistance of two of the crew, who 
 
 " Claimed the danger, proud of skilful hands," 
 
 the wreck was cleared from the ship, and she 
 righted ! A good imitation of a storm-staysail 
 was with some difficulty rigged and set, and a 
 mizzen topsail, and she was once more under 
 some control, and very nearly the right side up- 
 ward. 
 
 All the horses on the side that had been under 
 water, of course, were gone 
 
 " No man knows whither,' 1 '' 
 
 with the exception of a pretty little mare called 
 Fanny. Poor Fanny ! she was named after an 
 angel in heaven now. She was nearest the bow, 
 and had, through fright, accident, or instinct, got 
 her fore feet over the spar, intended to secure 
 the stalls in front, and when the ship lay over, 
 some booms and masts belonging to the vessel 
 had shifted, and jambing against her legs, had
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 69 
 
 there held her fast ; though skinned and torn, no 
 bones were broken, and in this cruel manner her 
 life was saved. On shore a similar accident 
 would have sealed her death-warrant — but wlio 
 could give an order for her execution then ? Char- 
 ley Lee was her doctor, and she recoTOred suf- 
 ficiently to be made a pet of. To windward, 
 three of the horses, wonderful to relate, were 
 still on their legs, Platoff, Wellington, and Jack- 
 son. They were rightly named. They stood next 
 each other, and the farthest forward, near where 
 the hurricane first struck us, and where even 
 now the " ruffian billows" were 
 
 " Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them. 
 With deafning clamours, in the slippery shrouds." 
 
 Of the remaining six two were still alive — Julia 
 and poor old Jack — though dreadfully mangled, 
 and lying panting and groaning in a heap with 
 their dead companions: as soon as possible, 
 with the assistance of the crew, Hallam ami 
 Stoker got them overboard. 
 
 Soaked to the backbone and stupified, I scram- 
 bled below ; and there a beautiful scene present- 
 ed itself. There had not been time to batten 
 down the hatchway after my lubbers had made 
 their retreat, and, in consequence, tons of water 
 at a time had been thrown down, to the amaze- 
 ment and dismay of those between decks; and 
 men, boxes, beds, and barrels of oats were float- 
 ing about in " most admired disorder." 
 
 Alarm for my absence had diverted from the 
 mind of my wife all terror for the real danger, 
 and my children were too young to understand 
 it; therefore, my reappearance made all right in 
 an instant "at home," and a "thundering stiff" 
 glass of grog and a dry shirt soon restored me to 
 myself. The companion gangway having been 
 secured, the cabin was all tight and dry, and so 
 were the ladies, I suppose; for on my arrival at 
 Charleston, I lound a barrel of bottled Scotch 
 ale, which my friend John Boyde had put up for 
 me, and placed in the cabin for safe keeping, 
 full of empty bottles. Old Jones and his wife 
 were hugging one another in a corner of my 
 state-room; misery loves company, and they 
 had crawled from their own to make up a pleas- 
 ant party for the other world. Sam Wisdom, 
 my master carpenter, a fellow six feet and a half 
 high, and stout in proportion, was sitting in his 
 shirt on the deck a foot deep in water, like a 
 wringing wet mandarin, blubbering over his 
 children, and persuading the poor little innocent 
 creatures that they were going to be drowned 
 along with " poor pa" in a few minutes! 
 
 The gale having sensibly abated, all made 
 snug, and the ship hove to, part of the hands 
 were set to bail and swab. Henry Isherwood 
 was discovered coiled away in his berth, for- 
 ward, half smothered in wet oats, and immedi- 
 ately reported to me as "killed." When the 
 ship was thrown on her beam-ends, some barrels 
 of "feed" for the horses, piled up in midships, 
 had been tumbled over, and one of the heads 
 coming in contact with his, had started, and its 
 contents emptied all over him ; and the sea rush- 
 ing down the gangway at the same time, he, 
 stunned with the blow, believed he was drown- 
 ed, and, in his own mind, had quietly given up 
 the ghost. "Don't touch me," said he: "oh, 
 don't touch me ; it's all over with me ; my brains 
 are knocked out ;" placing his hand to his head, 
 and looking up most piteously. Sure enough, he 
 appeared in a woful plight : large black streaks, 
 resembling congealed blood, were trickling down 
 his pale face, and I had no doubt but that his 
 
 scull was split open; but on examining more 
 closely, we found the clotted blood to be nothing 
 more than diluted molasses-candy, a large cake 
 of which was still fast in his hair. His father 
 had been a confectioner, and inheriting his par- 
 tiality for sweets, he had provided himself with 
 a large stock for the trip; which had fallen from 
 a ledge where it was " safely stowed," by the 
 side of his berth, and, in his fright, he had slapped 
 his head into it. 
 
 The gale continued with more or less violence 
 for five days, the ship hove to all the time. Our 
 captain had had no experience on that coast, and 
 the weather not permitting an observation to be 
 taken, he didn't know which way to run, so pa- 
 tiently awaited the termination of the tempest. 
 
 The company became accustomed to " the 
 great contention of the sea and skies;" and Hal- 
 lam's favourite slut " Molly" having produced 
 a fine litter of pups in the hour of peril, amply 
 repaid that worthy fellow for all his toil and 
 danger. Platoff and Wellington both died be- 
 fore the termination of the blow; but old Jack- 
 son stuck it out till we got into smooth water, 
 and then, as Billy Rider said, " Poor creature, 
 he kicked the bucket in comfort, any how." 
 
 After mistaking Georgetown light for Charles- 
 ton, and bumping us half to pieces on Frying- 
 pan Shoals, we succeeded in reaching our des- 
 tined port, in the " ship Orbit, Captain Fish, fif- 
 teen days from Baltimore, with loss of a deck- 
 load of horses." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " But ye ! ye are changed since I saw you last ; 
 The shadow of ages has round you been cast ; 
 Ye are changed — ye are changed — and I see not here 
 What I once saw in the long-vanish'd year." 
 
 Mns. IIemans 
 
 "Alas! poor gentleman, 
 He look'd not like the ruins of his youth, 
 liut like the ruin of those ruins." — John Ford. 
 
 Leaving the ship, as a climax, thumping on 
 the bar with which Nature has defended a har- 
 bour in appearance only excelled by the Bay of 
 Naples, the Cove of Cork, and perhaps equalled 
 by New- York, the custom-house officer politely 
 landed myself and family at the Battery in his 
 boat. As recommended, I took up my abode at 
 the Broad-street House, an excellent hotel, con- 
 sidered the first in the city, and, to my surprise, 
 kept by a gray-headed negro called Jones. I 
 found letters from Simpson, as yet, of course, 
 ignorant of the loss, stating that, depending on 
 the high reputation of the vessel, he had saved 
 the expense of ensurance, which he had under- 
 taken to effect in New- York at a much lower 
 rate than I could get it done in Baltimore. It 
 seemed as if we had struck a vein of bad luck. 
 Another "discontented paper" gave me an ac- 
 count of Kean's having been driven from the 
 stage in that city, and inquiring if, under the cir- 
 cumstances, his engagement had not better be 
 cancelled. The painful responsibility of my po- 
 sition at this juncture is even now irksome to 
 refer to: a large amount of property, owned by 
 various individuals, exclusively at my disposal, 
 and deprived, by distance, of their advice or as- 
 sistance. To the performers, whose travelling 
 expenses we paid, and a salary every Saturday 
 in the year, I was indebted, in consequence of the 
 length of the journey, nearly three thousand dol- 
 lars. A very doubtlul point if Kean would be
 
 70 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 received, and without him, my company, select- 
 ed exclusively for his support, most unfit to play 
 even a saving game ; the very sinews of attrac- 
 tion torn from the circus, and the man-end of my 
 numerous Centaurs walking about with nothing 
 but theiT hands in their pockets, and heavy wa- 
 ges hourly accumulating. 
 
 I was seated at the dinner-table, making be- 
 lieve to eat, when a servant handed me a note. 
 
 The address " To Howell, Esq.," would 
 
 have prevented my examining the contents, but 
 that the man assured me I was the person in- 
 tended. It ran as follows : 
 
 " Colonel M'Clane presents his compliments 
 to Mr. Howell : through the newspapers has 
 heard of his loss, and begs he will send some of 
 his riders to select from his stable as many horses 
 as he may consider likely to aid him in opening 
 his circus. He has a number of horses, and 
 -among them some well adapted for the purpose; 
 and all, or any, are at Mr. Howell's service, for 
 as long as he may have occasion for them. 
 
 " Charleston, Wednesday." 
 
 This from a stranger, who did not even know 
 my name, spoke the current language of the 
 •warm-hearted natives of South Carolina. I, of 
 course, accepted the offer, and in an hour the 
 grooms, with much glee, paraded under my win- 
 dow some dozen animals, as beautiful as were 
 
 " E'er created, to be awed by man." 
 
 Cheered by this unsought-for proof of kindness, 
 I addressed a commonplace note — for I despise 
 the usual " yovr-pctitioncr-mll-cver-praij" appli- 
 cation — to the intendant and wardens, to request, 
 tinder the circumstances, a diminution of the 
 usual sum charged for a license for each estab- 
 lishment; and the next morning I received the 
 following : 
 
 " City Council, February 7, 1826. 
 "Read a letter from Joe Cowell, requesting 
 Council to remit a portion of the license impo- 
 sed on the Theatre and Circus for the ensuing 
 season. 
 
 "Resolved, that the whole of the license be 
 remitted. Extract from the minutes. 
 
 " William Roach, 
 " Joe Cmeell, Esq." " Clerk of Council. 
 
 This was five hundred dollars saved, and, 
 what was almost as valuable, a farther proof of 
 a strong public feeling in my favour. I instant- 
 ly wrote to Simpson to send me Kean, 
 
 " With all his imperfections on his head," 
 
 having hope that the interest created by the 
 drowned horses would gain him leave to swim. 
 I have an objection to publish a letter intended 
 by the writer only for the perusal of the party to 
 whom it is directed. But the following laconic 
 epistle so much better conveys an insight of the 
 character of my friend Simpson than any de- 
 scription that I might undertake to write, that 1 
 cannot forbear making it public: 
 
 "New-York, February 13, 1826. 
 " Dear Joe, 
 
 " The Othello reported the ship Orbit on 
 Charleston bar, with the loss of a deck-load of 
 horses, before I got your melancholy letter. 
 God be praised, we can stand it! I didn't en- 
 sure, depending, as I said in my former letter, 
 on the high reputation of the vessel. Keep up 
 your spirits. I'm sure you will get out of the 
 scrape somehow. Yours truly, E. Simpson. 
 
 "What shall we do about Keanl" 
 
 This from the largest sufferer, and the most 
 responsible of the firm, in case of a failure, 
 speaks volumes in proof of the calm, Atlas-like 
 support with which, for so many years, he sus- 
 tained the fortunes of the Park Theatre. 
 
 The «mateur horses, whose " very failings 
 set them oft'," were an attraction. Dr. Porcher, 
 Mr. Kennedy, and several gentlemen, followed 
 the example of the colonel, and parties were 
 made up, by persons xvho had never before vis- 
 ited a circus, to see how a favourite horse would 
 behave in the ring. The inefficiency of my the- 
 atrical corps was hoodwinked by sympathy for 
 my misfoitunes, and we performed, in conse- 
 quence, to much better business than we prob- 
 ably should have done had we offered a supe- 
 rior entertainment, without the difficulties at- 
 tending its preparation. 
 
 Every means in my power I artfully used to 
 smooth the path for Kean's reception ; having it 
 generally understood by the public that on his 
 success was hinged the hope of redeeming my 
 fallen fortunes. But still the Eastern papers 
 were torturing his offence into a national insult, 
 and calling on the chivalry of the South to 
 avenge the wrongs this immoral play-actor had 
 heaped upon the country! I had determined 
 that there should be no time allowed to organize 
 a plan of hostility, at any rate, by having the 
 bills already printed, announcing " Kea?t's ; first 
 appearance this evening" and intending, no mat- 
 ter when he arrived, that he should perform the 
 same night; but in this point of policy I was 
 in part defeated, by the ship Othello, in which 
 Simpson had advised me he was a passenger, 
 being reported " below" early on a Sunday 
 morning. I boarded the vessel before she cross- 
 ed the bar, and found this wreck of better days 
 feeble in body, and that brilliant, poetic face, a 
 Raphael might have envied for a study, "sick- 
 lied o'er with the pale cast of thought." His 
 first inquiry was, if the public were hostile to 
 his appearing; and like a child he appealed to 
 me: "Cowell, for God's sake — by the ties of 
 old fellowship and countrymen — I entreat you 
 not to let me play, if you think the audience 
 will not receive me. I have not strength of 
 mind or body — look how I'm changed since 
 you saw me last — to endure a continuance of the. 
 persecutions I have already endured, and I be- 
 lieve a repetition of them would kill me on the 
 spot." 
 
 I, of course, encouraged him to hope all would 
 go well; but on landing from the boat, some 
 twenty idlers collected, and as we turned from, 
 the wharf, hissed and groaned; the well-known, 
 hateful sound seemed to enter his very soul, and 
 looking up in my face, with " God help me!" 
 quivering on his parted lips, he clung to my arm, 
 as if for succour, not support. I assured him 
 the disapprobation was meant for an officer of 
 the customs, in whose boat we had landed, who 
 was objectionable to the people; and doubting, 
 yet hoping it was true, I conducted him to my 
 house next to the theatre, which had been left 
 handsomely furnished by the improvident Gil- 
 fert, and which I had hired for the season. 
 
 He passed the day with me and some new- 
 found friends, and made himself, as lie always 
 could when he thought proper, most agreeable. 
 
 " The sweetest morsel of the nigh! we left unpick- 
 ed," and early in the evening I conducted him to 
 his quarters which 1 had prepared for him at 
 Jones's. He was delighted with his black land- 
 lord, and astonished to find that a negro could
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 71 
 
 amass a fortune, and possess all the rational ad- 
 vantages of a well-behaved white man, in the 
 same situation ol life, in a slave state. His no- 
 tions of slavery had more than likely been al- 
 together formed by acting in the opera of Paul 
 and Virginia. 
 
 Though most comfortably lodged, he assured 
 me the ucxi day he had never closed his eyes; 
 his anxiety had brought alone such rest 
 
 11 As wretches have o'er night 
 Who wait for execution in the morn." 
 
 What would be the night's event, who could 
 tell? The public is a hard riddle to find out, 
 but when you do happen to hit upon it, how sim- 
 ple it is. Fifty friends gave fifty different opin- 
 ions, each with an "if" so that each might after 
 say, " There, I told you so." For my own part, 
 I, of course, most earnestly desired his success, 
 and therefore honestly believed his genius would 
 triumph. 
 
 Not a place was taken, but the house was 
 .filled soon after the doors were opened. Before 
 it was uncomfortably crowded, I stopped the sale 
 of tickets, for nothing puts an auditor so soon 
 out of humour as a disagreeable seat. 
 
 Kean had set his "soul and body on the ac- 
 tion both," and I never saw him play better. At 
 his entrance, all was " hushed as midnight"— a 
 quiet so profound "that the blind mole might 
 not hear a footfall;" and this awful attention 
 continued during the whole performance, when- 
 ever he was on the stage; and when the curtain 
 fell, some few "amazed spectators hummed ap- 
 plause." There was but one ladij in Ike whole 
 house I the wife of the district attorney, and a 
 warm friend to the drama. Woman, in thy pu- 
 riiy, how powerful thou art ! The presence oi' this 
 one acted like a charm. She sat alone, the 
 beauteous representative of the moral courage 
 of her sex, and awed to respectful silence the 
 predetermined turbulence of twelve hundred 
 men ! 
 
 Poor Kean was in ecstasies at his escape. 
 The next morning nearly all the places were 
 secured for Wednesday, and a splendid house- 
 ful of ladies, as well as gentlemen, assembled to 
 witness his master-piece, Othello. At his en- 
 trance, some ill-advised applause was instantly 
 drowned in a shower of hisses ; and in the early 
 portion of the play, several sudden expressions 
 of disapprobation occurred ; and in the third 
 act, at nearly the end of his fine scene with Iago, 
 the storm so long pent up burst forth ; some or- 
 anges, thrown on the stage, appeared to be the 
 signal for a general tumult 
 
 " Of roaring, shrieking, howling, 
 With strange and several noises," 
 
 in the midst of which I had the curtain lowered, 
 opened the stage door, and presented myself to 
 the audience. It was my intention to have made 
 an appeal to their indulgence on my own ac- 
 count ; but remembering 
 
 " The silence, often, of pure innocence 
 Persuades when speaking fails," 
 
 I assumed as innocent an appearance as I knew 
 how, proceeded quietly and slowly to pick up 
 the atoms of oranges "and apples, looked unut- 
 terable things, and once 
 
 " / lifted up my head, and did address 
 Myself in motion, like as / would speak ; 
 But even then — " 
 
 I bowed myself across the stage and departed, 
 amid thunders of applause ! and, before it had 
 subsided, thrust Kean on with Desdemona, who, 
 
 " As a child, would go by my direction ;" 
 and the same people who, a minute before, were 
 pelting him with rubbish, rose on their seats, 
 and with "caps, hands, and tongues, applauded 
 to the clouds." and the play proceeded with un- 
 disputed approbation ! ! At the end, Kean was 
 loudly called for; but, from experience, know- 
 ing that for him to open his mouth, tilled with 
 language of his own, would probably ruin all, 
 I pleaded his exhaustion as an excuse for his 
 making me the means to express -the grateful 
 sense he had of their kindness, and tendered his 
 respectful acknowledgments. 
 
 The next day some of the first men in the city 
 left him their cards; dinner-parties were made 
 expressly for him ; carriages were proffered for 
 his use; the rarities of the season or climate 
 poured in upon him; and the numerous atten- 
 tions shown him by the kind, yet aristocratic 
 inhabitants of Charleston, equalled, and were 
 more gratifying to his feelings, than the hollow- 
 hearted homage paid to him by a crowd of flat- 
 terers in the sunshine of his career. He receiv- 
 ed fifty pounds sterling per night: that is, two 
 hundred and twenty-two dollars and twenty-two 
 cents; but our profits, notwithstanding, went far 
 towards redeeming the pecuniary part of our 
 losses. 
 
 I had some really talented people in my em- 
 ploy; but, from the want of numbers, many of 
 my grooms and riders had to be trusted with 
 subordinate characters, and their Shaksperian 
 blunders were actually serviceable in keeping 
 the audience in good humour. Charley Lee — 
 the father of the now juvenile rival to Ellsler — 
 a most valuable creature in a stable, and excel- 
 lent in a monkey, performed one of the officers 
 in King Lear, and in reply to Kean's saying, 
 
 " I killed the slave : did I not, fellow ?" 
 
 answered, in his natty manner, 
 
 " 'Tis true, my lord ! see where the good king 
 Has slew'd two on 'em !" 
 
 My king was an ignorant, dissipated brute, 
 whom I had, unfortunately, engaged on his own 
 recommendation. His incapacity was most 
 vexatious, but sometimes very droll. As Dun- 
 can, where Lady Macbeth enters to receive 
 him at the Castle, instead of a speech of some 
 four or five lines, he merely said, "Ah! here's 
 the hostess ! we thank you for your trouble." 
 And after her speech, in lieu of continuing the 
 dialogue, in a pompous but familiar manner he 
 said, "Where's Cawderl Is he not home yet"? 
 Well, no matter ; we'll sleep with you to-night. 
 Give me your hand; walk in, madam; we in- 
 tend to be very particular with yen;" and off he 
 went, with a good laugh at his heels. His 
 King, in Hamlet, could not be described. In the 
 last scene, after mixing up " the kettles and the 
 trumpets, the cannons, the thunder, and the 
 heavens," in a most ludicrous manner, he ended 
 with, "Stop a minute! give me the cup; here's 
 your good health ! Come, Hamlet, take a drink." 
 
 The easy, tavern-style in which this was said 
 was too much for Kean's gravity; the audience 
 caught the laugh from him, and the curtain 
 went down, as it ought to do, at the termination 
 of a verv broad farce; but it ended his career with 
 me. The next day I gave him two weeks' sal- 
 ary, paid las passage to New- York, and have 
 never seen the poor devil since. 
 
 Kean was so delighted with the place and the 
 people that he determined to remain until the 
 season was concluded. A friend gave him the
 
 72 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 use of a country house on Sullivan's Island — a 
 most romantic sandbank in the centre of the 
 harbour. With two Newfoundland dogs of 
 mine, a pet deer, and the Fanny marc, he was 
 "alone in his glory;" for it was literally unin- 
 habited in the winter, with the exception of a 
 few soldiers in the fort. He played Bertram for 
 my benefit, on the last night, to the largest 
 amount then ever received at the Charleston 
 Theatre. He took his passage with me in the 
 ship Saluda, and with 
 
 " Calm seas, auspicious gales, and sail so expeditious," 
 that in three days, recruited in mind and body, 
 he arrived at New- York, " in the merry month 
 of May," 1826. 
 
 Poor Kean ! I never more saw him act ; and 
 though, for years after, his brightness flickered at 
 intervals on the gloomy path of the declining 
 drama, it never blazed again with its uniform, 
 unequalled brilliancy. His neglected early life 
 had grafted habits on his nature totally at vari- 
 ance with his pure poetic taste, and giant-like 
 strength of admiration of all that was great and 
 noble in art, and made him the contradictory, 
 and, at times, objectionable creature which, in 
 general, he is so exclusively described. The 
 truth of the adage in his case was painfully pro- 
 ved : Ac kmio not iclw was his father. When all 
 the thinking world were awe-struck in contem- 
 plating his genius, several were named as hav- 
 ing a title to that honour, and among them the 
 late Duke of Norfolk ; and Kean was weak 
 enough to appear proud of this parental appro- 
 priation. A Mrs. Carey, who was an inferior 
 actress at one of the minor theatres, claimed him 
 as her son ; and whether he believed her to be 
 his mother or not, he supported her and her 
 daughter for years. 
 
 The startling effect of his style of acting, bold- 
 ly and suddenly setting at defiance the law and 
 decorum of the long-accustomed school of which 
 a Siddons and a Kemble were the models, can- 
 not be conceived at this day, where every aspi- 
 rant to dramatic fame totters in the path his 
 genius boldly trod, and "drags at each remove 
 a lengthening chain;" for, though he left behind 
 no parallel to his excellence, he created a host 
 of imitators, down to the third and fourth gener- 
 ation. The novelty of his manner may be un- 
 derstood by the following anecdote, which he 
 told me himself. At his first rehearsal at Drury 
 Lane, "steeped in poverty to the very lips," 
 ■wrapped in an old, rough greatcoat — though it 
 was warm weather — and his appearance alto- 
 gether bespeaking his estate, several of the well- 
 clothed and well-fed minions of the drama did 
 not condescend to rehearse with him at all ; and 
 those who did, refused to deviate from the ac- 
 customed business of the stage, which, right or 
 •wrong, they had followed for years, and turned 
 into unconcealed ridicule his temerity in presu- 
 ming to suggest any alteration of the acknowl- 
 edged laws. Among others, he particularly 
 named De Camp — he, poor fellow, long since 
 died of a dysentery, mixed up with old age and 
 abject poverty, in Texas! He eloquently, yet 
 playfully, described the laceration of his feelings 
 at hearing his peculiarities of voice imitated be- 
 hind the scenes, accompanied by 
 
 : 'The loud laugh, that speaks the vacant mind." 
 
 Amid these "outward and visible signs" of con- 
 tempt for his talent, old Miss Tidswell, who had 
 played small characters in the theatre since Gar- 
 rick's time, I believe, and who afterward called 
 
 herself his aunt, poked him in the back with her 
 umbrella "to entreat listening," beckoned him 
 to the wing, and petitioned him not to persevers 
 in playing: explaining, that all the actors and 
 good judges were laughing at him; and point- 
 ing out to him the horrible disgrace of his inev- 
 itably being pelted from the stage would be to her, 
 as she had acknowledged him as a distant rela- 
 tion, and introduced him as such to some per- 
 formers of her own class in the second green- 
 room ! ! 
 
 Wounded in spirit, he left the theatre, half in- 
 clined to follow her advice; not in consequence 
 of any doubt in his own mind of his capacity — 
 for true talent is always self-informed — but to 
 shrink from the dirty annoyances attending its 
 assertion. But, fortunately, he met at the door 
 an old comrade, from some country theatre, to 
 whom he unburdened his " o'er-fraught heart," 
 and the poor disciple of Thespis being in pos- 
 session of the extraordinary sum of five shillings, 
 Kean accompanied him to a tavern. After a 
 good dinner, a pot of porter, and the warm en- 
 couragement of his ragged but sincere friend, 
 he went to the theatre, desperate in his determi- 
 nation to succeed; played Shylock to a very in- 
 different house, but sealed his fame forever. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " The first tragedians found that serious style 
 Too grave for their uncultivated age, 
 And so brought wild and naked satyrs in 
 (Whose motions, words, and shape were all a farce) 
 As oft as decency would give them leave ; 
 Because the mad, ungovernable rout, 
 Full of confusion and the fumes of wine, 
 Loved such variety and antic tricks." 
 
 Roscommon's Horace. 
 
 Booth, though not a servile imitator of Kean, 
 founded his manner exclusively on his style. 
 He played precisely the same round of charac- 
 ters, dressed them exactly in the same costume, 
 and, being naturally like him in appearance, the 
 similitude was extraordinary. Kean's trans- 
 cendent genius had so dazzled the public taste, 
 that his defects of voice and figure, " by the aid 
 of use," were actually considered necessary at- 
 tributes, and Booth possessed the same advan- 
 tages. Old Dowton morosely said, when Kean 
 first appeared, " God renounce me ! 'tis only ne- 
 cessary nowadays to be under four feet high, 
 have bandy legs, and a hoarseness, and, mince 
 my liver ! but you'll be thought a great trage- 
 dian." 
 
 Soon after Booth's arrival in this country, he 
 declared his intention of becoming a citizen, and 
 purchased a small farm, if it might so be called, 
 near the village of Belle-air, in Maryland — the 
 only steril section of land I know of in the 
 whole state; deposited his wife and family in a 
 log cabin, and shone himself, periodically, as a 
 star of the first magnitude through the theatrical 
 hemisphere. Scrupulously avoiding all osten- 
 tatious display, he adopted the reverse extreme: 
 attired in a conspicuously plebeian garb, he 
 would take up his quarters at some humble tav- 
 ern or obscure boarding-house ; and when he 
 visited Baltimore (being near his home), he usu- 
 ally attended the market with some vegetables, 
 a load of hay, or sat with a calf, tied by the leg, 
 till time to rehearse " Richard the Third." His 
 simple Republican deportment, well spiced, when 
 occasion served, with "the jolly dog" and "the 
 good fellow," who was "not too proud" to sing
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 73 
 
 " Billy Taylor" in a beerhouse, or give you a 
 taste of his quality in an oyster-cellar, rendered 
 him most popular with the multitude ; a scholar 
 and a linguist, he was an intelligent listener to 
 the pothouse pedant, and could "drink with 
 any linker in his own language ;" carefully con- 
 cealing any advantages he possessed above the 
 capacity of his companions, his acquirements 
 were lauded and admitted: for it is the charac- 
 teristic of the nation, as 1 have read it, some- 
 times to allow a foreigner to be equal, but never 
 superior in anything. This probably accidental 
 mode of conduct, naturally enough, compared 
 with his prototype Kean's arbitrary offences, 
 aided by Booth's undisputed talent, for years 
 caused him to be greatly followed and admired. 
 
 His father, who was a devotee to the doctrines, 
 civil and religious, which clogged with blood 
 the wings of liberty during the French Revolu- 
 tion, named hitn Junius Brutus, as a type of the 
 stern Republican character he hoped his son 
 would achieve ; and with an excellent education 
 mixed the seeds of those dogmas which, no mat- 
 ter how gilded o'er by the poetic imaginings of a 
 Voltaire, a Byron, or a Shelley, are to a mind 
 early tutored to adopt them, and undefended by 
 Christianity, dangerous to the happiness of the 
 social compact, and fatal to the ties with which 
 conscience should bind the intercourse with our 
 fellow-man. 
 
 It is a dreadful mischance to be early cast 
 upon the world without a guide or protector; 
 but worse, far worse, to have our way of life 
 pointed out by those in whose direction nature 
 tells us to believe, and pursue, at their instiga- 
 tion, a path through this world's pilgrimage at 
 which our young, pure feeling hesitates at the 
 outset, and experience proves leads to a death- 
 bed divested of hope beyond the grave. 
 
 Kean's irregularities were coarse and brutal, 
 but their ill effects recoiled exclusively upon 
 himself; Booth's involved the destiny of those 
 nearest and dearest; for years he sheltered him- 
 self from their consequences by assuming mad- 
 ness; and the long practice of this periodical 
 " antic disposition," like Hamlet's, ended in its 
 being, I believe, partially the fact. In one of his 
 trips to New-Orleans, two itinerant preachers 
 were on the same boat, whose zeal in distrib- 
 uting tracts, and obtrusive interference with the 
 usual amusements on a steamer, made them 
 objectionable to all, but particularly to Booth, 
 and he invented the following severe scheme 
 of retaliation. He had a large sum of money 
 about him, and, when all were asleep in bed, he 
 placed his pocket-book, with a portion of the 
 notes, under the mattress of one of the par- 
 sons, and the balance, with some papers easily 
 described, in the pocket of the other. Early in 
 the morning, before the clergymen were up, he 
 loudly proclaimed his loss, and a general search 
 was ordered by the captain, to which all cheer- 
 fully submitted: when the property was found, 
 the astonishment of all could only be equalled 
 by the supposed culprits themselves. In vain 
 their protestations of innocence; the boat was 
 landed, and they, according to " Lynch law," 
 were to receive a severe flagellation, and then 
 De left in the wilderness. This, of course, Booth 
 could not permit, and he explained the joke he 
 had intended, without dreaming of the conse- 
 quences. 
 
 The indignation of the passengers, influenced 
 by their excited feelings, might fearfully have 
 turned the direction of their revenge, but that 
 
 " everybody knew Mr. Booth was an oddity," 
 and " at times supposed to be insane." A sketch 
 of his numerous eccentricities would alone rill a 
 volume; but, being generally divested of wit of 
 humour, and, for the most part, mischievous in 
 their character, an account of them would be 
 painful to either write or read. I don't mean to 
 assert that his having been called alter the pat- 
 tern of severe justice, who assumed the mask of 
 lolly in the cause of virtue, had any influence on 
 the conduct of Booth; but baptizing children as 
 if to designate their character is a nonsensical 
 custom, and ought to be condemned. There are 
 enough good, homely Christian names, in all 
 conscience, to satisfy the varied tastes of the 
 most fastidious, and this deviation from the beat- 
 en track to please the doting lolly of a mother, 
 or the political prejudices of a father, is often, in 
 after lite, a positive affliction to the bearer ; for 
 if they equal, in mind or station, their illustrious 
 namesakes, the glory they achieve is liable to 
 be passed to the credit of their predecessors; 
 and should their talent, appearance, or opinion 
 be at variance with their title, it will often place 
 them in a painful or ridiculous position. Ima- 
 gine a politician writing a long tirade against 
 " removing the deposites," and then being obliged 
 
 to sign himself "Andrew Jackson ;" or 
 
 " Apollo," a knife-grinder, with a hump at his 
 back; or "Diogenes" apprenticed to a washings- 
 tub maker. I feel positively obliged to my god- 
 fathers and godmothers for having unostenta- 
 tiously named me after the amiable, ragged- 
 coated, modest Joseph ; and the etymology of 
 the designation I have been fortunate enough to 
 prove the appropriateness of, by being already 
 the father and grandfather, to a certainly, of chil- 
 dren in two quarters of the world, at any rate. 
 When Bonaparte was First Consul, an honest 
 old Church and King parson, at Manchester, in 
 England, who was wearied with the frequency 
 of the name of the future emperor being claimed 
 for a child born to be a weaver or spinner, at 
 length determined to christen no more so ridicu- 
 lously; and upon inquiring the name intended 
 lor the next infant presented, was answered, as 
 usual, 
 
 " Napoleon." 
 
 " In the name," &c., says the clergyman, " I 
 baptize thee John." 
 
 "John!" says the astonished father; "I tell'd 
 thee to call the lad Napoleon." 
 
 " Pooh, pooh, nonsense !" says the parson ; " I 
 have christened him John. Take him away, 
 and call him what you like." I wish all parsons 
 would do the same. 
 
 The yellow fever gave so broad a hint as to 
 the necessity of buildings being prepared in the 
 upper sections of the city, that New- York in- 
 creased in that direction with a rapidity that was 
 truly astonishing. A very superior theatre was 
 erected on the site of the old Bull's Head Tav- 
 ern in the Bowery, a short time before consider- 
 ed out of town, and used as the cattle mart. The 
 control was placed in the hands of Charles Gil- 
 fert, a highly-accomplished German, whose chief 
 ambition was to manage a theatre on an exten- 
 sive scale, and be considered "more knave than 
 fool," in both of which desires he was fully grat- 
 ified; for the establishment given to him to con- 
 duct infinitely exceeded in its extent and appoint- 
 ments any then on the continent, and everybody 
 agreed he was a consummate rogue. Thought- 
 less, extravagant, and unprincipled as to the 
 means used to obtain on the instant his real or
 
 74 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 imaginary wants in his private station, he car- 
 ried with him the same reckless spirit to control 
 the fortunes of others. Large inducements were 
 held out to the various members of the profession 
 to join the concern, and an excellent, but very 
 costly, company was engaged; and though the 
 overflowing houses attracted by the newness, 
 and, perhaps, superiority of the entertainments, 
 were ruinous to the Park, the expenditure quite 
 equalled the receipts. Barrett was the stage- 
 manager; and though at that time not distin- 
 guished by the title of "Gentleman George," he 
 was as deserving of the appellation then as now. 
 But if one had been selected which would have 
 more clearly conveyed the idea of an inconsid- 
 erately liberal, kind-hearted man, it would better 
 have described his intrinsic character. As an 
 actor in smart, impudent servants, eccentric 
 parts, bordering on caricature, and light comedy, 
 where the claims to the gentleman do not exceed 
 those required for Corinthian Tom, he is excel- 
 lent. He has attempted to perform some old 
 men lately, in consequence, I suppose, of his 
 whiskers getting gray; but, if he'll take my ad- 
 vice, he'd better dye them, and stick to his old 
 line of business: six feet four is too tall to fit the 
 common run of elderly gentlemen nowadays. 
 He went to England a few years since, and very 
 imprudently made his appearance at Drury Lane 
 as Puff, in the " Critic," a character requiring a 
 long acquaintance with both the actors and audi- 
 ence to be made effective ; the innocent jokes, at 
 the expense of either, always introduced, and 
 the principal means of rendering the character 
 amusing, if called in aid by a perfect stranger, 
 would either be not noticed at all, or considered 
 a liberty. According to Bunn's sore-mintlcd book, 
 the performance was a failure, which he merely 
 mentions in proof of the general inability of the 
 Americans to become actors; but for his partic- 
 ular information I beg to state that George Bar- 
 rett was born in England, of English parents, 
 though he arrived in this country when a boy; 
 and, therefore, his incapacity, according to Bunn's 
 judgment, must be "all owing to the climate." 
 as poor Watkinson said when he was dying, in 
 consequence of drinking too much brandy-and- 
 water. 
 
 For years the drama had been generally under 
 the control of foreigners, and the better class of 
 actors were, as I have before observed, exclu- 
 sively English ; but the increase of theatres ex- 
 tending the inducements to make the stage a 
 profession, a number of young Americans be- 
 came candidates for fame and fortune in that 
 hitherto European monopoly. Of course, they 
 commenced as Keans and Booths; for it is the 
 marked character of the nation to begin at the 
 top of everything, and the energies of the people 
 increase in proportion to the difficulty or danger. 
 In arts or arms, they might with propriety adopt 
 as a motto, individually, "What man dare, I 
 dare." Foremost amid a host of tyros stood 
 Edwin Forrest. He had had the advantage of 
 some useful practice, and had already achieved 
 a trifling reputation in the South and West, to 
 which almost "undiscovered country" in that 
 day but few foreigners had dared to venture. 
 He possessed a fine, untaught face, and good, 
 manly figure, and, though unpolished in his de- 
 portment, his manners were frank and honest, 
 and his uncultivated taste, speaking the language 
 of truth and Nature, could be readily under- 
 stood ; and yet so intrinsically superior to the 
 ninds of the class of persons among whom his 
 
 fortunes had thrown him, that he could call to 
 his aid requisites well calculated to make both 
 friends and admirers. Early left to the care of 
 a widowed mother, her fond indulgence or pain- 
 ful necessities had deprived him" of an educa- 
 tion even equal to his peers. This stumbling- 
 block to his success he most keenly felt. With 
 praiseworthy ambition, and the nieans his ad- 
 vancing fortunes furnished, with unwearied in- 
 dustry he laboured to remove this obstacle in his 
 path to fame, and may now compare in acquire- 
 ments with those whose early lite was cradled in 
 ease, and learning made a toy. Having had an 
 opportunity of witnessing his unschooled efforts, 
 I strongly urged his engagement at the Park; 
 but, while the dollars and cents were under con- 
 sideration, Gilfert secured the prize, and, cun- 
 ningly enlisting the natural national prejudices 
 of the Americans in the cause, Forrest filled the 
 coffers of the Bowery treasury, and received the 
 unthinking, overwrought, enthusiastic admira- 
 tion of his countrymen, which, after years of 
 unceasing study and practice, he now so justly 
 merits from all admirers of genuine talent. 
 
 The destruction of the Bowery Theatre by 
 fire, to such a mind as Gilfert's, seemed only to 
 increase his energies; and in an unprecedented 
 short space of time — sixty days — it was rebuilt 
 and opened, even with increased magnificence. 
 Agents had been despatched to Europe for talent 
 of every description, and the first good theatrical 
 orchestra ever brought to America Gilfert could 
 boast of having congregated. William Chap- 
 man, an excellent comedian, was engaged, and 
 George Holland, inimitable in the small list of 
 characters he undertook, proved a deserved at- 
 traction, while Forrest, if possible, increased in 
 public estimation. A very capable man, by the 
 name of Harby, was employed, at a handsome 
 salary, to " write up" the merits of the theatre, 
 and such members of the company as the inter- 
 est of the management desired to be advanced. 
 This, being the first introduction of the system 
 of forestalling, or, rather, directing public opin- 
 ion, had a powerful effect ; and the avidity with 
 which a large class of persons, in all countries, 
 swallow, and implicitly believe what they read 
 in a newspaper, is truly and quaintly enough 
 described by Mopsa, in the "Winter's Tale:" 
 " I love a ballad in print a' life, for then we are 
 sure they are true." All these circumstances 
 combined, and the theatrical population of New- 
 York not being then equal to the support of 
 more than one establishment of the kind, the 
 tide of opinion sat full in favour of the Bowery, 
 while the Park was trembling on the brink of 
 ruin. 
 
 In defiance of the somewhat prudish charac- 
 ter of the Americans at 
 
 " That blushing time, 
 When modesty was scarcely held a crime," 
 
 Gilfert, whose moral feelings never interfered 
 with his interests, introduced a troupe of French 
 dancers. The experiment was considered a 
 dangerous one ; and though all, at the onset, 
 were loud in their denunciation of the immodest 
 exhibition, all crowded to witness it. By com- 
 parison with what I had seen in Europe, they 
 were of the fourth or fifth class in the way of 
 talent ; and the exposure of the persons of the 
 females, unexcused by elegance and grace, and 
 the ribald remarks indulged in aloud, at the 
 close of every pirouette, by the gross-minded por- 
 tion of the audience, rendered the performance 
 most disgusting to the feelings of the virtuous
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 75 
 
 and refined; while the poor half-undressed su- 
 pernumerary women, made, for the first time in 
 their lives, to stand upon one leg, bashfully tot- 
 tering, and looking as foolish, and about as 
 graceful, as a plucked goose in the same posi- 
 tion, were pitiably laughable. 
 
 This was the first relish given to that false 
 taste which has taken the place of the whole- 
 some mental food furnished by the legitimate 
 drama; and, 
 
 " As if excess of appetite had grown 
 By what it fed on," 
 
 "dancers, mimics, mummers" have usurped the 
 claims of poetry and morality, and brought the 
 stage to its present degraded position. 
 
 Among the corps was Celeste, then very young 
 and beautiful, and though not in the first rank, 
 there was a native grace and modesty in her 
 manner, by comparison with those by whom 
 she was surrounded, which gained her many 
 admirers. A young man by the name of Elliot, 
 who had nearly squandered a handsome fortune 
 left him by his father, who had been a livery- 
 stable keeper in Baltimore, became enamoured, 
 and after a short courtship, if it might so be call- 
 ed — for, as she could not understand English, 
 and he could not speak French, recourse was 
 had to an interpreter, to say the usual soft things, 
 which, Heaven be praised, I never had occasion 
 to trust any one to say for me — they became man 
 and wife ; and for years she maintained the very 
 first reputation in her line, and supported her 
 husband in affluence. Perhaps prejudiced by 
 placing her estimable private deportment in the 
 scale with her acknowledged talent, and my ig- 
 norance of the art, may cause me to think she 
 has never been excelled, for, to my untutored 
 taste, 
 
 " An antelope, 
 In the suspended impulse of its lightness, 
 Were less ethereally light. The brightness 
 Of her divinest presence trembles through 
 Her limbs, as, underneath a cloud of dew, 
 Imbodied in the windless heaven of June, 
 Amid the splendour-winged stars, the moon 
 Burns inextinguishably beautiful." — Shelley. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " When, in this vale of years, I backward look, 
 And miss such numbers — numbers, too, of such, 
 Firmer in health, and greener in their age, 
 And stricter on their guard, and better far 
 To play life's subtle game — 1 scarce believe 
 1 still survive." — Night Thoughts. 
 
 I have already said that my company was 
 extensive ; and for talent, in many instances it 
 could compete with the best on the Continent. 
 William B. Jones and his lady, omitting their 
 just claims to excellence on the stage, by their 
 private worth alone were ornaments to any es- 
 tablishment. I have just heard of the death of 
 my old friend and companion. I am not one of 
 the crying sort, but the paper got blotted while 
 placing Young's thought upon it, which very 
 appropriately came to my mind on hearing the 
 sac! news. Roberts, too, gone long ago, will be 
 remembered by many a lover of fun, as a most 
 chaste and capital comedian. And my ladies ! 
 for beauty, utility, in fact, for every decoration 
 but docility, would not suffer by comparison 
 even with our magnificent stud of horses. 
 
 Mrs. Tatnall, Mrs. Williams, Mrs. and Miss 
 Pelby, Mrs. and Miss Virginia Monier, Mrs. 
 Parker, and the lovely Mrs. Robertson — now 
 
 Mrs. Watkins Burroughs — can never be forgot- 
 ten by the admirers of the 
 
 " Last and best 
 Of all God's works !" 
 
 But eighteen or twenty years make an awful al- 
 teration in all such matters. Poor Mrs. Tatnall! 
 she died at Texas a short time since — that last 
 resource for 
 
 " Talent struggling with despair and death !" 
 
 Many years gone by, I strongly recommend- 
 ed her to Simpson, to play the Lady Macbeths, 
 and other would-be queens, with Cooper : he 
 turned up his nose at my circus heroine then, 
 but not long after she was a most successful 
 star in such characters at all the principal the- 
 atres, and in many of them she was eminent. 
 A comparison with her personation of Massero- 
 ni, in the melodrame called the Brigand, would 
 make even James Wallack and 
 
 "All the stars 
 Hide their diminished beads." 
 
 She was really an excellent general actress, 
 a warm-hearted friend, affectionate mother, and, 
 I have no doubt, a most desirable wife. She 
 had but one failing that I know of, if it could so 
 be called, for even that " leaned to virtue's side," 
 and that was an extraordinary propensity to get 
 married every now and then ; allowing for the 
 difference of sex and position in society, Henry 
 the Eighth was u no toheres" as Stephen Price 
 would say, in comparison with her conjugal 
 propensities. She was the lawfully-wedded 
 wife of five husbands to my certain knowledge, 
 three of them all alive at the same time, and 
 two, 1 believe, not dead yet. But for the bury- 
 ing part of the business, she might have sung 
 with feeling Colman's Irish song: 
 
 " To the priest says I, ' Father O'Casey, dear ! don't my 
 weddings and funerals plase ye, dear?' 
 Says he, ' Ye bla'guaid, betwixt church and churchyard 
 you never will let me be aisy, dear !' " 
 
 Her maiden name was Pritchard, and, as far 
 as I know, her first spouse was the Mr. Pember- 
 ton who some years since played Virginius 
 with some success in London ; he was acknowl- 
 edged to be a gentleman of education and talent, 
 though somewhat eccentric in his mode of dis- 
 playing his acquirements; from him she was 
 separated, and married Tatnall, one of the ear- 
 liest American equestrians; from him she was 
 separated, and, undismayed by his notoriously 
 cruel conduct — for Tatnall treated his wife very 
 nearly in the same way he did his horse — she 
 married Hartwig, a very inferior actor, and a 
 widower, in consequence of his first wife having 
 poisoned herself three months before ; her sep- 
 arating from him very speedily caused little sur- 
 prise, and she married Hosack, a nephew of 
 the celebrated physician of that name in New- 
 York, and, by the desire of his family, resumed 
 her own of Pritchard m the playbills. Hosack 
 had a small annuity, and was a very worthy 
 young man ; they had two or three children, and 
 appeared to live most happily together, but death 
 interfered with that arrangement, and shortly af- 
 terward she became the wife of Riley; he claim- 
 ed the author of the " Itinerant" as his father, 
 and, I am told, had been a good actor, and a re- 
 spectable man. This connubial career soon came 
 to an end, and she left him to close his wander- 
 ings and his eyes in the hospital at St. Louis. 
 I doubt much if she ever had an offer of mar- 
 riage since, for I don't believe she had the heart 
 to refuse one ; and in the brief notice of her de-
 
 76 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 mise in a Texas paper, "no afflicted husband" 
 was named " to bewail her loss," which, in the 
 familiar idiom of that country, might, under all 
 the circumstances, be called " d — hard luck." 
 
 It couldn't be expected that during the increase 
 of successful theatrical establishments, the cir- 
 cus should remain quietly and alone in posses- 
 sion of the field. A large building was erected 
 in Grand-street, New- York, and, like everything 
 new, for a time had its supporters; and though, 
 through bad management, and its then out-of- 
 the-way situation, it was ultimately a failure, it 
 interfered for a time sensibly with our receipts. 
 The loss, too, of the horses was severely felt ; 
 for though their place was supplied as regarded 
 numbers, those that were gone had each been 
 worth the price of admission merely to look at, 
 and while they were alive, we could defy any 
 competition " that stood upon four legs." 
 
 Mr. Sandford, now General Sandford, who 
 had married Mrs. Holman the singer, and the 
 widow of the well-known old actor of that name, 
 erected a very extensive amphitheatre within 
 pistol-shot of our encampment, and called it, as 
 everything was called at that time that wanted 
 a name, Irom an oyster-cellar to an omnibus, 
 Lafayette. With every horse that could be pur- 
 chased with a long tail and a spot in its neigh- 
 bourhood, a few runaway rascals of ours, with 
 Tatnall at their head, and some nothing-better-to- 
 do boys, who had tumbled into the notice of the 
 amateur manager, outside of our stable on a pile 
 of straw, but whose " vaulting ambition' - ' has 
 long since rendered them superior in gymnastic 
 talent to any that can be produced in Europe, 
 he commenced his campaign with Watkins 
 Burroughs, from the Surry and Adelphi Theatre, 
 to conduct the dramatic department ; and by 
 forcing us to an expensive competition, and, at 
 the same time, drawing oft" a portion of our au- 
 dience, this powerful opposition took largely 
 from our former profits, though it ultimately 
 brought the proprietor to a state of bankruptcy — 
 was closed in a year or two, burned down, and 
 never rebuilt. 
 
 Price, who visited London every year, sent 
 me periodically all the come-at-able talent, hum- 
 bug, or nonsense to which the English show- 
 shop had given a name, or that he knew from 
 experience would suit the wonder-loving public 
 here. Hunter proved an immense attraction ; 
 he was the first rider in this country who dex- 
 terously and fearlessly went through all the usu- 
 al antics on the bare back of the horse, instead 
 of on the oldfashioned flat saddle, the size of a 
 sideboard. 
 
 Stoker, a rope-vaulter, was another wonder; 
 he, among a variety of liberties he took with 
 himself, used to hang by the neck, not till he 
 was dead, but just long enough to give his audi- 
 ence reason to believe that he might be ; and 
 this faithful imitation of the last agonies of a 
 malefactor, in a spangled jacket, drew together, 
 nightly, quite as large a crowd as a public exe- 
 cution always does. Fortunately for the man- 
 agement, several ladies fainted the first night he 
 appeared ; and this fact being named in some of 
 the papers, and the exhibition described as most 
 shocking to witness, and certain on some night, 
 when least expected, to cause the death of the 
 performer, the boxes were always filled with the 
 fair sex whenever the feat was advertised. In 
 short, every novelty that money could procure, 
 tact invent, or unwearied industry produce, to 
 excite the creative appetite of curiosity, was 
 
 served up in unceasing variety. Every specta- 
 cle "got up" had no rival but its predecessor, 
 and even at this day it is admitted that the Cat- 
 aract of the Ganges, and other gorgeous affairs 
 of the sort, have never been excelled in splen- 
 dour and effect. 
 
 Mine was a genuine Democratic government: 
 the man who swept the stable received quite as 
 much courtesy from me as he who could vault 
 over all the horses in it, and balance the broom 
 on his nose into the bargain. I, in consequence, 
 had a very high reputation for even-handed jus- 
 tice, and, " against my own inclining," was cho- 
 sen arbiter in all the private and domestic quar- 
 rels and troubles, and the causes of either were 
 sometimes very amusing. 
 
 Most of my performers, both horse and foot r 
 had a claim to some share, large or small, of 
 the receipts of a house as a benefit in each sea- 
 son ; but to avoid trouble to others, and save 
 them from the very common folly of selecting 
 some piece likely to keep money out of the treas- 
 ury, for the sake of playing a part they are par- 
 ticularly unfitted for, I always controlled the na- 
 ture of the performance. 
 
 The benefits, on one occasion, came on during 
 the very successful run of El Hyder, and, of 
 course, I would not have its career interrupted. 
 Mrs. Tatnall played Harry Clifton — ay, and 
 played it better than anybody ever did or could 
 play it. Mrs. Williams, who was exclusively 
 an equestrian, when her night came, thought it 
 would be an attraction for her to undertake the 
 part, and I gave my consent that she should 
 show her versatility, to the great annoyance of 
 Mrs. Tatnall. Mrs. Pelby, in turn, claimed the 
 like indulgence on her benefit, and, in common 
 justice, she had as good a right as Mrs. Will- 
 iams to amuse herself, at any rate, and I adver- 
 tised her for the character. Mrs. Tatnall was 
 outrageous at this accumulated infringement of 
 her rights, and vowed to be signally revenged. 
 The part is really an excellent one, and any 
 circus lady might be justified in even using more 
 than " wild and windy words" to maintain the 
 possession of it. A dashing young midshipman, 
 after the true Saddler's-Wells model, in white 
 tights, fighting broad-sword combats to no par- 
 ticular tune, audanle, with three or four giant- 
 like assassins at a time ; shouting for " liberty!" 
 at the end of every speech, and a " dam'me" at 
 the end of every line, and surrounded by blue- 
 fire and piebald horses in the last scene, is not to 
 be sneezed at. I was the old sailor, and quite 
 as unlike a sailor as my master, and, of course, 
 quite as effective. 
 
 While the performance was proceeding, I ob- 
 served Mrs. Pelby to be particularly restless and 
 odd in her deportment, standing sometimes upon 
 one leg, then balancing herself on the other, rub- 
 bing the upper ends of them together, thumping 
 herself with her cocked-hat in all sorts of places, 
 twitching her beautiful face about as children 
 sometimes do in the green-gooseberry season, 
 and at the end of every highly-relished Repub- 
 lican sentiment whispering such disjointed sen- 
 tences as, " I can't bear it !" " What shall I do 1" 
 "Good Heaven! it's dreadful!" "1 shall cer- 
 tainly go mad!" "I must pull them off!" and 
 bang would go the cocked-hat against the skirts 
 of her coat, both before and behind, with her 
 fingers extended as if itching for the luxury of 
 an uncontrolled scratch. During a pause, in a 
 confidential manner and imploring accent, she 
 said to me, " Oh ! I am in torture ; for Heaven's.
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 77 
 
 sake, make an act at the end of this scene. You 
 don't know what I suffer; I must change them 
 or I shall die. That beast, Mrs. Tatnall, must 
 have put cow-itch in my pantaloons !" 
 
 And so, no doubt, she had — " to what ex- 
 tremes may not a woman's vengeance lead !" but 
 the supposed culprit strongly denied all knowl- 
 edge of the ticklish transgression, and very truly 
 said " that no lady could be capable of anything 
 half so villanous." I, and everybody else, be- 
 lieved her to be the irritator, but as there was no 
 law, even of ray own making, applicable to the 
 offence, I was glad she did not confess. The 
 usual remedies, whatever they are, were appli- 
 ed, and in a pair of blue trousers, a little too 
 large in one place and not big enough in an- 
 other, Mrs. Pelby finished the part without any 
 farther apparent titillation. 
 
 Though my income was large, my outlay was 
 on the same scale ; wherever 1 went, Mrs. Cow- 
 ell and my younger children went ; and in that 
 day, travelling, with all the comfort that could 
 be bought, was a very costly amusement, and liv- 
 ing at the principal hotels, with private parlours 
 and other privileges, beyond a joke to pay for. 
 
 it is not of the least consequence in this coun- 
 try what a man's profession may be; he obtains 
 a station, and is respected in society, not accord- 
 ing to how he makes money, but according to how 
 much he makes; wealth is the aristocracy of the 
 land, and a poor gentleman an incomprehensible 
 character to the million. In my doubtful position 
 — a circus manager — there was no proof so con- 
 vincing of my being the possessor of wealth, 
 and, therefore, having a claim to consideration, 
 as by lavishly squandering it away. My liber- 
 ality got quite as much applause as my comic 
 songs; and though the interests of the sleeping 
 partners in the concern were advanced at my 
 expense, at the end of three years of intense toil 
 and annoyance, I awoke to the consciousness 
 that if I had remained in New- York and follow- 
 ed my profession, of which I was then proud, I 
 should have been quite as well, if not better off. 
 All I had gained by my management was a high 
 reputation, which continued success in any pur- 
 suit is sure to obtain. I once heard a man who 
 had just lost his last stake at roulette, a game 
 which sets all calculation at defiance, say to an- 
 other, who was staring with astonishment at 
 winning, thrice in succession, thirty-six times 
 the amount of his bet, 
 
 "Ah ! I wish I understood the thing as well 
 as you do — I'd make a fortune at it." 
 
 Warren and Wood, who for years had been 
 associated as managers of the Philadelphia, 
 Baltimore, and Washington Theatres, at about 
 this period dissolved partnership, and Warren, 
 "who by purchase had become the sole director, 
 made me an offer of a very handsome salary to 
 undertake the acting management, which hith- 
 erto had been Mr. Wood's department. I had 
 long since selected Philadelphia as my home, 
 though I could only enjoy the pleasures of one 
 three months in the year ; this arrangement, 
 therefore, held out domestic inducements that 
 jumped well with my humour, and at the latter 
 end of 1826 I took the reins of government at 
 the Chestnut-street Theatre. 
 
 My seceding from the circus. I was pleased to 
 find, met with less opposition from the proprie- 
 tors than I had anticipated. My income was a 
 large item saved in the general expenditure, and 
 ■Dinneford, who had been some time in my em- 
 ploy, and Blythe, the riding-master, with Simp- 
 
 son to advise and control, they had a right to be- 
 lieve would economically, yet amply, supply my 
 place. 
 
 My new company, if not eminent for talent in 
 every department, was highly respectable; and 
 having been trained by my predecessor Wood, 
 a gentleman and a man of taste, to submit with 
 cheerfulness to the wholesome subordination on 
 which a well-conducted theatre so much de- 
 pends, the direction was divested of its prover- 
 bial annoyances, and the season proving profit- 
 able beyond all precedent, I have reason to recur 
 to this period of my life with both pride and 
 pleasure. 
 
 Wood and his lady still continued members 
 of the company. He was a most mechanically 
 correct actor, and when his great peculiarities 
 happened to exactly^ a character, which in the 
 extensive range he allotted to himself was often 
 the case, he might be considered excellent by 
 those who had long been acquainted with his 
 style ; but the singularity of his voice, to a 
 strange auditor, took largely from the pleasure 
 his sensible delivery demanded. There was a 
 kind of comic pathos in its two distinct tones, 
 which, though it did not assist a laugh where it 
 should occur, was very apt to cause one in the 
 wrong place. Mrs. Wood was a sterling actress, 
 indebted to nature for a very superior mind, and 
 then — the account was closed. They were both 
 enthusiasts in their art, and most ardent admi- 
 rers of each other's talent ; and in parts they 
 frequently played together, such as Mrs. Haller 
 and the Stranger, they infused so much reality 
 into the scene, that they literally appropriated all 
 the sorrow to themselves; positive sobs and tears 
 by turns, at each other's plaints and penitence, 
 would so interfere with and divert the sympa- 
 thies of the audience, as to drown all recollec- 
 tion of the imaginary characters in pity for the 
 sufferings of Billy Wood and his wife. 
 
 Warren was highly esteemed as a man, and 
 admired as an actor. He had obtained a great 
 reputation as Falstaff, which character his bulk 
 admirably adapted him to represent; and, as far 
 as "unbuttoning after supper, and sleeping on 
 benches after noon," there was an extraordinary 
 similarity in his habits, and the "cause that wit 
 is in other men." Poor Warren was a man of 
 wealth at the time I am now speaking of, but he 
 unfortunately outlived his fortunes. 
 
 Jefferson was the low-comedian, and had been 
 for more than five-and-twenty years ! Of course, 
 he was a most overwhelming favourite, though 
 at this time drops of pity for fast-coming signs 
 of age and infirmity began to be freely sprinkled 
 with the approbation long habit, more than en- 
 thusiasm, now elicited. 
 
 I am told " Mr. Jefferson was a native of Lon- 
 don, and arrived at Boston, at the age of nine- 
 teen, as a member of Powell's theatrical com- 
 pany, in the year 1795." 
 
 Literally born on the stage, he brought with 
 him to this country the experience of age with 
 all the energy of youth, and, in the then infant 
 state of the drama, his superior talent, adorned 
 by his most exemplary private deportment, gave 
 him lasting claims to the respect and gratitude 
 both of the members of the profession and its ad- 
 mirers. And perhaps on some such imaginary 
 reed he placed too much dependance ; for the 
 whole range of the drama cannot probably fur- 
 nish a more painful yet perfect example of the 
 mutability of theatrical popularity than Joseph 
 Jefferson.
 
 78 
 
 THIRT\ YEARS 
 
 When Warren left the management, "young- 
 er, not belter," actors were brought in competition 
 with the veteran ; and the same audience that 
 had actually grown up laughing at him alone — 
 as if they had been mistaken in his talent all 
 this time — suddenly turned their smiles on for- 
 eign faces; and, to place their changed opinion 
 past a doubt, his benefits, which had never pro- 
 duced less than twelve or fourteen hundred dol- 
 lars, and often sixteen, fell down to less than 
 three. Wounded in pride, and ill prepared in 
 pocket for this sudden reverse of favour and for- 
 tune, he bade adieu forever to Philadelphia. 
 With the aid of his wife and children he formed 
 a travelling company, and wandered through the 
 smaller towns of Pennsylvania, Maryland, and 
 Virginia, making Washington City his head- 
 quarters. Kindly received and respected every- 
 where, his old age might still have passed in 
 calm contentment, but that 
 
 " One wo did tread upon another's heel, 
 So fast they followed." 
 
 His eldest daughter, Mrs. Anderson, and his 
 youngest (I believe), Jane, both died in quick 
 succession, after torturing hope, with long and 
 lingering disease. His son-in-law, Sam Chap- 
 man, was thrown from a horse, and the week 
 following was in his grave. His son John, an 
 excellent actor, performed for his father's bene- 
 fit at Lancaster, Pennsylvania ; was well and 
 happy; went home; fell in a fit, and was dead 
 on the morning of September the 4ih, 1831. And 
 " last, not least," to be named in this sad list, the 
 wife of his youth, the mother of his thirteen chil- 
 dren, the sharer of his joys and sorrows for six- 
 and-thirty years, was " torn from out his heart." 
 
 " The spirit of a man will sustain his infirmity, 
 but a wounded spirit who can bear ?" 
 
 Joseph Jefferson died at Harrisburg, Pennsyl- 
 vania, the 6th day of August, 1832. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " The hook of man he read with nicest art, 
 And ransack'd all the secrets of the heart : 
 Exerted penetration's utmost force, 
 And traced each passion to its proper source." 
 
 Churchill. 
 
 I had secured a galaxy of stars of the first 
 magnitude : among them, Macready, Cooper, 
 Forrest, Mrs. Knight, and others of distinction ; 
 but for attraction, none could compete with the 
 brilliant Lydia Kelly; her extraordinary success 
 must have astonished herself. When she was 
 first underlined at the Park, one of those well- 
 known theatrical insects who flutter round a 
 box-office, and because they are free of the house, 
 conceive themselves privileged to be imperti- 
 nent, said to Price, 
 
 " Why, Price, they say this Miss Kelly is not 
 the celebrated Miss Kelly, but a sister of hers. 
 Is that the fact?" 
 
 "Why, doctor," says Stephen, "I'll tell you 
 what it is; there arc three celebrated Miss Kel- 
 lys in London, and as I had my choice, I should 
 have been a b — fool if I hadn't picked out the 
 best." 
 
 If Price had his "choice," he certainly showed 
 his wit in the selection. Fanny, the celebrated, 
 was a delicacy, a nice little bit — five or six green 
 peas on a plate to prove such things can be in 
 the world at Christmas. Now a London audi- 
 ence can afford to pay for such luxuries, but the 
 
 drama in this country, Price was well aware, 
 required more substantial food. Fanny's per- 
 fection of art, too, always savoured of the kitch- 
 en, or, at any rate, it never got higher than the 
 back parlour, or the bar-room of an inn ; and 
 then, indeed, if she happened to be '•'■Mary the 
 maid" you would see the most consummate skill 
 so skilfully concealed, that acting ceased to be; 
 all she did was reality, but it was the reality of 
 humble life, and, therefore, she couldn't even 
 make believe to be Beatrice or Lady Teazle ; 
 and those were the sort of characters that were 
 the most attractive here. Now Lydia could in- 
 troduce us to the drawing-room : it was one of 
 her own, to be sure, but she was very free, and 
 easy, and agreeable there, and she showed us the 
 fashions; they, perhaps, were her own too; but 
 she was a splendid-looking woman, and they 
 were very dashing and effective, and, therefore, 
 much admired; and so were her songs, and her 
 legs, which she showed her good sense by show- 
 ing she was not ashamed of showing, when the 
 part she had to perform required such a display. 
 To be sure, some ladies who are engaged to- 
 be " generally useful" are often thrust into 
 " breeches parts" whether they like it or not ; 
 and then, poor dears, they have a right to seem 
 ashamed of themselves if they like it, and it is 
 highly probable that sometimes they really are. 
 
 During the run of the pantomime called " Jack 
 and the Bean Stalk" at Drury Lane, Miss Povey, 
 who played Jack — by-the-by, it was singing a 
 solo in the opening of this very pantomime that 
 first brought Miss Povey into notice : I think I 
 hear it now ; how exquisitely it vibrates on the 
 memory, as deliciously as the never-to-be-for- 
 gotten warble of the tame redbreast, the pet of 
 my childhood ! What a pity it was she married 
 little Knight ! 
 
 Well, Mrs. Knight — Miss Povey, I mean — 
 played Jack, climbed up a pole, and sung like 
 a cock-robin. But the pretty flaxen-headed lit- 
 tle creature felt embarrassed in breeches, and, 
 therefore, had permission to use the principal 
 green-room, which, though not more private 
 than the general one, was safe from vulgar eyes. 
 And there, in the right-hand corner next the 
 window, the siren would take her station — look- 
 ing more like a boy than a girl — at least two 
 hours before she'd be wanted in the last piece. 
 Her little feet, " and the demesnes that there ad- 
 jacent lie," " folded like two cross boughs ;" the 
 skirts of the little brown coat tucked over her 
 knees, and her hat on her lap with the crown up- 
 ward ; and without scarcely moving or looking, 
 there she'd sit, the perfect picture of purity, in 
 pantaloons. But this was all 
 
 " The fault and g-lympse of newness j" 
 
 when she did as she pleased, boys of all sorts 
 were her favourite characters. 
 
 What a pity it was little Knight died without 
 hearing Father Matthew lecture on temperance ! 
 
 John Greene and his wife were both members 
 of the company, but in very subordinate situa- 
 tions. He happened to be cast the Irishman in 
 " Rosina," and I was amazed, both at the fine rich 
 brogue he possessed, and his quaint, natural 
 manner of personating the Paddy. I was the 
 more surprised, because Wood, to whom I had 
 applied for information as to the talent of all 
 the strangers to me in the company, had descri- 
 bed this couple particularly as only fit t<> be Irust- 
 ed I'-ilk a line m two. I inquired of Greene if he 
 could study O'Dcdimus, a very long part in the
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 19 
 
 comedy called " Man and Wile," which I wished 
 to do lor Miss Kelly, and, from necessity, had 
 cast the part to myself. Of course, he under- 
 took it, and played it gloriously, astonished 
 everybody, and Billy Wood into the bargain. / 
 got up John Bull, principally lor the sake of his 
 JJennis, and though, altogether, the play was 
 very well performed, Greene made the great hit; 
 it was acted on the stars' off-nights for many times 
 more than the usual number of running a stock 
 piece, to crowded houses, and for four or five of 
 the benefits, his own among the number, filled 
 to overflowing, i have no doubt I have seen a 
 hundred Brulgruderiesin my time, including Jack 
 Johnstone and Power, but none of them are fit 
 to hold a candle to John Greene, and I feel cer- 
 tain old George Colman " the younger" would 
 have been exactly of my way of thinking. 
 
 Johnstone was the beau ideal of Major O'Fla- 
 herty and characters of that class — the Irish gen- 
 tleman., of the Jonah Barrington sc/wol, he looked, 
 and was — and Power — the Thing itself for the val- 
 ets: the insolence and coxcombry of such parts 
 he hit off delightfully on the stage, though the 
 same style of manner made him exceedingly ob- 
 jectionable in a green-room. 
 
 But for the Teagues, the Murtochs, and the 
 Looneys, "the boys.'' the genuine, unsophistica- 
 ted Paddy, with a natural genius for cutting ca- 
 nals and drinking whiskey, give me the Native 
 American Irishman, John Greene. 
 
 His good lady, of course, did not remain long in 
 the background. Her high respectability is now 
 loo generally known to need any commendation 
 from me. She can play the Queen in Hamlet 
 better than any one I ever saw in America ; and 
 for the simple reason, that she can play Lady 
 Macbeth much better than many who would con- 
 sider the CUieen in Hamlet as derogating to their 
 talent. 
 
 About this time actors began to be manufac- 
 tured by wholesale. The great and deserved 
 success of Forrest induced, of course, a host of 
 athletic young men to follow at a distance his 
 career. But something more than a mere imi- 
 tation of his powers being needed to command 
 attention to their early efforts, native talent was 
 the medium through which their claims to ex- 
 cellence were expected to be viewed with in- 
 creased brilliancy, and their failings entirely ob- 
 scured. Some few have attained nigh consider- 
 ation ; but, unfortunately for themselves, keep- 
 ing you constantly in mind of their great master, 
 they oblige you to take largely from their own 
 intrinsic merits. Pelby was one of the first " na- 
 tive American tragedians;" that is, the first who 
 made a living exclusively on amor patriae capi- 
 tal. He had a clumsy figure, rather a good face, 
 and a very peculiar voice ; he could boast of 
 originality of style, at any rate, for he was to- 
 tally unlike anybody I ever saw in my life. John 
 Jay Adams was taught to read Hamlet by Pritch- 
 ard on condition that he would appear for his 
 benefit at the Park, which he did during my first 
 season ; and I thought it the very best first at- 
 tempt I ever saw. He was a wholesale tobacco- 
 nist, and retail dealer in literature ; he wrote very 
 pretty poetry for some of the Sunday papers, and 
 only played now and then ; but got worse by de- 
 grees ; and when 1 last saw him he was "slack- 
 ing bad." 
 
 Cooper's faults had been so long copied, and, 
 of course, increased in the appropriation, that 
 there was not an objectionable, and, at the same 
 time, original bit left for a new beginner to found 
 
 a style on; but Booth, keeping, with truth and 
 purity, a living likeness of Kean's beauties full in 
 view, had, of course, all the smaller-sized mad 
 actors as his satellites ; but 1 know of none worth 
 naming among them except C. H. Eaton. He 
 achieved a sort of popularity, and the distin- 
 guished title, in the playbills, of the "Young 
 American Tragedian." in addition to his giv- 
 ing a most excellent imitation of Booth's acting, 
 he assumed a lamentable caricature of his eccen- 
 tricities off the stage. Now there was method 
 in Booth's madness : however ridiculous his an- 
 tics were, they only excited pity, but never laugh- 
 ter. There was a melancholy responsibility, if 
 it may so be called, about all he said and did 
 while in " phrensy's imagined mood," that if you 
 believed he was insane, it would grieve you to 
 the heart to see a noble mind thus overthrown ; 
 and if you thought it was assumed, it would 
 cause quite as painful a feeling to think that one 
 so gifted should condescend to ape degraded na- 
 ture. But Eaton's secondhand vagaries were 
 disgusting; his distorted fancies, too, like other 
 monstrosities, had to call in the aid of alcohol to 
 perpetuate their first-conceived deformity. Poor 
 fellow ! he carried the joke too far at last, and fell 
 from a balcony at his hotel, after performing one 
 night at Pittsburgh, last May, and died in a day 
 or two afterward. 
 
 During this season, 1826-7, I had the gratifi- 
 cation of introducing two of the " fairest of crea- 
 tion" as candidates for histrionic fame — a daugh- 
 ter of Old Warren and a daughter of Old Jeffer- 
 son. They were cousins, and about the same 
 age. Hetty Warren had decidedly the best of 
 the race for favour at the start; but Elizabeth 
 Jefferson soon shot ahead, and maintained a de- 
 cided superiority. Poor girls! they were both 
 born and educated in affluence, and both lived to 
 see their parents sink to the grave in compara- 
 tive poverty. Hetty married a great big man 
 called Willis, a very talented musician, much 
 against the will of her doting father ; and, like 
 most arrangements of the kind, it proved a sorry 
 one. Elizabeth became the wife of Sam Chap- 
 man in 1828 ; he was a very worthy fellow, with 
 both tact and talent in his favour, and her lot 
 promised unbounded happiness. Who could 
 have imagined that this young creature's heart 
 should have been lacerated, and the entangle- 
 ment of a first and fervent love unravelled and 
 let loose for life, because the Reading mail was 
 robbed'? but so it was. Now is this fate"] What 
 should it be called if it is not ? 
 
 The Reading mail stage, with four fine, fast 
 horses — for Jemmy Reeside had trie contract — with 
 nine male passengers and the driver, was stopped 
 by three footpads — Porter, Potete, and Wilson — 
 a few miles from Philadelphia, in the middle of 
 the night. The horses were unhitched, and fast- 
 ened to the fence, the driver's and the passen- 
 gers' hands tied behind them with their own 
 handkerchiefs, and quietly and civilly rifled of 
 their property, without their making the slightest 
 resistance! A watch, I think, said to be the 
 gift of a mother or wife, and some other matters 
 of private value, Porter, an Irishman, and the 
 principal robber, politely returned ; helped him- 
 self to a "chaw" of tobacco, and replaced the 
 "plug" in the passenger's pocket; gave another 
 some loose change ; and, in fact, conducted the 
 whole affair with most admired decorum, and 
 then took a respectful leave of his ten victims, sent 
 his aides, with the mail-bags, into the woods, and 
 departed. The entire operation was considered
 
 80 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 the most gentlemanly piece of Mghwayism that 
 had occurred for some time, and caused much 
 excitement. Potcte turned state's evidence; Wil- 
 son's life was spared by President Jackson, and 
 Porter, whose courage and urbanity were the ad- 
 miration of everybody, was hanged. 
 
 Chapman, who was extremely clever at dram- 
 atizing local matters, took a ride out to the scene 
 of the robbery, the better to regulate the action 
 of a piece he was preparing on the subject, was 
 thrown from his horse, and slightly grazed his 
 shoulder. He had to wear that night a suit of 
 brass armour, and the weather being excessive- 
 ly hot, he wore it next his skin, which increased 
 the excoriation ; and it was supposed the verde- 
 gris had poisoned the wound. At any rate, he 
 died in a week after the accident, and left his 
 young wife, near her confinement, and a widow 
 in less than a year after her happy marriage. 
 
 " Oh ! grief beyond all other griefs, when fate 
 First leaves the young heart lone and desolate 
 In the wide world." 
 
 It is the custom in Philadelphia for a vast 
 Dumber of persons to attend all funerals. Chap- 
 man being popular, his death sudden and singu- 
 lar, and his poor little wife a native of the city, 
 and adored by everybody, an immense concourse 
 assembled. I walked and talked, as is the fash- 
 ion, at the heels of some two hundred peripatet- 
 ics, arm in arm with Edwin, the well known 
 and excellent stipple-engraver, and the son of 
 the great comedian, the original Lingo, and 
 Darby. We were deep in disputation, and over 
 our shoes in mud in crossing a street, when an- 
 other large funeral procession passed through 
 ours, in another direction, and caused some con- 
 fusion. Absorbed in listening to anecdotes of his 
 father, and Lord Barrymore's private theatricals, 
 Ave reached the cemetery, and I proposed that 
 Ave should make our way towards the grave, 
 that the poor father and brother might be aware 
 of our attendance ; we did so, and listened to a 
 portion of the beautiful service, then looked 
 round, with that timid glance always assumed 
 on such occasions ; but no sorrowful look of 
 recognition was exchanged ; every face was 
 strange; I nudged my companion; we peeped 
 under the handkerchief of each weeping mourn- 
 er; there was no Old Chapman with spectacles 
 bedewed; turned round at a stifled sob; it was 
 not Williams; no, nor anybody that we knew; 
 all were strangers. The truth stared us in the 
 face — we had got mixed up in the other proces- 
 sion, and had been making believe to cry over 
 the wrong corpse ! 
 
 A mind such as Forrest's, running riot, like 
 the vines of his native woods, in uncultivated 
 luxuriance, was predisposed to be impressed 
 with an enthusiasm amounting to adoration by 
 the electrical outbreakings of such a genius as 
 Jvean's, 
 
 " Who, passing nature's bounds, was something more." 
 
 But a model, whose excellence was inspira- 
 tion, gave an impetus, rather than a check, to 
 its own naturally wild, spontaneous growth ; 
 and, untrained by art, Forrest's splendid talent, 
 choked by its own voluptuousness, might even 
 now be rotting in obscurity. Macready's arri- 
 val in this country may, therefore, be said to 
 have formed an epoch in the history of the 
 American drama. 
 
 " In ancient learning train'd, 
 His rigid judgment fancy's flights restrained, 
 Correctly pruned each wild, luxuriant thought, 
 Mark'd out her course, nor spared a glorious fault." 
 
 This great practical example of the power of 
 art over impulse was not lost upon Forrest. 
 Without condescending to imitate the manner, 
 he imitated the means whereby such eminence 
 had been attained, and has achieved a glorious 
 reward lor his industry and self-government. 
 
 I had only seen Macready three times before 
 I met him in Philadelphia, and that was in 
 London — once in Rob Roy, and twice in Pes- 
 cara, a most extraordinary and original concep- 
 tion. The impression that comprehensible per- 
 formance made on me, time still permits me to 
 enjoy in full recollection, though at the same 
 period I only remember that Charles Young, 
 Charles Kemble, and Miss O'Niel sustained 
 the other principal characters. 
 
 Macready could neither boast of face nor fig- 
 ure, but both were under such command, that 
 they were everything which was required, in 
 every character he undertook. By-the-by, it has 
 been often remarked that we are very much 
 alike — of course, I mean off the stage — but I beg 
 most particularly to request those who are not 
 acquainted with my personal appearance to un- 
 derstand that I am much the belter-looking fellow 
 of the two. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, com- 
 edy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pasto- 
 ral, tragical-historical, tragical-comical, historical-pastoral, 
 scene individable, or poem unlimited : Seneca cannot be too 
 heavy, nor Plautus too light. For the law of writ, and the 
 liberty, these are the only men." — Hamlet. 
 
 Meanwhile the circus had become so unprof- 
 itable that the amateur stockholders were well 
 inclined to sell out. I parted company with 
 Warren, and Simpson and myself became the 
 sole proprietors. 
 
 The best of my dramatic company having 
 "got half lost and scattered," I had to form a 
 new one. Fortunately for me, John Hallam 
 was most anxious to go to England for a wife 
 he had chosen there. People ollen fall in love 
 when they cannot afford to pay for it, but now 
 he thought he might prudently indulge in this 
 expensive luxury ; and I gave him an agency, at 
 the same time, to engage any talented people he 
 might meet with likely to suit me. He dis- 
 charged this trust as he did everything, most 
 faithfully; but, of course, he secured the ser- 
 vices of Mrs. Hallam and her sister, Miss Ra- 
 chel Stannard, and her sister Mrs. Mitchell, and 
 her husband Mr. Mitchell ; the rest of the fam- 
 ily wouldn't come, I suppose. The only females 
 he introduced to an American audience, with 
 the exception of his new relations, were Mrs. 
 Lane and her talented little daughter, now the 
 beautiful and accomplished Mrs. Hunt, of the 
 Park Theatre. 
 
 Warren engaged Francis Courtney Wemyss 
 to supply my place ; a very worthy fellow, proud, 
 and justly so, of being the descendant of several 
 earls in Scotland, and some lords in England; 
 he has been buffeting with the spotted fortunes 
 of management ever since, till very lately, and 
 now I see he advertises to sell, in a cellar in 
 Philadelphia, perfumery, tetter ointment, and 
 cheap publications. I hope he will recommend 
 this book to his customers. 
 
 As soon as Hallam's mission was known, 
 Warren despatched Wemyss on a similar er- 
 rand ; but Hallam was limited to give only three
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 81 
 
 guineas per week, as the highest salary. We- 
 myss had to pay much more, of course, as he 
 selected persons who, by talent or circumstances, 
 had achieved some kind of reputation in Eng- 
 land. Now my lot had never been heard of out 
 of their own little circle, with the exception of my 
 principal man, Grierson, and Hallam prided 
 himself on having secured the original Duke of 
 Wellington in the " Battle of Waterloo," at Ast- 
 ley's. I was in successful operation at Philadel- 
 phia when Simpson sent me an account of their 
 arrival in the ship Britannia, my old friend, C. 
 H. Marshall, commander. They could not com- 
 plain of their mode of conveyance ; they had the 
 same skilful captain who landed me here safe 
 and sound, and a magnificent vessel. Charles 
 Irish, of yellow-fever memory, then kept a "sec- 
 ondary kind of hotel, where Hallam was in- 
 structed to put up and remain a day or two, that 
 the party might recover the fatigues of the voy- 
 . age and see the lions of New- York. The bill of 
 expenses rendered to me on this occasion re- 
 minded me of Falstaff's : 
 " Item. Sack, two gallons 5s. 8r/. 
 
 Item. Anchovies and sack after supper, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Item. Bread, a halfpenny." 
 This was supposed to happen during the reign of 
 Henry IV. The following did happen during 
 the reign of Simpson and Cowell: 
 
 "Mr. John Hallam 
 
 To Charles Irish. 
 One day's board and lodging for self 
 
 and party $18 50 
 
 Refreshments at bar 56 00 ! ! 
 
 $74 50." 
 
 Hallam was a jolly dog himself, and, of course, 
 he took care that the representatives of the Brit- 
 ish drama, at that day, should do the thing hand- 
 somely by their new associates. They were very 
 foreign, both in appearance and manner — Eng- 
 lish country actors are very odd-looking people — 
 but, on the whole, I was well pleased with hon- 
 est John Hallam's selection. Of course I made 
 the most of them, and they all had opening 
 parts. Grierson chose Rolla for his ddbut, and 
 the same play served to introduce Mrs. Mitchell 
 as Cora. She had a very pretty face and a broad 
 Lincolnshire dialect; and her person strongly 
 reminding me of the great Mrs. Davenport, I 
 doubled her salary, on condition that she would 
 undertake the old women, in which she was 
 highly successful. Pretty women always con- 
 trive to get well paid, even to make themselves 
 ugly. Grierson was very tall and very uncouth 
 in his deportment, and so near-sighted that it 
 amounted to blindness; and in the scene where 
 he has to seize the child, not having the little 
 creature thrust into his arms, the necessity for 
 which he had pointed out in the mornh g, he 
 fumbled about for an instant, and then caught 
 Charley Lee instead by the nape of his neck, 
 and would have whirled him oft if not rescued 
 by the soldiers. The public were well inclined 
 to believe all I did was right at that time, but I 
 had put their temper to a serious trial that night. 
 But, fortunately, a most vehement appeal in 
 good plain English, by the beautiful 'ittle boy 
 who played Cora's child, to have some domestic 
 matters attended to immediately, and being dis- 
 regarded, the evidence that it should have been, 
 trickling down the stage, put the audience in 
 such high good-humour, that the play escaped 
 disapprobation. The house was crowded to the 
 
 ceiling. I stood for a few minutes behind poor 
 old Warren. 
 
 " If this is Cowell's great gun," said he, " why 
 he's a pop-gun." 
 
 But it was not: W. H. Smith became an im- 
 mense favourite. He was one of those pink- 
 looking men, with yellow hair, that the ladies 
 always admire, and in his day was considered 
 the best fop and light comedian on the continent. 
 I doubled his salary directly. 
 
 John Sefton was a sort of a failure ; though 
 very queer and excellent in little bits, he did not 
 hit the audience till he got to Baltimore; and 
 there, his skilful personation of the Marquis, in. 
 the "Cabinet," made his two pounds ten into 
 twenty dollars. Some years since he played 
 Jemmy Twitcher, in the " Golden Farmer," at 
 New- York, in a little theatre called the Franklin. 
 The audience were peculiarly capable of appre- 
 ciating his talent, and his fame is hinged entirely 
 on that one part; his appearance is the thing it- 
 self—equal to Sir Joshua Reynolds's picture of 
 " Mercury as a Pickpocket." 
 
 The equestrian business ceasing to be so at- 
 tractive, I determined to get rid of that portion 
 of our expenses — sent the company to Wilming- 
 ton, Delaware, where a temporary building was 
 prepared, and had the ring fitted up as a spacious 
 pit, and in September, 1827, opened the Phila- 
 delphia Theatre, Walnut-street. 
 
 Wemyss returned from England with his par- 
 ty. But too much was expected from them; 
 and in this interim my company had got licked 
 into shape, and had grown into favour with the 
 audience. They underlined Venice Preserved and 
 the Young Widow, to introduce some of their 
 new people — Belvidera, Miss E. ?ry; Jaffier, 
 Mr. Southwell ; and Pierre, Mr. S. Chapman ; 
 their first appearance in America— there were 
 not more than two hundred persons in the house. 
 I had the same pieces performed on the same 
 evening, Mr. and Mrs. Hamblin in the princi- 
 pal characters, and had upward of fourteen 
 hundred! The full tide of public opinion was 
 in our favour. We could play three light pieces 
 for a week in succession, to six and seven hun- 
 dred dollars a night; when the Chestnut-street 
 would prepare an expensive performance, or, 
 rather, display an expensive company to thirty 
 persons. 
 
 Among other stars, I engaged Cooper, who 
 took his leave of an American audience, with 
 whom he had been so many years the idol, prior 
 to his departure for Europe; and he played his 
 round of characters to crowded houses. He had 
 prepared an excellent farewell speech; but it be- 
 ing his own composition, he had not thought it 
 necessary to fasten it so securely on his memory, 
 as no doubt he would have done had it been 
 the production of another's pen. The veteran, 
 too, evinced much feeling at having to say sood- 
 by, perhaps forever, to a people among whom, 
 he had made so long and happy a sojourn; and, 
 in his embarrassment, forgot the words. He is 
 a very incompetent extemporaneous speaker ; 
 and thinking it a pity some very pretty thoughts 
 he had put on paper should be wasted, explained 
 the dilemma he was placed in, and begged per- 
 mission to read what he had written ; but, un- 
 fortunately, the manuscript was in his own 
 hand; and believing it, 
 
 " As our statists do, a baseness to write fair," 
 
 it was almost illegible, and occupying both sides 
 of a sheet of foolscap, which became transparent
 
 82 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 ■when held behind the foot-lights, both pages were 
 mixed up together, so that it became impossible 
 to smoothly deliver the sense, and he was obliged 
 at last to give up the task, said a few words 
 •warm from the heart, and some honest tears 
 were shed on all sides. 
 
 Baltimore had for years been visited by War- 
 ren and Wood, with the same jog-trot company 
 and the same old pieces, till they had actually 
 taught the audience to stay away, and it had 
 then the reputation of being the worst theatrical 
 town in the Union. I had always had enormous 
 success there with my circus company; and, en- 
 couraged to the undertaking by a host of friends, 
 I leased the theatre from the committee, all of 
 them my personal well-wishers. I had the house 
 thoroughly repaired and decorated, the lobbies 
 carpeted, and stoves erected there and under the 
 stage. The gallery, which had become an un- 
 profitable nuisance, I dispensed with entirely, 
 and made that entrance serve for the third tier, 
 effectually separating the visiters to that section 
 from the decorous part of the house. There was 
 a corporation tax of ten dollars on every night's 
 performance, which Warren and Wood had for 
 years been trying to get removed; but the influ- 
 ence of my powerful friends got it instantly re- 
 duced one half! Strict police regulations were 
 adopted, and carried most rigorously into effect; 
 and in November, 1827, we commenced the sea- 
 son. 
 
 Hamblin was my first star, to whom I paid 
 one hundred dollars per night, and played to 
 half the amount : a very dingy beginning, but 1 
 had " confidence, which is more than hope," of 
 a good season yet. 
 
 I was sitting one night at the back of one of 
 the boxes: the play was the Revenge; there are 
 but seven characters in the tragedy, and necessa- 
 rily they are all very long. Smith was Alonzo, 
 and Grierson, Carlos. In the same box with me 
 was a tall, Kentucky-looking man, alone — the 
 house was literally empty — and during a very 
 tedious scene of theirs, he leaned back, and said 
 to me, in a loud tone, 
 
 " I say, stranger, has that long-legged fellow 
 got much more to say in this business V 
 
 I answered in the affirmative. 
 
 " Then," said he, striding over the seats, " they 
 are welcome to my dollar, for I can't stand list- 
 ening to his preaching any longer;" and away he 
 went. 
 
 My company could boast of little tragic talent, 
 but in comedy we worked together very happily. 
 Wells was my ballet-master, and that depart- 
 ment, under his experienced direction, was very 
 effective. The business continued most wretch- 
 ed for two or three weeks ; but, fortunately, 
 we were able to make all our payments reg- 
 ularly, and I professed to be perfectly satisfied 
 with the certainty of having a fine season ulti- 
 mately. Messrs. Dobbin, Murphy, and Bose, 
 the proprietors of the American, had always 
 been our printers; but General Robinson then 
 kept a much-frequented, fashionable circula- 
 ting library, and I gave him the printing, that it 
 might be to his interest, as well as inclination, 
 to talk in our favour, which he did most success- 
 fully and kindly. My worthy host, too, David 
 Barn n in — the emperor of all hotel-keepers — was 
 most enthusiastic in his efforts to promote my 
 interests. It is delightful to think that, after so 
 many years of checkered fortune passed, that 
 this very night, here in Baltimore, in July, 1813, 
 we should take our glass of " old rye" together, 
 
 in the same favourite corner; laugh old matters 
 over, and refine upon the refinements of the 
 gout, which we have both so honestly earned. 
 
 Simpson sent me all the stars, in increasing 
 attraction; and the season of 1827-8 is spoken 
 of up to this day as the most brilliant ever known 
 in Baltimore. Forrest, Hackett, Barnes, Horn, 
 Pearman, Hamblin, Mrs. Austin, Mrs. Knight, 
 Miss Kelly, and the captivating Clara Fisher — 
 worth the whole of them at that day — appeared 
 in rapid succession. She played with me for six 
 weeks, to a succession of overflowing houses. No- 
 thing could exceed the enthusiasm with which 
 this most amiable creature was received every- 
 where. "Clara Fisher" was the name given to 
 everything it could possibly be applied to : ships, 
 steamboats, racehorses, mint-juleps, and negro 
 babies. Charles Fisher established a newspaper 
 in New- York, called the " Spirit of the Times," 
 and, to secure popularity to it and himself, ad- 
 vertised it as " edited by C. J. B. Fisher, brother 
 to the celebrated Clara Fisher." A hack propri- 
 etor started an omnibus, and, of course, called it 
 the " Clara Fisher ,-" and another had another, 
 called "the celebrated Clara Fisher;" and another 
 yet, determined not to be outdone, named his 
 '"Brother to tlic celebrated Clara Fisher!" But 
 anything so overdone was not likely to last, in 
 her evanescent profession. She married Ma?der T 
 a very pleasing composer and talented musician ; 
 and though no diminution could be discovered, 
 by the calm observer, in her intrinsic merit, the 
 charm was broken, and she only now, as Clara 
 Fisher, in remembrance lives. 
 
 Washington City could then only boast of a 
 very small theatre, in a very out-of-the-way sit- 
 uation, and used by Warren and Wood as a sort 
 of summer retreat for their company; where the 
 disciples of Isaac Walton, with old Jefferson at 
 their head, might indulge their fishing propensi- 
 ties, without having them interfered with by 
 either rehearsals or study. 
 
 Now Miss Fisher had so turned the heads of 
 the public in Baltimore, that I thought it a safe 
 experiment to try if she couldn't turn the heads 
 of the government, then in session, and I hired 
 the theatre for an optional number of nights. 
 " There is nothing like getting up an excite- 
 ment," Pelby used to say. I immediately set a 
 swarm of carpenters at work to bang out the 
 backs of the boxes and extend the seats into the 
 lobbies, which, in all the theatres built since the 
 awful loss of life by the Richmond fire, were 
 ridiculously large in proportion to the space al- 
 lotted to the audience. As the house had seldom 
 or ever been full, small as it was, my preparing 
 it to hold twice the number which had ever tried 
 to get in appeared somewhat extraordinary. 
 Mashing down thin partitions, in an open space, 
 plastered into a ceiling, is a most conspicuously- 
 dusty and noisy operation, and attracted, as I 
 wished, numerous inquiries — the doors being all 
 thrown open — and my people were instructed 
 simply to say, that "the house wasn't half large 
 enough to accommodate the crowds which would 
 throng to sec Clara Fisher." The plan succeeded 
 to a nicety. Never had there been such a scram- 
 ble for places before in the capital — I mean in 
 the theatre. At the end of two days every seat 
 was secured for the whole of her engagement. 
 
 On the afternoon of the first performance I got 
 a note from John duincy Adams, then the Pres- 
 ident, requiring a certain box for that evening, 
 directed to " Mr. Manager of tM Tlicatrc" and I 
 sent a reply, regretting that he couldn't have it
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 83 
 
 till five nights afterward, directed to "Mr. Man- 
 ager of the United States." I was afterward told 
 that the kind old man was highly amused by the 
 response. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " Quince. Have you sent to Bottom's house? Is he come 
 home yet? 
 
 " Starveling. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is 
 transported. 
 
 " Flute. If he comes not, then the play is marr'd ; it goes 
 not forward, doth it .' 
 
 " Quince. It is not possible. You have not a man in all 
 Athens able to discharge Pyramus but he." 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 In consequence of the extraordinary success 
 which had attended the temporary alteration of 
 the Walnut-street Circus, the proprietors were 
 easily persuaded to convert it into a permanent 
 theatre. A lease on my own terms was grant- 
 ed for ten years. Tamy experience was left the 
 general detail of the improvements, and the cel- 
 ebrated John Haviland was chosen as the archi- 
 tect, and the present Walnut-street Theatre was 
 erected withinside the walls of the old building. 
 Scarcely had the note of preparation been sound- 
 ed, when an entirety new theatre was proposed to 
 be built in Arch-street by some property-holders 
 in that neighbourhood. Building theatres was 
 supposed to be an excellent investment of capital 
 at that time, and a good excuse lor elderly, se- 
 date, GLuaker-bred gentlemen to take a peep at a 
 play, or a look at what was going on behind the 
 scenes in the character of a stockholder. 
 
 It had already been proved past a doubt to my 
 mind and poor Warren's pocket, that Philadel- 
 phia would not or could not support more than 
 one establishment of the sort ; and tlic one the 
 public would most probably select, in despite of 
 my popularity, would most likely be the new one, 
 and I began to tremble for the consequences. 
 While I was wavering as to the course I should 
 pursue, through the instrumentality of my friend 
 Hamblin I received an offer from the proprietors 
 of the Tremont Theatre at Boston to undertake 
 its direction for forty weeks, for the sum of four 
 thousand five hundred dollars, which, after duly 
 weighing all the consequences, prudence, and 
 the persuasion of my friends, induced me to ac- 
 cept. And that I did / have most heartily regret- 
 ted ever since. 
 
 It was then late in June, and I instantly set off 
 for Boston. Nearly all the proprietors there 
 were my personal friends, and they readily 
 agreed to take off my hands such engagements 
 as I had entered into — ainong them Miss Stan- 
 nard, Hallam, and Smith — and all other stipula- 
 tions which I suggested were readily agreed to; 
 and with two thousand dollars in cash to bind 
 the bargain, I returned to Philadelphia. 
 
 As I passed through Providence, on my way 
 to Boston, I had promised Arthur Keene that I 
 would give him notice of the exact day I would 
 return, that he might advertise me to appear for 
 his benefit. 
 
 He was a sweet, untaught singer, in the style 
 of Paddy Webb, an Irishman by birth, and over- 
 flowing with fun and national modesty. He made 
 his first appearance in America at the Park, in 
 Henry Bertram. A duet, his portion of which 
 is sung behind the scenes, with the exception of 
 the last line, was to introduce him to the audi- 
 ence. The air is very pretty, and the words, as 
 I have ever heard them, very innocent, at any 
 rate : 
 
 " List, love, 'tis ay — ay — I, 
 Rum tuin ti di-i-ay ; 
 Where art thou, rum turn !" 
 
 Then he should rush on, and, embracing Miss 
 Mannering, most energetically sing, 
 " I'm here, I'm here I'' 
 
 but, unfortunately, forgetting, in the anxiety of the 
 moment, that there was a threshold to the folding 
 doors of the tlat, his toe caught the impediment, 
 and with the tune in his throat, he came sprawl- 
 ing down the stage on his face, close to the foot 
 lights; in an instant he was on his feet, and, at 
 the very top of his falsetto, shouted, 
 
 " I'm here, I'm here 1" 
 and he probably got a more joyous reception 
 than he would have done under the usual cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 I left Boston in the mail-stage, after a jolly 
 supper, at one in the morning, and arrived at 
 Providence, Rhode Island, in time for rehearsal, 
 the same day. The weather was excruciatingly 
 hot, as hot weather always is in high latitudes 
 when it is hot, and after dinner I determined to 
 take my lost share of sleep. I took a file of 
 papers, that most efficacious lullaby, from the 
 reading-room, and finding a mattress thrown in 
 the corner of a balcony, where all the air Provi- 
 dence could bestow appeared to flutter, I ar- 
 ranged a siesta. When I awoke it was dusk, 
 and after repairing my toilet, I set off for the 
 theatre, all my companions being there, though 
 I only had to play Crack, in the last piece. As 
 I passed through the bar I inquired of a servant 
 sweeping it out, "What is the time - ?" 
 
 " About four, sir," said he. 
 
 "About four!" said 1: "about eight, more 
 likely," and on I walked. 
 
 The shops were all closed, and everything 
 appeared particularly quiet; but the steady 
 habits of Providence I was prepared for by long 
 report, and, therelbre, its appearance was not 
 extraordinary. The carriers hanging the even- 
 ing papers on the knobs of the doors, or in- 
 sinuating them underneath, were the only hu- 
 man beings I met with on my way to the thea- 
 tre, which, to my astonishment, I found closed 
 and quiet. A thought flashed across my mind — 
 Could it be possible? I made an inquiry of a 
 milkman, and found, to my amazement, that it 
 was not to-night, but to-inorrovi morning. 
 
 To return to the hotel and make ah explana- 
 tion I knew full well would be at the expense 
 of remaining to perform that night; so I sneak- 
 ed on board the Connecticut steamboat, which 
 was to take me to New- York, leaving my bag- 
 gage behind. My old friend Captain Bunker 
 met me with astonishment; he had been at the 
 play, and fully described the consternation I had 
 occasioned. The theatre had been crowded, 
 and after every room in the Franklin Hotel had 
 been searched, and every conceivable place in 
 the city, it had been unanimously agreed that, 
 in walking to the theatre after dark, that I had 
 walked off one of the docks, and already a re- 
 ward had been offered for the recovery of my body. 
 But that my business was too urgent for me to 
 spare the time, I would have delivered myself 
 up, for the joke's sake, and claimed the ten dol- 
 lars; but as it was, I got Bunker to keep my 
 secret, and laid perdue in the ladies' cabin till 
 the boat was off, and took the news of my sup- 
 posed untimely end, to personally contradict it 
 at New- York and Philadelphia. 
 
 So popular was I at that time with the pro-
 
 m 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 prietors of the Walnut-street, that I had as 
 much trouble in getting rid of the lease as most 
 persons would have had in getting one granted. 
 It was opened in the fall with an excellent but 
 most extravagant company, under the direction 
 of William Rufus Blake and Inslee, the latter 
 having made a supposed fortune as keeper of 
 the almshouse, and the former only wanting 
 one to be fully considered one of the best fellows 
 in the world. 
 
 Near] j the whole company had been selected 
 for the Tremont prior to my engagement, and 
 Booth had been appointed siage-manager for a 
 month. And it was whimsical enough, in ig- 
 norance of my having the whole control, his of- 
 fering me a situation for the season, of fifty dol- 
 lars a week. I thanked him, and did not tell 
 him then why I declined the offer. 
 
 The arrangements at the Tremont Theatre 
 were both costly and injudicious; and therefore, 
 though the season was a brilliant one, it was 
 most unprofitable. Booth received one hundred 
 dollars for each night's performance ; and Ham- 
 blin, for twenty or twenty-four, the same terms. 
 On one occasion, the "direction," wished in 
 some other way to occupy one of his nights; 
 and they not only paid him the one hundred dol- 
 lars for his sirpi)oscd playing, but gave him an- 
 other hundred tor not playing ; or, in other words, 
 they gave him two hundred dollars to be kind 
 enough not to perform at all for one night only. 
 
 He was on a visit to my house during his so- 
 journ at Boston ; and while amusing himself 
 with my children, during a leisure morning, 
 made the discovery that my dear boy Samuel 
 was perfect, both in the words and music of 
 Crack, in the Turnpike Gate, and could give 
 an excellent imitation of his father in that char- 
 acter. Afier dinner we had a full rehearsal. 
 The pianoforte was put in requisition, and 
 Hamblin and myself played the off-parts by 
 turns. I confess I thought he was extremely 
 clever — what father would not 1 ? Hamblin was 
 in ecstasies of admiration, and Sam's talent fur- 
 nished food for a chat in my room at the theatre 
 that evening:; and Dana, the principal of the 
 committee of management, pertinently said, 
 
 "Now, Cowell, \\you were to have the profits 
 of your benefit," which was then advertised, 
 "you would let your son play for it." 
 
 This legitimate Yankee suspicion, of course, 
 I had no better means of removing than by let- 
 ing Sam perform. He was delighted at the 
 aiovelty, and no farther instructed than by a 
 ■usual rehearsal; he made his first appearance 
 three nights afterward. Whatever he may be 
 now, he was a very little boy, even for his age, 
 in 1829; and he certainly eclipsed anything in 
 the way of juvenile prodigies which I had ever 
 seen — and so an overflowing house said too. 
 But from long experience of the consequences 
 in after life of forcing precocious talent, I never 
 urged him to learn a line. For some two or 
 three years following he played and sung such 
 parts and comic songs as he thought proper, for 
 his own amusement and my emolument; but in 
 the course of that time he never studied more 
 than six characters — Crack, Chip, Matty Mar- 
 vellous, Bombastes — I forget the other — and one 
 of the Dromios; and his impersonation of me 
 toot me, at the small end of a telescope. He 
 •chose, when it was time to choose, the stage for 
 his profession, and is now an admitted favourite 
 in the Edinburgh Theatre : no small boast at his 
 age, for there the drama is considered one of the 
 
 mental endowments of that refined and critical 
 portion of Great Britain. And his uncle, Will- 
 iam Murray, the manager, who, when a mere 
 boy, was intrusted by his sister's husband. Hen- 
 ry Siddons, with the direction of the National 
 Theatre, has been for years universally admitted 
 as the most finished disciplinarian now remain- 
 ing to uphold the good old school. 
 
 I was most heartily rejoiced when this en- 
 gagement of mine terminated. The gentlemen 
 composing the committee of arrangements for 
 the proprietors, all with separate tastes and in- 
 terests — some, but few, influenced by the prob- 
 able loss and profit to themselves; others by the 
 he or she actor they wished to patronise ; some 
 for the sake of seeing a play acted as they would 
 like to see it — would beg me to give them " some 
 good casting." One of these actually proposed, 
 that to support James Wallack, who was to do 
 Macbeth, that Hamblin should play Banquo- 
 all well enough — and Booth Macduff! to Wal- 
 lack ! ! * 
 
 "No!" said Booth, "I'll not play Macduff to 
 Wallack, but I'll tell you what I will do— I'll 
 play either Fleance or Seyton !" 
 
 Hackett took the Chatham Theatre the fol- 
 lowing spring, and I was engaged as his princi- 
 pal comedian. For so long a time having been 
 encumbered with the toils of management, lor 
 myself or others, a plain, well-paid stock en- 
 gagement was a delicious change. But it did 
 not last long; for, after a month or so, the busi- 
 ness not continuing very profitable, some reduc- 
 tion of wages, or some mercantile arrangement 
 of Hackett's, which I will not explain, being 
 proposed, I backed out. My experience taught 
 me, that when a manager asks you to take a 
 little less one week, he will expect you to take 
 nothing the next, and be perfectly satisfied. So 
 I went home to Philadelphia. There I found my 
 own-made theatre, the Walnut-street, under the 
 management of Messrs. Edmunds, S. Chapman, 
 and Green, on a commonwealth principle. Ed- 
 munds had been a clerk of mine, recommended 
 to me by Cooper as a starving countryman of 
 ours, with a large family, great honesty, and a 
 good handwriting. Out of several proposals 
 which he made me. which he had learned in my 
 school, I accepted a sort of stock engagement 
 for two weeks, to receive no salary, but the 
 whole receipts of my last night, in the shape of a 
 benefit, as payment; by which I cleared twelve 
 hundred dollars. 
 
 John Boyd, of Baltimore, the Christophei 
 North of South-street, and the laughter-loving 
 and mirth-provoking Wildy, who cannot possi- 
 bly have a higher caste in this world's estima- 
 tion than by being acknowledged as the grand- 
 father of the benevolent order of Odd Fellow- 
 ship in the United States, had built an amphi- 
 theatre on some property that they and others 
 owned on Front-street. Wildy and Boyd had 
 both made me an offer of the establishment, 
 which I foolishly declined accepting, and Blanch- 
 ard became the lessee, and cleared, the first sea- 
 son, at least fifteen thousand dollars. I was en- 
 gaged there for five consecutive nights — the sixth 
 to be my benefit — on my favourite terms, receiv- 
 ing the whole receipts. I merely played six 
 farce parts, and got nine hundred dollars by the 
 job. 
 
 This establishment was burned down while 
 occupied by Cooke's company; and the destruc- 
 tion of property and unoffending animal life on 
 that occasion is too dreadful to speak of. It is
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 85 
 
 now rebuilt by the same spirited and liberal pro- 
 prietors ; and, with its complete and substantial 
 appointments, either lor a theatre or a circus, 
 is by far the most perfect building for such pur- 
 poses now in the United States. 
 
 A fat-faced gentleman, buttoned up to the 
 chin, with a queer hat and a lisp, called upon 
 me at Barnum's, and introduced himsell as Mr. 
 Flynn, manager of the theatre at Annapolis, the 
 capital of Maryland, the authority of Boz to the 
 contrary notwithstanding, who bestows that hon- 
 our upon Baltimore. He offered me half the re- 
 ceipts of his theatre there per night, lor three 
 nights, explaining that it would hold one hun- 
 dred dollars. I accepted the proposal on hav- 
 ing good security for the payment, which, in a 
 very business-like manner, he immediately gave. 
 I was to commence the engagement on the 
 Monday following; and at dark on Saturday 
 night I arrived at that very pretty little oklfash- 
 ioned city. I must stop one instant here to say 
 that the graveyard, with a few innocent sheep 
 nibbling the short grass, and giving intensity to 
 the repose of the romantic spot, would almost 
 tempt anybody to be buried " quick" there. 
 There is one grave where an Irish blacksmith 
 is de-composed, with the iron anvil on which he 
 worked for years for a tombstone: and a sim- 
 ple tablet " To the memory of a good woman;" 
 only think of having " dust to dust" shovelled on 
 you just there ! . 
 
 The hotel I found entirely deserted, with the 
 exception of a negro, who was asleep outside the 
 latticed portion of the bar-room. I had not been 
 there an instant when I heard the chorus of the 
 old Lincolnshire ditty I had introduced to this 
 country : 
 
 " Oh '. 'tis my delight of a shiny night, 
 In the season of the year. Now, then !" 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 and in walked Booth— for 'twas he, followed by 
 a clever young printer, by the name of Augus- 
 tus Richardson, who afterward married Sam 
 Chapman's widow, and a gentleman called 
 Franciscus, whom I saw the other day at New- 
 Orleans, and who didn't sow his wild oats with 
 such good tasta. 
 
 "Why, hallo!" said Booth, "what are you 
 doing here, Cowein" 
 
 I, like a true Englishman, answered by asking 
 the same question. 
 
 " Why," said Booth, " I am engaged for three 
 nights and a benefit by Flynn ; I open here on 
 Monday." . 
 
 " So do I," said I, " and have the same nights.' 
 " I am to get half the receipts," said he. 
 " So am I," said I. 
 
 " But I have it all signed and sealed, and 
 Gwynn is security for the payment," said he. 
 " Exactly the same case with me," said I. 
 The fact is, Flynn had engaged us both on 
 precisely the same terms, and as he explained to 
 me not having the slightest reliance on Booth's 
 promise to be there, he had engaged me to save 
 him from the anger of the audience if Booth 
 should disappoint them ; and was good-humour- 
 edly prepared to give us oil between us. And it 
 ■was with some difficulty— for, where money is 
 concerned, Booth has sometimes a queer method 
 in his madness— that he was induced to agree to 
 take one third a piece all round. 
 
 But this chapter is getting to be something too 
 much of this, and I have a journey before me to 
 " Tlie Far West." 
 
 " In no country, and in no stage of society, his the drama 
 ever existed (to my knowledge) in a ruder shite than that 
 in which this company presented it."— The Doctor. 
 
 I am not surprised that savages, when left to 
 their own discretion to choose a God, should so 
 frequently select the sun as the object of their 
 adoration ; for, in his absence, even the Allegha- 
 ny Mountains may be crossed, and Nature re- 
 ceive no homage for her wonders. 
 
 It was one o'clock in 'he morning, at the lat- 
 ter end of November, that my dear boy Sam and 
 myself left Baltimore in a stage-coach and a 
 snow-storm; and in three days and two nights, 
 through mud and mire, we arrived, as if by mir- 
 acle, at Wheeling, Virginia, where we fortu- 
 nately found a little steamboat, called the Poto- 
 mac,' ready to start for Cincinnati. The Ohio 
 River is notorious for being twelve hundred miles 
 long, but as nothing is said about its width, to- 
 my imagination it proved sadly out of proportion ; 
 it happened to be a low stage of water, which then 
 I knew nothing about; and I was disappoint- 
 ed in not finding it wider than the Delaware, and 
 not half so picturesque. The French christen- 
 ed it La Belle Riviere, but a Frenchman's opin- 
 ion should never be taken where the beauties oi 
 Nature are concerned, unless they are fit to be 
 cooked. John Randolph went to the other ex- 
 treme, but was nearer the truth, when he descri- 
 bed it as a paltry, nonsensical stream, dried up 
 one half of the year, and frozen up the other. 
 Winter had just taken Autumn in his rude em- 
 brace, and the country on either side looked wild, 
 and dreary, though divested of romance. 
 
 " There stood the faded trees in grief, 
 As various as their clouded leaf; 
 With all the hues of sunset skies 
 Were stamp'd the maple's mourning dies ; 
 In meeker sorrow in the vale, 
 The gentle ash was drooping pale ; 
 Brown-sear'd, the walnut rear'd its head, 
 The oak display'd a lifeless red, 
 And grouping bass and white-wood hoar 
 Sadly their yellow honours bore." 
 
 Habitations were "few and far between," and 
 then only a miserable log hut in the midst of "a 
 clearing" of, perhaps, a dozen acres; the trunks 
 of the fine old trees still standing, though burned 
 to the core; and this evidence of their violent 
 death adding artificial desolation to the natural- 
 ly dreary landscape. At a wood-pile you would 
 sometimes see a group of dirty, " loose, unatti- 
 red" women and children, 
 
 " With a sad, leaden, downward cast," 
 
 destroying at a glance all your visions of primi- 
 tive simplicity or rural felicity. These " early 
 settlers " by a strange chain of thought, put me 
 in mind of Paradise Lost and "Adam's first- 
 green breeches ;" and I could not help but agree 
 with Butler, that 
 
 "The whole world, without art and dress, 
 
 Would be but one great wilderness, 
 
 And mankind but a savage herd, 
 
 For all that Nature has conferr'd ; 
 
 She does but rough-hew and design, 
 
 Leaves art to polish and refine." 
 
 Cincinnati in 1829 was a very different place 
 from what it is now, but even then it wore a 
 most imposing appearance : thanks to the clear- 
 headed, adventurous Yankees, who, axe in hand, 
 cut through the pathless forests, undismayed by 
 toil and defying danger, until they found a spot, 
 rowh-licwn and designed by Nature as the site for 
 future ages to enthrone the pride of the Ohio 
 Valley, the " dueen City of the West." We put
 
 86 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 up at the hotel near the landing, kept by Captain 
 Cromwell, and in his little way quite as despotic 
 as his namesake, the poor apology for a king ; 
 lor after dinner — an operation which was per- 
 formed by his boarders in three minutes at far- 
 thest — myself and two acquaintances I had form- 
 ed on the road drew towards the fire, and com- 
 menced smoking our cigars. 
 
 "You can't smoke here," said Captain Crom- 
 well. And we instantly pleaded ignorance of 
 his rules, though they might be thought a little 
 fastidious after our scramble for dinner, and 
 threw our cigars in the fire. 
 
 "And you can't sit here," said Captain Crom- 
 well. " If you want to sit, you must sit in the 
 bar; and if you want to smoke, you can smoke 
 in the bar." 
 
 Slapping his hand on the table, after the man- 
 ner of his ancestor dismissing the Long Parlia- 
 ment ; and into the bar we went, where a play- 
 bill on the wall announced that the " School for 
 Scandal" was to be performed that evening for 
 "the benefit of Mr. Anderson." I was making 
 some inquiries of the barkeeper about the thea- 
 tre, when a man about my own age and size, 
 very shabby, very dirty, and very deaf, introdu- 
 ced himself as Alexander Drake, the manager, 
 curled his right hand round his ear, and, in a 
 courteous whisper, invited me to "take some- 
 thing." He was a kind, familiar, light-hearted 
 creature, told me, with apparent glee, that he 
 was over head and ears in debt to the company 
 and everybody else ; that that night he had giv- 
 en the use of the theatre, and the performers had 
 tendered their services, to an old actor who ex- 
 pected a "meeting of his creditors;" but that he 
 had been obliged to close the theatre for the sim- 
 ple reason that it wasn't fashionable ! What an 
 abominable affliction have these ephemeral four 
 syllables proved to the young and otherwise un- 
 lettered country of which I am now writing ! 
 Could the wrinkled outlaws of crippled monar- 
 chies find no other chain to goad the neck and 
 bow the head of independence, 
 
 " Wandering mid woods and forests wild," 
 
 than the introduction of fashionable atrocities to 
 make the thoughtless laugh, the thinking grieve? 
 The manager gave me an invitation to wit- 
 ness the performance ; and after a pleasant chat — 
 for he was a delightful companion — and " taking 
 something" till the time for commencing, excu- 
 sed himself for being obliged to leave, in conse- 
 quence of having to "study Charles Surface, 
 who went on in the third act." If he had never 
 played the part before, he had an extraordinary 
 "swallow;" for he was perfect, and performed it 
 much better than I have often seen it done by 
 those who consider such characters their line of 
 business ; and he was a low comedian and an ex- 
 cellent one, which may probably account for the 
 unfitness of his dress : he wore white trousers of 
 that peculiar cut you sometimes see frisk round 
 the stage in what is called a sailor's hornpipe, 
 and, being very short, exposed a pair of boots on 
 which Day and Martin had never deigned to 
 shine ; no gloves, a round hat, and the same blue 
 coat and brass buttons I had already been intro- 
 duced to, buttoned up to the top. His wife was 
 the Lady Teazle ; a very fine looking woman, 
 and plenty of her. I was not then accustomed 
 to the peculiar twang in the pronunciation of the 
 west end of the United States, which, in conse- 
 quence, sounded uncouth and unlady-Teazle-like 
 to me; for though Sir Peter particularly boasts 
 
 that he has chosen a wife "bred altogether in the 
 country," he didn't mean, I suppose, the West- 
 ern country; but, at any rate, she got great ap- 
 plause; everybody seemed very much pleased 
 with her, and she seemed very much pleased 
 with herself. Mrs. Drake has been very suc- 
 cessful as a star since the time I speak of; she 
 is one out of six or seven ladies who have by 
 turns been called "the Mrs. Siddons of America;"- 
 but what lor, for the life of me I never could find 
 out ; but as the baptizers, in all probability, nev- 
 er saw the Mrs. Siddons, they should stand ex- 
 cused for taking her name in vain. Baron Hack- 
 ett's sister-in-law, Mrs. Sharpe, was so christen- 
 ed; but that must have been an oversight; for 
 she is an English lady, the daughter of Old Le 
 Sugg, well known thirty years ago as an eccen- 
 tric itinerant, and said to have been the precept- 
 or of Matthews in the art and mystery of imita- 
 ting Punch and Judy. 
 
 Raymond was the Joseph, a man nearly as 
 big as " Big Scott," and would not now be men- 
 tioned here, if he had not drowned himself be- 
 cause some one said Parsons (another big one) 
 was a better actor! Foolish fellow, 
 
 " How poor are they who have not patience !" 
 
 if he had waited a little longer he would have 
 had the Western country heavy business all to 
 himself; for, when theatricals began to decline 
 in that hemisphere, Parsons turned Methodist, 
 and joined the church. But whether he was 
 disappointed in the profits attending his new 
 profession, or that the groans his performance 
 elicited were not understood at first to mean 
 approval, and' he fancied he had made a failure, 
 1 know not, but the offer of a star engagement 
 induced him to return to the stage. And nad he 
 played the hypocrite, and got it understood that 
 he was still a follower of the church, though, 
 from necessity, an actor, he might have proved 
 an attraction ; but he was honest for once, and 
 took the other extreme, selected Doctor Cant- 
 well for one of his characters, and insulted com- 
 mon sense by his attempting to throw odium on 
 the professors of religion ; and to the credit of 
 the supporters of the drama be it said, he play- 
 ed to empty benches. He is now, I understand, 
 regularly engaged as a saint, and playing little 
 business to Mafht. 
 
 It must not be understood that I wish to con- 
 vey an idea that an actor cannot be a religious 
 man, and even a capable and devout teacher of 
 Christianity ; but then his previous Hie should be 
 strongly marked (like poor Conway's) with the 
 attributes of piety, kindness of heart, and charity 
 to all men; and Parsons, I'm afraid, if weighed 
 in such a scale, like many other parsons, would 
 be " found wanting." 
 
 At the end of the play, a tall, scrambling-look- 
 ing man with a sepulchral falsetto voice, sung 
 " Giles Scroggin's Ghost," and I recognised him 
 at once as an old acquaintance. While I was 
 manager of the circus I called in one evening at 
 the Park during the performance of " Bombas- 
 tes Furioso," and was greatly amused at the 
 eccentricities of one of the supernumeraries, and 
 the more so, as I could plainly see it annoyed 
 Hilson and Barnes. Simpson was with me, 
 and we had a hearty laugh at the expense of the 
 comedians, for they were all in the bill, and this 
 man, vithovt a name, was the only person the 
 audience appeared to notice ; and the next day 
 Simpson told me that Hilson, Barnes, and Pla- 
 cide had made a formal complaint against this
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 87 
 
 extemporaneous jester, and insisted on his not 
 being again employed. His name, I found, was 
 Rice, and not long after he 
 
 " Turn'd about, and wheel'd about, 
 And jump'd Jim Crow," 
 
 to his own profit and the wonder and delight of 
 all admirers of intellectual agility. The theatre 
 was a small brick building, well designed, but 
 wretchedly dark and disgustingly dirty, and, 
 with the exception of the beneficiary and the per- 
 sons I have named, the performance was quite 
 in keeping. I don't know if it was considered a 
 fashioiiabl-c house. There were about a hun- 
 dred persons present, and I observed a majority 
 of the ladies wore a little strip of silver cord or 
 lace round their heads, an innocent remnant of 
 national finery, I presume, and very generally 
 worn by the Swiss and German peasants, who 
 then constituted a large portion of the popula- 
 tion. 
 
 Old Drake had been a strolling manager in 
 the West of England, and some years before 
 had brought to this country a large family of 
 children, all educated to sing, dance, fight com- 
 bats, paint scenes, play the fiddle, and everything 
 else ; and by wandering through the then wilder- 
 ness, and giving entertainments at the numer- 
 ous small towns which were daily ejecting the 
 forest, he had made money by their combined 
 exertions in that primitive dramatic way. But 
 this portion of the Union had in a very few 
 years outgrown even his boys and girls, and the 
 march of improvement had marched rather be- 
 yond the point of his experience. 
 
 A few farms within a mile or two of each 
 other had become, as if by magic, flourishing 
 villages, then large towns and now magnifi- 
 cent cities, the stumps of the firmly-rooted 
 line old oaks still disputing inch by inch the 
 paving of the well-built streets. A full-grown, 
 enlightened population, kept pouring in from 
 the older States, accompanied by the million 
 skilful artisans who had been starving midst 
 the crowd of equal talent in their native coun- 
 tries, and whom Great Britain and the Conti- 
 nent of Europe could so gladly spare. 
 
 New towns must have new theatres, some- 
 times even before they have new churches, and 
 .Frankfort, Lexington, Louisville, and Cincin- 
 nati had been so adorned for several years, 
 and which now constituted the present circuit. 
 Alexander Drake had been intrusted by his 
 father with this branch of the concern, and had 
 got in debt and got on the limits, and could not 
 move out of the state till relieved by the insolv- 
 ent law; and Old Drake was at Frankfort, 
 .Kentucky, waiting for this company, to open the 
 theatre there, and they could not move for want 
 of funds. 
 
 Poor Aleck so feelingly described his painful 
 situation, that though there was very little prob- 
 ability that I should make money under the ex- 
 isting circumstances, with the remote hope of 
 giving him some assistance, I agreed to play a 
 Jew nights, to share with him after one hundred 
 and thirty dollars, a sum very unlikely to be 
 ever received, but to have half the amount of 
 two houses for the services of myself and son, 
 •which, in all probability, would cover my ex- 
 penses, and give me time to form a better judg- 
 ment of this new country. But, strange to say, 
 our business averaged over two hundred dollars, 
 .and both the benefits were crowded to overflow- 
 ing. 
 
 There is no class of persons in the world who 
 so ostentatiously exhibit their estate as the play- 
 ers. I speak of the majority. See them in pros- 
 perity with 
 
 "Rings, and things, and fine array:" 
 
 their coat is always made in the extreme of the 
 most ridiculous fashion then in vogue, and, that 
 it may be useful on the stage, generally of a 
 lighter blue, or green, or brown, than is usually 
 worn; pantaloons of some peculiar colour — blot- 
 ting-paper is a favourite tint — and a hat, either 
 very little, very big, or very something, very un- 
 like what would be seen on any head but an ac- 
 tor's; but when either garment is unseamed and 
 seated, and the brim of the hat bowed ofT, every 
 rent speaks with a "dumb mouth" of abject beg- 
 gary, when a homely garment, though thread- 
 bare, if it did not conceal the poverty, would still 
 shield the wearer from ridicule and contempt. 
 The ladies, bless them, always dress beautifully 
 when they can ; but 'tis melancholy to meet them 
 when they cannot, with lace veils and flannel 
 petticoats, artificial flowers and feathers, with 
 worsted stockings and muddy shoes. I shall 
 neither mention names nor particularly describe 
 the party I saw the first morning I went to re- 
 hearsal huddled round the fire, in what was call- 
 ed the green-room. In one corner, on the floor, 
 was a pallet-bed and some stage properties, evi- 
 dently used to make shift to cook with, such as 
 tin cups and dishes, a brass breastplate, and an 
 iron helmet half full of boiled potatoes, which, I 
 was informed, was the domestic paraphernalia 
 of the housekeeper and ladies'-dresser. She was 
 a sort of half Indian, half Meg-Merrilies-iooking 
 creature, very busily employed in roasting cof- 
 fee on a sheet of thunder, and stirring it round 
 with one of Macbeth's daggers, for "on the 
 blade and dudgeon, gouts" of rose-pink still re- 
 mained. 
 
 I soon got acquainted with the ladies and 
 gentlemen; Rice I found a very unassuming, 
 modest young man, little dreaming then that he 
 was destined to astonish the Duchess of St. Al- 
 ban's, or anybody else; he had a queer hat, very 
 much pointed down before and behind, and very 
 much cocked on one side. I perched myself on 
 a throne-chair, by the side of Mrs. Drake, who 
 was seated next the fire, on a bass drum. I 
 found her a most joyous, affable creature, full 
 of conundrums and good nature ; she made some 
 capital jokes about her peculiar position ; mar- 
 tial music — sounds by distance made more 
 sweet; and an excellent rhyme to drum, which 
 I arn very sorry I have forgotten. 
 
 When a manager ceases to pay, he soon ceas- 
 es to have any authority ; the rehearsals, there- 
 fore, did not deserve the name ; the distribution 
 of the characters the performers settled among 
 themselves, and said as much of them as suited 
 their convenience; but they were all very civil, 
 and apparently anxious to attend to my interests, 
 and the audience was esily pleased. Sam made 
 a prodigious hit ; from ten to twenty dollars, and 
 sometimes much more, would be thrown on the 
 stage during his comic singing : a tribute of ad- 
 miration not at all uncommon in those days in 
 the South and West. At Louisville, one night, 
 seven half-eagles were sprinkled amid the show- 
 er of silver which always accompanied his Af- 
 rican Melodies. Loose change is not so plenti- 
 ful in these days.
 
 88 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " The aspiring youth that fired the Ephesiarj dome 
 Outlives in fame the pious fool that raised it." 
 
 Richard the Third. 
 
 The profits arising from our engagement had 
 been distributed among the performers, and they 
 had set off for Kentucky ; and Drake had had 
 an excellent benefit, for which we had played 
 gratuitously. 
 
 It was now suggested by some of the Jirst peo- 
 ple, that if Mrs. Drake could obtain our services, 
 and give an entertainment in any place but the 
 theatre, she might be certain that all the fashion- 
 ables, who wished particularly to see my son, 
 would attend, and so give their aid towards re- 
 lieving the manager of part of the encumbrances 
 their want of patronage had occasioned. I con- 
 sented to sing a song, and Sam had no objection 
 to singing a dozen, and a Grand Olio was con- 
 cocted. Mr. and Mrs. Drake were to act Sir 
 Peter and Lady Teazle's, and Sir Adam and 
 Lady Constant's detached scenes ; Aleck to sing 
 Kitty Clover, Gregory Redtail, Love and Sau- 
 sages, and half a hundred more fashionable com- 
 ic songs; and Mrs. Drake to deliver "O'Con- 
 ner's Child," the " Scolding Wife," and half a 
 hundred more fashionable recitations. I was to 
 sing " Chit Chat for the Ladies," in the first part 
 of the entertainment, ana Sam to give his "Ne- 
 gro Melodies" with a white face, in the second ; 
 and a violin and violoncello were to constitute 
 the orchestra. Tosso was the leader, a gifted 
 musician, who played familiar airs divinely ; 
 but, being blind, his accompaniments to strange 
 melodies had to run after the voice in a pretty 
 frolicking manner, more for his own amusement 
 than any assistance he gave to the singer. 
 
 Now this hotch-potch was supposed to be 
 more attractive for a. fashionable audience than 
 the same actors would be in a wholesome play 
 and farce, with the assistance of the company, and 
 the advantages of scenery and dress. Pshaw ! 
 After due preparation, a night was chosen by 
 Mr. Drake's principal patroness, when it was 
 positively ascertained there would not be a tea- 
 party of any consequence in the whole city, and 
 the place of exhibition Mrs. Trollope's Bazar. 
 
 This is a very singular affair: built of brick- 
 in a by-street turning out of Broadway, so that, 
 fortunately, its nonsensical appearance don't ac- 
 tually interfere with the good taste displayed in 
 the simply elegant buildings just round the cor- 
 ner. 
 
 For what the original inventor intended this 
 structure, Heaven only knows; in my time it 
 has undergone a dozen alterations, at least, to 
 endeavour to make it fit for something; but its 
 first plan was so curiously contrived, that every 
 effort Yankee ingenuity could suggest to make 
 it useful has successively failed. It no doubt 
 cost a vast sum of money to erect. These fan- 
 cy buildings, which highly-imaginative ladies 
 sometimes conceive, however clearly described, 
 are very incomprehensible to the artists in bricks 
 and mortar taught only to work by rule, even 
 though the instructions may be assisted with 
 prints in perspective to copy " something like that 
 little bit" of the exterior of the Harem, or " this 
 little bit" of the Pavilion at Brighton. But Mrs. 
 Trollope's zeal to improve the taste of this young 
 common-sense population, whom she intended, 
 and fully expected, would ultimately look up to 
 her with awe and admiration, nerved her with 
 patience to surmount all the tortures of pulling 
 down and building up, till she at length succeed- 
 
 ed in getting a roof with a tin-basin-shaped : 
 dome, and a large gilt crescent on the top, of the 
 oddest-looking building that ever was invented. 
 The interior, no doubt, was an after considera- 
 tion. Two half-circular stairways met at the 
 top of six or seven steps, which led to an en- 
 trance wide enough for two persons to pass in 
 conveniently at the same time, into a large din- 
 gy-looking room : this was the Bazar. I am 
 speaking of it as I saw it for the first time. 
 There was a sort of long counter on either side, 
 and some empty shelves here and there against 
 the walls. On the left hand, near the door, an 
 elderly lady in spectacles was sitting behind a 
 little lot of dry goods, knitting either suspenders 
 or garters ; and at the farther end of the room 
 a very melancholy-looking man was employed 
 in reading, behind his share of the counter, I sup- 
 pose. He put his book down as we advanced 
 and stood up, as much as to say. " What do you 
 want to buy V I glanced at his stock in trade. 
 There were a few pieces, or, rather, remnants of 
 calico and Kentucky jean, the ends unrolled and 
 fastened to the ceiling, some ribands in the usu- 
 al pasteboard box, and the cover upside down 
 by the side of it, filled with papers of pins, and 
 needles, and cotton balls; whether he had just 
 started in business, or was about closing the con- 
 cern, it was impossible to guess, so I bought a 
 paper of pins and asked the question. 
 
 " I have only been here a week, sir," said he, 
 dolefully, "and, with the exception of the socks 
 I sold that young gentleman this morning, you 
 are the only one as 'as bought anything since I 
 opened." Sam had been to market, in conse- 
 quence of the absence of the washerwoman, 
 and had found out " this queer-looking place," 
 as he justly called it. 
 
 " Then you don't find it answer 7" said I. 
 
 " Oh dear, no, sir — very far from it," he re- 
 plied: "nothing answers that's rational in this 
 outlandish country, as Mrs. Trollope says; I 
 wish, with all my art, I'd never seen it." 
 
 " You are an Englishman, are you not 1" 
 said I. 
 
 " Yes, sir, eaven be praised ; and you is too," 
 he continued, with a very knowing look. " I re- 
 member you at the Adelphi ; I took the gallery 
 tickets there." 
 
 " Pray, had I the pleasure of your acquaint- 
 ance in London V I inquired, respectfully. 
 
 " Oh no, sir, but I knowed you was the same 
 as I knowed there as soon as I seen the play- 
 bill. But I was very intimate with John Reeve," 
 he continued, with much importance. " It was 
 him as recommended me to Rodwell ; he was 
 clerk in the same ouse as I was in afore he turn- 
 ed a hactor — Mr. , the ozheer in Cheap- 
 side : I used to weave stockins in the front cel- 
 lar at the hairy winder." 
 
 " I understand," said I : "a sort of living 
 sign." 
 
 " Why," he replied, with a look as if he didn't 
 approve of my interpretation, "it's rather con- 
 finin', to be sure; but one gets good wages, and 
 with what I earned by keeping door at night, it's 
 a plaguy sight better than setting all day in 
 this rum concern, and getting nothing but your 
 wickles." 
 
 " And is that all you get for your services V 
 I asked. 
 
 " Why, you see," said he, in a confidential 
 under-tone of voice, " the old woman thinks this 
 ere will be a great go one of these days ; but she 
 can't get the Yankees to believe in it, and they
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 89' 
 
 won't rent the stands ; so any of her own coun- 
 try as apply, she furnishes 'em with a few things, 
 and gives 'em half the profits and a cold cut, and 
 a cup o' tea, to try and get the place into notice. 
 But 1 think it's all in my eye," he continued, with 
 a cunning wink ; " she'll never be able to melerate 
 the manners of the Mericans, as she calls it : 
 d'ye sec them 'ere spitboxes 1" pointing to a row 
 filled with clean sawdust, on the outside of the 
 counter. " Well, she can't begin to persuade 
 'em to make use on 'em; they will squirt there 
 backer on one side, which teazes the old woman 
 half to death." 
 
 It was in a room of similar dimensions to this 
 that the aristocratic exhibition took place. At 
 the extreme end there was a raised platform; 
 this was permanent, and the apartment intended 
 by the founder of the building as the forum, in 
 which the mischievous outpourings of any wan- 
 dering fanatic, whose solemn yet impotent ef- 
 forts to overthrow the institutions and annihilate 
 the creeds of the older country might here, on 
 the fresh bosom of this newly-planted world, in- 
 graft the poison of their mildewed minds, dis- 
 guised in all the demoniacal decorations of our 
 language, 
 
 " And sweet religion make 
 A rhapsody of words." 
 
 A green baize curtain was fastened from the 
 ceiling across the middle of the platform, to form 
 the stage and behind tlie scenes, where we were 
 huddled together, with two chairs between us, be- 
 fore the audience arrived; there being only one 
 door to get in or out at, this was our only re- 
 source, or to parade through the fashionables 
 when time to commence. When they did come 
 they came all together, Mr. and Mrs. Trollope, 
 with their family, leading the way, and amount- 
 ing to about thirty in all, laughing and talking 
 very happily, accompanied by Tosso and the 
 bass, with some plaintive Irish melodies. Drake 
 interrupted this only expression of hilarity du- 
 ring the time I was sitting perdue behind the baize 
 by ringing a little bell, and a minute passed in 
 shuffling of feet and legs of chairs — all was breath- 
 less silence. Another tingle-dingle, and Mrs. 
 Drake appeared, her majestic form and white 
 satin train, which Drake had spread out and pla- 
 ced on the floor at its full extent, as she gracefully 
 glided through a slit in the baize, taking posses- 
 sion entirely of the stage. Three queen-like 
 courtesies to the right, the left, and centre, which 
 was entirely vacant, with the exception of the 
 doorkeeper, who stood a little in advance of his 
 station cutting and shuffling the few tickets he 
 had received in his hands, and with which he 
 gave a wh-r-r-rup ! which formed the only re- 
 sponse to the courtesies. The fact is, it was not 
 fashionable to take notice of anything; but a 
 very loud sneeze, which a young lady favoured 
 me with during the third verse of my song, caus- 
 ed a whispering titter; and the one that usually 
 follows, being interfered with by a friend or 
 pocket-handkerchief, went the wrong way, and 
 the very odd kind of noise it assumed caused a 
 general laugh, during which I finished my song, 
 and made my escape through the slit. 
 
 The first part over, Mrs. Trollope invited me 
 to the refreshment-room. Most of the gentlemen 
 I had been acquainted with before, and many of 
 the ladies I had had the pleasure of an introduc- 
 tion to, and among them the beautiful, blushing 
 young creature, who made some innocent apolo- 
 gies "for the cold in her head. Mrs. Trollope 
 gave fifty reasons why at least fifty more of her 
 
 friends, and the first people in the city, were not 
 there; but in an alter acquaintance with the 
 character of the inhabitants, I found that her 
 having anything do with it made it a wonder 
 there were any there at all, her philosophical 
 mode of going to heaven being objectionable to 
 a large portion of the American population. 
 
 She appeared delighted at this new appliance 
 of her property. 
 
 " I always told Mr. Trollope," said she, with 
 great glee, "that I should make a fortune by 
 this building, after all. A series of entertain- 
 ments of this kind must become fashionable in 
 time. My friend, Mrs. Drake, is exactly of my 
 way of thinking: we must prevail on you and 
 your dear little boy to remain with us for a week 
 or two longer." 
 
 " That will be impossible, madam," I replied. 
 " And I have been too long accustomed to a reg- 
 ular theatre to be of any use in a performance of 
 this description." 
 
 " Oh ! I beg your pardon," said she, quickly;. 
 " the ladies are all delighted with your song — 
 you must sing us another or two. And as to a 
 regular theatre, just step this way, and I'll show 
 you what I intend to do." 
 
 And away the bustling little lady went, and I 
 at her heels. 
 
 " Now you see, Mr. Cowell, I'll have the dais 
 enlarged, and made on a declivity ; and then I'll 
 have beautiful scenes painted in oil colours, so 
 that they can be washed every morning and kept 
 clean. I have a wonderfully talented French 
 painter, whom I brought with me, but the people 
 here don't appreciate him, and this will help to 
 bring him into notice. And then I'll have a hole 
 cut here," describing a square on the floor with 
 her toe; "and then a geometrical staircase for 
 the artistes to ascend perpendicularly," twirling 
 round and round her finger, " instead of having 
 to walk through the audience part of the area. 
 Or," said she, after a pause, " I'll tell you what 
 will be as well, and not so costly. I'll have 
 some canvass nailed along the ceiling, on this 
 side, to form a passage to lead to the stage ; Mr. 
 Hervien can paint it like damask, with a large 
 gold border, and it would have a fine effect !" 
 
 Fortunately, a farther description of contem- 
 plated alterations was interrupted by one of her 
 little ladies, as she appropriately called her 
 daughters, who came in a hurry to inform her 
 that the fashionables had eaten up all the cakes, 
 and she trotted off to supply the deficiency; and 
 I, recollecting the " one or two more" songs I 
 might be expected to sing, whispered to Sam to 
 follow me as soon as possible, and was sneaking 
 quietly down stairs, when I was met by my 
 friend Rogers. He then kept a dry-goods store, 
 but formerly was of the firm of Rogers and 
 Page, of Philadelphia, who had been my tailors 
 for years. 
 
 " Why, hallo! Cowell," said he, "you are not 
 going. The ladies have commissioned me to get 
 you to sing them another song." 
 
 " Oh ! certainly," said I ; " with great pleas- 
 ure. I shall be back in an instant." 
 
 I knew it was useless to refuse ; everybody 
 knows that tailors will never take no for an an- 
 swer, even when they dun you for their bill; so, 
 following the example of their customers, I lied. 
 But fearing that his perseverance might induce 
 him even to follow me to my hotel, I took shel- 
 ter in a tavern at the corner of Market-street and 
 Broadway ; had a chat with Jemmy Gibson, then 
 the proprietor, and sipped gin-and-water till the
 
 90 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 lights were extinguished in Mrs. Trollope's tur- 
 ret, and the show and all danger over. 
 
 Cincinnati bore the character of a very bad 
 theatrical town at that time; but even in the 
 sketch I have given, I have shown, I think, good 
 cause why nothing else could be expected. But 
 the first season I was acting-manager for Cald- 
 well, though we had a temporary theatre, a more 
 elegant and discerning audience could not be 
 met with in the United States ; and we had real- 
 ly fashionable, and, what was better, crowded 
 .houses every night. 
 
 The next morning we started for Kentucky. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " This is some fellow 
 "Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect 
 A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb 
 Quite from his nature. He cannot flatter, he !" 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 The regular theatre at Louisville, an excel- 
 'lent brick building, belonging to old Drake, was 
 closed ; but a cattle shed or stable had been ap- 
 propriated to that purpose, and fitted up as a tem- 
 porary stage. The yard adjoining, with the 
 board fence heightened and covered with some 
 old canvass, supported by scaffold poles to Ibrm 
 the roof, and rough seats on an ascent to the back, 
 and capable of holding about two hundred per- 
 sons, constituted the audience part of the estab- 
 lishment, the lower benches nearest the stage 
 being dignified by the name of boxes, and the 
 upper, nearest the ceiling, the pit. Here I found 
 a strolling company on a sharing scheme, at the 
 head of which was N. M. Ludlow. Nothing I 
 had ever seen in the way of theatricals could be 
 likened to this deplorable party. At Cincinnati 
 ■I thought it was as wretched a specimen as it 
 "well could be anywhere ; but there it was real- 
 ly a theatre, and the company composed of much 
 unexperienced talent : Rice and Mrs. George 
 Rowe, for instance, and Drake and his accom- 
 plished wife, were capable of holding the first 
 xank in the drama in any theatre ; but here there 
 was not one redeeming point. Who they all 
 "were, or what has become of them, Heaven only 
 
 knows ; I don't remember to have met with any 
 of them since, with the exception of the manager 
 and his lady. Hamblin had just concluded an 
 ■engagement here ; and after as formal a negoti- 
 ation as if it had been the Park Theatre, we en- 
 tered into an agreement for a few nights, I think 
 to receive forty per cent, after one hundred dol- 
 lars for six or seven performances, and half of the 
 whole receipts at each benefit. We played to 
 crowded houses. 
 
 The strict financial correctness, with the dili- 
 gence and skill displayed by Ludlow in con- 
 ducting this " poverty-struck" concern, is above 
 all praise, and gained for him the confidence of 
 Caldwell, who shortly after engaged him as his 
 agent to manage a branch of his company at 
 St. Louis and other places. This responsible 
 though subordinate position he was well quali- 
 fied to maintain, and with the powerful advanta- 
 ges of Caldwell's name and purse to support the 
 xespectability of the establishment, no matter if 
 successful or not, his "official capacity" gained 
 for him both friends and reputation. Three or 
 four years afterward he went into management 
 again on his own account with some success, 
 and ultimately formed a partnership with Sol. 
 
 Smith — a very worthy fellow, somewhat over- 
 charged with caricature fun, which is tolerated 
 on the stage more for old acquaintance' sake in 
 that part of the Union where he has been long 
 known and respected, than for any other reason 
 common sense could give. He had also been a 
 strolling manager through some small towns in 
 Alabama and Georgia, by which he had realized 
 a reputed handsome property. At that short- 
 lived time when what went for money was in- 
 trinsically of little or no value, and, of course, 
 most plentiful, a splendid theatre was built and 
 leased to them at St. Louis; and the profits of 
 their first season was immense, for, receiving 
 only money at par, or specie, and disbursing the 
 depreciated paper then generally in circulation, 
 their opportunities for a profitable exchange were 
 alone worth a little fortune. But in a theatrical 
 point of view only, the requisites that can make 
 a few tattered actors in a room or stable profita- 
 ble or respectable, are qualifications but ill cal- 
 culated to exalt or maintain what should be the 
 state of the legitimate drama. And now that 
 Caldwell will no longer serve as a check or an 
 example, the perfect prostration of the profession 
 at the South and West may be considered as 
 certain. I have just heard that they have leased 
 the Mobile Theatre, as well as that they call the 
 St. Charles at New-Orleans. 
 
 Anderson, who made his exit from Cincinnati 
 as soon as his benefit was over, I again met 
 here. He is an Englishman of good family, and 
 married Jefferson's eldest daughter. Endowed 
 with much natural and acquired talent, he can be 
 a most agreeable companion, but so eccentric is 
 his disposition, that his own and other's miseries 
 are his only jokes : he will tell of a child having 
 been run over, or something equally shocking, 
 with a smile of satisfaction ; and a piece of good 
 luck to himself or any of his friends, with a most 
 melancholy countenance. Determined to be 
 wretched and prostrate himself, he glories in 
 meeting mankind in the same situation ; and the 
 theatrical society he found at Louisville appear- 
 ed to actually intoxicate him with delight. His 
 extreme disagreeableness was most amusing to 
 me, and he was a constant visiter at my room at 
 Langhorne's, then considered the principal hotel. 
 Some five years ago, when everybody who did 
 not care where they went, went to Texas, he 
 went too ; and among the numbers I have known 
 who have tried the experiment of making a liv- 
 ing in that experimental country, he is the only 
 one I ever knew return without either person or 
 apparel being the worse for the trip ; everybody 
 else appeared as if they had slept in their hats 
 all the while they were there ; but he was water 
 proof in hat and heart, and was the same as ever; 
 and, according to his own account, he had literal- 
 ly lived all through the cholera on mushrooms of 
 his own gathering. To his experience I left the 
 selection of a boat for New-Orleans, as, in conse- 
 quence of procuring two passengers, he explained 
 that the captain would take him for less than the 
 usual charge, or, in all probability, "chalk his 
 hat," and he chose the Helen M'Gregor, Tyson, 
 master, on these favourable terms. 
 
 A few days after we became intimate, byway 
 of giving a business-like responsibility to our 
 connexion, he became the borrower of a " V," as 
 he called it, alias five dollars, which trifling ob- 
 ligation he soon increased to an "X;" but, un- 
 fortunately, my not being in the humour a day or 
 two after to add another V to his Roman numer- 
 als, " my offence was rank," and he left me, high-
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 91 
 
 ly incensed at my ungentlemanlike conduct; and 
 though we travelled on the same boat, he did not 
 even condescend to look at me, much less to 
 speak, and I lost the gratification of his sarcastic 
 pleasantries, for which there was such a glorious 
 scope in the variegated party who constituted our 
 companions. The morning after my arrival in 
 New-Orleans, before I left my bed, a yellow 
 ■woman with a cup of coffee announced a gentle- 
 man : I opened my eyes to see Mr. Anderson toss 
 ■with an air of dignity on the coverlet ten silver 
 dollars, and then coming to my side, thrust forth 
 his hand, and said, " Now, sir, I'm out of your 
 debt — shall we be friends again V 
 
 I, of course, said yes, but urged that he would 
 not inconvenience himself by an immediate pay- 
 ment. 
 
 "Sir!" said he, pompously, "take the vile 
 trash, and never name the subject. I was part- 
 ly wrong, and you mistook your man." 
 
 I laced my coffee ; he mixed himself some 
 brandy-and- water; he has never asked to bor- 
 row, and I have never offered to lend, and I 
 have had the pleasure of his acquaintance ever 
 since, and he is still the same; his well-merited, 
 continual poverty serving to make his high 
 sense of honour the more conspicuous. 
 
 As an actor, he is highly respectable in all he 
 undertakes ; and a little bit of him now and then 
 Is so delicious in a green-room, that wherever I 
 am employed, and have influence with the man- 
 agement, Anderson is sure of an engagement. 
 
 Jemmy Bland's reply, in Shakspeare's play, 
 describes him to a nicety: 
 
 " Who is this CoriolanusT' 
 
 "Who is he"?" said Jemmy, not knowing 
 -what he ought to say : " why, he's a fellow who 
 is always going about grumbling, and making 
 everybody uncomfortable." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " Oh, won't you — oh, won't you 
 Go along with me 
 Away down the river, 
 
 Through Kentucky?" — Western Ballad. 
 
 The floating palaces which now navigate the 
 Western waters, bear as little likeness to the style 
 of vessels then in use, as the manners and char- 
 acters of the majority of passengers you met 
 with then, resemble the travellers who now as- 
 semble in the magnificent saloons of the pres- 
 ent day, where all the etiquette and decorum is 
 observed of a table d'hote at a well-appointed 
 hotel. 
 
 A sketch of what is will serve, by contrast, the 
 better to convey an idea of what was considered 
 a first-rate class of boat in 1829. In speaking 
 of the Western steamers of the present day, I 
 shall only allude to that portion of the vessel 
 appropriated to the passengers, and that must 
 not be considered as identical, but an average 
 description; the Missouri, the Harry of the West, 
 and twenty others, I could name as far exceed- 
 ing, in many instances, the portrait I shall draw. 
 The saloon, or principal chamber, extends near- 
 ly the whole length of the boat, on the upper 
 deck, over the machinery and steerage, as it is 
 called — where comfortable accommodations are 
 provided for the deck-hands and deck-passen- 
 gers — terminating forward with large glazed 
 doors opening on a covered space called the 
 boiler-deck, and aft by the ladies' cabin, with 
 which it communicates by folding doors, which 
 
 are generally left open in warm weather, in the 
 daytime. The whole is lighted from above by 
 a continuous skylight, round the side of a long 
 oval, which looks as if it had been cut out from 
 the ceiling, and lifted some two feet above it 
 perpendicularly, and there supported by framed 
 glass. On either side of this carpeted and splen- 
 didly-furnished apartment are ranged the state- 
 rooms, the doors ornamented with Venitian or 
 cut-glass windows, and assisting, by their long 
 line of perspective, the general effect. These 
 small chambers usually contain two berths, 
 never more, which always look as if you were 
 the first person who had ever slept in them — 
 with curtains, moscheto-bars, toilet stands, draw- 
 ers, chairs, carpets, and all the elegant necessa- 
 ries of a cosey bedroom. Another door leads to 
 the guard, or piazza, protected with a railing on 
 the side, and covered overhead; and this forms 
 a promenade all round the boat, and joins the 
 boiler-deck, where you can lounge with your 
 cigar, and view with wonder, perhaps with re- 
 gret, if your nature is picturesque, the hourly 
 interference of untiring man with the solitude 
 of the long-remembered wilderness. 
 
 The ladies are even more carefully provided 
 for; there is usually one, and often two grand 
 pianofortes in their apartment; which I should 
 consider a positive nuisance if obliged to hear 
 them tickled to death by young beginners and 
 nurse-maids amusing themselves by making be- 
 lieve to keep the children quiet; but, Heaven 
 be praised, there is plenty of room to get out of 
 the way, this area being usually from eighty to 
 two hundred feet in length. In many of the lar- 
 ger boats double state-rooms are provided for 
 families, and young married people who are 
 afraid to sleep by themselves, with four-post bed- 
 steads, and other on-shore arrangements — such as 
 are to be found at the St. Charles's Exchange, or 
 Barnum's Hotel, or, what is better still, at home. 
 
 Now the Helen M'Gregor was a very differ- 
 ent affair, but in her day her reputation was as 
 high as anybody's or boat's. It was at night, 
 and in December, raining and making believe to 
 snow, when I arrived on board at Shipping Port, 
 some two miles below Louisville; the boat be- 
 ing very heavily laden, and drawing too much 
 water to get over the falls, and the canal was 
 not then finished — a most beautiful piece of 
 work, by-the-by; the excavation being made in 
 the solid limestone rock, gave it the appearance 
 of an enormous empty marble bath. She was 
 crowded with passengers : perhaps a hundred in 
 the cabin, and at least that number upon deck; 
 for at that time the steerage occupied the space 
 now allotted to the saloon, and was filled to over- 
 flowing with men, women, and children, chiefly 
 Irish and German labourers, with their families, 
 in dirty dishabille. This man-pejvwas furnished 
 with a stove, for warmth and domestic cooking, 
 and two large, empty shelves, one above the 
 other, all round, boarded up outside about four 
 feet high. These served for sleeping-places for 
 those who had bedding, or those who were obli- 
 ged to plank it; the remaining space above these 
 roosts was only protected from the weather by 
 tattered canvass curtains between the pillars 
 which supported the hurricane-deck, alias the 
 roof, which was spread over with a multitude of 
 cabbages, making sourkrout of themselves as 
 fast as possible, and at least fifty coops of fight- 
 ing-cocks, each in a separate apartment, with a 
 hole" in the front for his head to come through; 
 and their continual notes of defiance, mixed up
 
 92 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 •with the squalling and squeaking of women and 
 children, and the boisterous mirth or vehement 
 quarrelling of the men, in all kinds of languages, 
 altogether kicked up a rumpus that drowned 
 even the noise of the engine, which then was 
 only separated from the cabin by a thin parti- 
 tion. By-the-by, all our old poets speak of "the 
 cock, that is the herald of the morn," as if he did 
 not crow in the night! but only at the approach 
 of day, and in the daytime. I know little about 
 rural felicity in my own country; but here, in 
 America, the cocks crow whenever they think 
 proper, and always all night long, particularly on 
 board a steamboat, because there you are more 
 likely to take notice of the annoyance. 
 
 The cabin was on the lower deck, immediate- 
 ly abaft the boilers, with a small partition at the 
 stern set apart for the females. At the time 1 
 speak of, there were very kw resident American 
 merchants at New-Orleans at all, and those few 
 generally left their families at home in the North 
 and therefore the presence of woman — 
 
 " Creatine in whom excell'd 
 Whatever can to sight or thought be forin'd, 
 Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet !" 
 
 •was no restraint on naturally barbarous man, 
 and, consequently, " a trip down the river" was 
 then an uncontrolled yearly opportunity for the 
 young merchants and their clerks to go it with a 
 perfect looseness, mixed up indiscriminately with 
 "a sort of vagabonds" of all nations, who then 
 made New-Orleans their " jumping-ojf place," till 
 Texas fortunately offered superior inducements, 
 and there war and disease have bravely thinned 
 the hordes of 
 
 " Rascals, runaways, and base lackey peasants, 
 Whom their o'er-cloy'd countries vomit forth 
 To desperate venture and assured destruction." 
 
 All moral and social restraint was placed in the 
 shade — there Jack was as good as his master — and 
 never was Republicanism more practically re- 
 publicanized than it was during the twelve days 
 of confinement I passed on board this high-pres- 
 sure prison. 
 
 Some such a party I presume it was that Mrs. 
 Trollope met with, which she, no doubt innocent- 
 ly, but ignorantly, gives as a specimen of the 
 ''■domestic maimers of the Americans." Poor old 
 lady, what a mess she made of it! 
 
 There were no state-rooms, no wash-room, nor 
 even a social-hall ; and, therefore, on the guard — 
 within two inches of the level of the river, and 
 about two feet wide, with nothing to prevent 
 your falling overboard if your foot slipped, or 
 " was a little swipey" — you made your toilet, with 
 a good chunk of yellow soap on a stool, to which 
 two tin basins were chained, and alongside a 
 barrel of water. The cabin contained thirty-two 
 berths; and the two next the door Anderson had 
 secured for myself and my dear boy. In the 
 daytime these were piled up with the surplus 
 mattresses and blankets, which, at night, were 
 spread close together on the floor, and under and 
 on the dining-tables, for so many of the remain- 
 der of the passengers as were fortunate enough 
 to have precedence even in this luxury, after the 
 berths were disposed of. The remainder of the 
 party sat up, drinking, smoking, playing cards, 
 or grumbling at not being able to find a single 
 horizontal space, under cover, large enough to 
 stretch their weary limbs on; perhaps changing 
 the scene of their discontent by going on shun: 
 at a wood-pile, and putting their eyes out by 
 standing in the smoke of the signal-fire, to de- 
 
 fend themselves from the bloodthirsty attacks of 
 a million of moschetoes. 
 
 Fortunately, the weather was most delightful 
 for the season of the year, and Sam and I passed 
 most of our time on the hurricane-deck, among 
 the cabbages, leaving their fragrance behind ; and 
 the chicken-cocks, with Sam and the echoes, all 
 imitating one another. Your arrival at the 
 mouth of the Ohio is visibly announced by the 
 sudden and extraordinary discoloration of the 
 water, which gives you notice the moment you- 
 pass the threshold of the great Mississippi.. 
 From childhood familiar with all the wonders 
 of the ocean, a mental comparison with it and 
 this gigantic river was natural to me, on first 
 making its acquaintance ; and I confess it claim- 
 ed a formidable share of the awe and admiration 
 I had hitherto considered only due, as far as wa- 
 ter was concerned, to my old associate. Call it 
 the Missouri — which I wish it had been called — 
 and it measures 4490 miles in length ! and if the 
 Mississippi, 2910, and passes through more than 
 twenty degrees of latitude! 
 
 What a pity that that microscopic observer of 
 nature mi two legs, the immense Dickens, should 
 so soon have made up his mind that it wasn't fit 
 either to taste or talk of! 
 
 " Oh ! think what tales he'd have to tell" 
 
 if he, instead of taking the wrong pig by the ear, 
 had taken a trip or two up the Missouri with my 
 worthy friend Captain Dennis, of the Thames, 
 or had had the useless experience 
 
 " Of wandering youths like me." 
 
 The Upper Mississippi, as it is called — God 
 send that every friend I have on earth could be- 
 hold for even once the stupendous wonders through 
 which a portion of the navigable part of the Up- 
 per Mississippi rolls along — though the stream 
 itself might wander through the world, and be 
 likened to a hundred others, or pass unnoticed : 
 but when it joins the Missouri, or, more fitly 
 speaking, when the Missouri takes possession of 
 its course, its pure and placid character is gone 
 forever. A Bath-brick finely pulverized and 
 stirred up in a pailful of spring water may give 
 a conceived resemblance of its colour and con- 
 sistency ; and this appearance it maintains, wilh 
 an interminable and never-ceasing rush, for the 
 remainder of its journey, of more than thirteen 
 hundred miles. 
 
 Well was it named " The Fallier of Waters," 
 ibr even when the " crystal pavement,'' for a win- 
 ter month or two, suspends a portion of its navi- 
 gation, 
 
 "The whole imprison'd river growls below," 
 
 embracing in its mad career the thousands of 
 miles of waters emptied into it by the Illinois, 
 the Ohio, the Arkansas, the Red River, and the 
 innumerable smaller streams, all aiding to in- 
 crease its power. And in return, the mighty ty- 
 rant overwhelms on the instant their transparent 
 interference, and carries with it, in its turgid 
 course, its mountain-stained identity, even for 
 miles, into the Gulf of Mexico! till, in contin- 
 uous struggles for the mastery, it fades away, in 
 oil-like circles, round and round the deep, dark 
 blue of the old Atlantic. 
 
 Who the ladies were on board, I know not: 
 none were ever seen with the exception of Fanny 
 Wright; and her notorious anti-matrimonial 
 propensities, at that time, hardly gave her a claim 
 to come under that denomination. As soon as 
 our breakfast was over, which occupied an hour
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 93 
 
 and a half or more, the double row of tables, the 
 •extreme length of the cabin, consisting of a com- 
 mon mahogany one at each end, and the inter- 
 mediate space tilled up by a pile of shutters laid 
 side by side, and supported by trestles, had to be 
 three or lour times provided with venison, wild 
 ducks, geese, and turkies, and all the luxuries 
 of this o'erteeming country, and there called 
 common food. This operation ended, the origi- 
 nal Fanny would take her station at a small ta- 
 ble, near the door of the ladies' cabin, and sit and 
 write or read till late at night, with the exception 
 of the time for meals, and an hour or two of ex- 
 ercise upon the guard ; and the moment she made 
 her appearance there, without form or show of 
 ceremony, it was respectfully deserted by the 
 men till her promenade was over. The Amer- 
 icans are naturally the most unostentatiously 
 gallant people in the world. An Englishman 
 will make a long apology for not doing what he 
 should have done, and said nothing about it ; and 
 a Frenchman will upset a glass oiparfaii V amour 
 in a lady's lap, by dancing over a tea-stand to 
 hand her a bon-bon, in an attitude ! 
 
 Among the men were some most intelligent 
 and entertaining companions. A day or two 
 formed us all into little knots or parties; and I 
 was a member of a most delightful one, among 
 whom was gladly admitted, for his good-humour 
 and originality, the proprietor of the fighting 
 cocks. He was a young man, but had evident- 
 ly taken so many liberties with Time, that he, in 
 return, had honoured him with many conspicu- 
 ous marks of early favour, and milk-white hairs 
 began to dispute with his untrimned auburn locks 
 the shading of his open, manly brow. 
 
 He took a great fancy to my dear boy, and, in 
 consequence, I was high in his favour and con- 
 fidence, and he insisted on telling me a portion 
 of his history. His grandfather was a man of 
 great wealth in the Old Dominion, and a distin- 
 guished member of her councils. His father, 
 born to inherit his certain share of the property, 
 began to spend it before he actually came in pos- 
 session of his fortune, married early in life, and 
 lost his wife in giving birth to this only son ; and 
 living night and day full gallop, died of literal 
 old age at forty-five. 
 
 "The night he died," said my young friend, 
 putting a deck of marble-backed cards into his 
 pocket, with which he had just satisfactorily 
 concluded a game at old sledge, "the night 
 he died, my father called me to the side of his 
 bed. ' Washington,' said he, taking my hand in 
 his, which felt as cold and clammy as a dead 
 fish, 'Washington, you'll never be able to pay 
 off the mortgage on the property, and you'll be 
 left without a dollar.' I said nothing ; it was of 
 no use. ' Here, take my keys,' said he, ' and go 
 to the escritoir, and in the right-hand little 
 drawer you'll find — but no matter, bring the 
 drawer and all.' I did as I was told. 'Now,' 
 said he, picking out the apparatus, 'send the 
 boy to get a chicken, and I'll show you some- 
 thing I paid too dearly lor the learning — and that's 
 just it,' said the old man, with a deep sigh ; 'if 
 my father had left me nothing else, I should not 
 now leave my boy in poverty.' 1 couldn't speak, 
 for I saw the old man rub his hand across his 
 eyes, so I kept on waxing the silk as he had di- 
 rected. The boy had brought the bird — a perfect 
 picture — he didn't touch the feathers; he had 
 learned me all that, and how to hold a chicken, 
 when I wasn't bigger than your boy Sam, but 
 the heeling was the grand secret. The old gen- 
 
 tleman then trimmed and sawed the spur, and 
 spit upon the buckskin, telling me, all the time, 
 to looic on and mind what he was doing; but he 
 was so feeble the little exertion was too much, 
 and he got quite exhausted, and I made the boy 
 take the cock, while I supported father. When 
 he got through, ' There,' said he, triumphantly, 
 with a kind of squeaking chuckle, ' lhaX's the 
 way to gaff a chicken', that will beat Ike world!' 
 and fell back upon his pillow. He made the 
 boy jump when he said, that's tlte way to gaff a 
 chicken! and the steel jerked through the nig- 
 ger's hand — the blood spirted out upon the sheet; 
 and as I turned to sop it up, father's eyes were 
 full upon me, but yet he didn't look. ' Father,' I 
 said, softly, and waited, but he didn't speak: 
 1 Father !' I put my ear close to his open mouth : 
 ' Father,' I said again, but he didn't answer — 
 the old gentleman was dead. But he had showed, 
 me how to gaff a chicken-cock." 
 
 Playing at cards was the chief amusement at 
 night, and my skill only extending to a homely 
 game at whist, I was more frequently a looker 
 on than a participator. My friend Washington 
 was an adept at all short gambling games; and 
 one that 1 don't remember to have seen played 
 since, and which he boasted of having been the 
 inventor of, of course he was particularly expert 
 at. It appeared a game of chance, as simple as 
 tossing up a dollar. Two only played at it, and 
 three cards were singly dealt to each, of the same 
 value as at whist, and a trump turned up ; and 
 the opponent to the dealer might order it to be 
 turned down, and then make it another suit more 
 agreeable to his hand, or play it as it was. Of 
 course, the great point in favour of the opponent 
 to the dealer was to know if he held any trumps, 
 and how many he had. For some time luck 
 seemed to be greatly in favour of my chicken 
 friend, and the bets were doubled — trebled, and 
 he gave me a knowing, triumphant look, while 
 glancing at his pile. But suddenly there came 
 a sad reverse of fortune. 
 
 Sitting by was an apparently uninterested 
 looker-on like myself, peering over my friend's 
 hand, and marking, by his fingers stretched upon 
 the table, the number of trumps he held. The 
 eagle eye of the Virginian soon detected the vil- 
 lany, and taking out his hunting-knife — it was 
 before Bowie christened them — began paring 
 his nails with well-acted indifference, as if en- 
 tirely absorbed in the game, and laid it quietly 
 on the table without its sheath. The next hand 
 dealt him one trump, and the spy placed his 
 fore-finger on the table, which my friend instant- 
 ly chopped off! 
 
 " Hallo ! stranger, what are you about V 
 shouted the dismembered gentleman. "You 
 have cut off one of my fingers." 
 
 " I know it," said old Virginia, coolly; "and 
 if I had had more trumps, you would have had 
 less fingers." 
 
 This was considered an excellent practical 
 joke, and we all took a drink together, and I lent 
 the wounded a handkerchief to bind up his hand, 
 which I reminded him last fall, at Gallatin races, 
 that he had forgotten to return. 
 
 A lieutenant in the navy, on his way to Pen- 
 sacola to join his ship, was one of our boat- 
 mates, and belonged to the flooring committee — 
 so all were called who had to sleep on it. Two 
 ardent devotees at seven-up, finding no better 
 place late at night, while he was fast asleep 
 coiled away in his cloak, squatted on either 
 side of him", and made his shoulder their table.
 
 94 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 The continual tip, tap, as the cards were played 
 by each upon his back, rather aided his seaman- 
 like repose ; but an energetic slap by one of the 
 combatants at being "High., by thunder!" awa- 
 kened him, and looking up, one of the players, 
 slightly urging down his head, said, in a confi- 
 dential whisper, 
 
 " Hold on a minute, stranger; the game's just 
 out — I've only two to go — have twelve for game 
 in my own hand, and have got the Jack." 
 
 He, of course, accommodated them, and when 
 the game was out, he found they had been keep- 
 ing the run of it with, chalk tallied on his stand-up 
 collar. 
 
 One night, while I was getting instructed in 
 the mysteries of uker, and Sam was amusing 
 himself by building houses with the surplus 
 cards at the corner of the table, close by us was 
 a party playing poker. This was then exclu- 
 sively a high-gambling Western game, founded 
 on brag, invented, as it is said, by Henry Clay 
 when a youth; and if so, very humanely, for ei- 
 ther to win or lose, you are much sooner relieved 
 of all anxiety than by the older operation. 
 
 For the sake of the uninformed, who had bet- 
 ter know no more about it than I shall tell them, I 
 must endeavour to describe the game when play- 
 ed with twenty-five cards only, and by four per- 
 sons. 
 
 The aces are the highest denomination ; then 
 the kings, queens, Jacks, and tens ; the smaller 
 cards are not used ; those I have named are all 
 dealt out, and carefully concealed from one an- 
 other; old players pack them in their hands, and 
 peep at them as if they were afraid to trust even 
 themselves to look. The four aces, with any 
 other card, cannot be beat. Four kings, with an 
 ace, cannot be beat, because then no one can 
 have four aces; and four queens, or Jacks, or 
 tens, with an ace, are all inferior hands to the 
 kings, when so attended. But holding the cards 
 I have instanced seldom occurs when they are 
 fairly dealt; and three aces, for example, or three 
 kings, with any two of the other cards, or four 
 queens, or Jacks or tens, is called a full, and 
 with an ace, though not invincible, are consider- 
 ed very good bragging hands. The dealer makes 
 the game, or value of the beginning bet, and 
 called the ant i — in this instance it was a dollar — 
 and then everybody stakes the same amount, 
 and says, "I'm up." 
 
 It was a foggy, wretched night. Our bell was 
 kept tolling to warn other boats of our where- 
 about or to entreat direction to a landing by a 
 fire on the shore. Suddenly a most tremendous 
 concussion, as if all-powerful Nature had shut 
 his hand upon us, and crushed us all to atoms, 
 upset our cards and calculations, and a general 
 rush was made, over chairs and tables, towards 
 the doors. I found myself, on the flash of re- 
 turning thought, with my dear boy in my em- 
 brace, and Fanny Wright sitting very affection- 
 ately close at my side, with her eyes wide open, 
 in silent astonishment, as much as to say, " Have 
 you any idea what they are going to do next?' 
 and her book still in her hand. The cabin was 
 entirely cleared, or, rather, all the passengers 
 were huddled together at the entrances, with the 
 exception of one of the poker players; a gentle- 
 man in green spectacles, a gold guard-chain, long 
 and thick enough to moor a dog, and a brilliant 
 diamond breastpin: he was, apparently, quietly 
 shuffling and cutting the poker-deck for his own 
 amusement. In less time than I am telling it, 
 the swarm came laughing back, with broken 
 
 sentences of what they thought had happened, in 
 which snags, sawyers, bolts bloicn out, and boilers 
 burst, were most conspicuous. But all the harm 
 the fracas caused was fright ; the boat, in round- 
 ing to a wood-pile, had run on the point of an 
 island, and was high and dry among the first 
 year's growth of cotton-wood, which seems u> 
 guaranty a never-ending supply of fuel to feed 
 this peculiar navigation, which alone can com- 
 bat with the unceasing, serpentine, tempestuous- 
 current of the I-will-havc-my-own-xeay, glorious 
 Mississippi. 
 
 The hubbub formed a good excuse to end our 
 game, which my stupidity had made desirable 
 long before, and I took a chair beside the poker- 
 players, who, urged by the gentleman with the 
 diamond pin, again resumed their seats. It was 
 his turn to deal, and when he ended, he did not 
 lift his cards, but sat watching quietly the coun- 
 tenances of the others. The man on his left 
 hand bet ten dollars; a young lawyer, son to the 
 then Mayor of Pittsburgh, who little dreamed of 
 what his boy was about, who had hardly recov- 
 ered his shock, bet ten more ; at that time, fortu- 
 nately for him, he was unconscious of the real 
 value of his hand, and, consequently, did not be- 
 tray by his manner, as greenhorns mostly do, his 
 certainty of winning. My chicken friend" bet that 
 ten dollars and five hundred dollars better ! 
 
 " I must see that," said Green Spectacles, who 
 now took up his hand, with "lam sure to win" 
 trembling at his fingers' ends; for you couldn't 
 see his eyes through his glasses: he paused a mo- 
 ment in disappointed astonishment, and sighed 
 " I pass," and threw his cards upon the table. 
 The left-hand man bet "that five hundred dollars 
 and one thousand dollars better .'" 
 
 The young lawyer, who had had time to cal- 
 culate the power of his hand — four kings and an 
 ace — it could not be beat I but still he hesitated at 
 the impossibility, as if he thought it could — look- 
 ed at the money staked, and then his hand again, 
 and, lingeringly, put his wallet on the table, and 
 called. The left-hand man had four queens, with 
 an ace ; and Washington, the four Jacks, with an 
 ace. 
 
 " Did you ever see the like on't 1" said he, 
 good-humouredly, as he pushed the money to- 
 wards the lawyer, who, very agreeably astonish- 
 ed, pocketed his tico thousand and twenty-three 
 dollars clear! 
 
 The truth was, the cards had been put up, or 
 stocked, as it is called, by the guard-chain-man 
 while the party were off their guard, or, rather, on 
 the guard of the boat in the fog, inquiring if the 
 boiler had burst ; but the excitement of the time 
 had caused him to make a slight mistake in the 
 distribution of the hand; and young "Six-and- 
 eight-pence" got the one he had intended for him- 
 self. He was one of many who followed card 
 playing for a living, a very common occupation 
 at that time in that section of the country, but 
 not properly coming under the denomination of 
 the gentleman-sportsman, who alone depends on. 
 his superior skill. But in that pursuit, as in all 
 others, even among the players, some black-sheep 
 and black-legs will creep in, as in the present in- 
 stance. 
 
 After the actors, there is no class of persons so 
 misrepresented and abused behind their backs 
 as the professional gamblers, as they are called; 
 especially by those who sit down to bet against 
 them every night without their wives and fam- 
 ilies knowing anything about it, and who would 
 think it most praiseworthy to cheat them out of
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 95 
 
 every dollar they had, if they knew how. As in 
 my trade, the depraved and dishonourable are 
 selected as the sample of all. Bat the majority 
 are men too frequently born under similar cir- 
 cumstances with my good-hearted friend Wash- 
 ington, and left without any other resource but the 
 speed of a horse, or the courage of a cock, to ob- 
 tain wealth, in a world where to be rich is con- 
 sidered of too much importance. My way of 
 life has for years thrown me much in their soci- 
 ety, in steamboats and hotels, and as a general 
 body, for kindness of heart, liberality, and sin- 
 cerity of friendship — out of their line of business — 
 they cannot be excelled by any other set of men 
 who make making money their only mental oc- 
 cupation. 
 
 And now, wicked reader, go on shore with 
 me at Natchez " under the hill," on a Sunday 
 morning, where our jovial captain, Tyson, tied 
 up his boat for the day, for the sake of his pas- 
 sengers' enjoying a spree. He was of the race, 
 which miscalled refinement has almost made 
 extinct, who would take the grand mogul or a 
 giant by the nape of his neck and pitch him 
 overboard, to wriggle a minute and then be suck- 
 ed under the Mississippi, if he did not .behave 
 himself; and take a poor woman and her babes 
 as passengers, and nurse, feed, blanket, and 
 physic them all for nothing, and provide them 
 with employment, or put money in their pock- 
 ets till they found some way of living, all in the 
 same breath. He and Captain Shrieve were 
 selected by the government to combat with the 
 Red River Raft, and there they have met with 
 their match. But, now I think of it, you must 
 be tired of this steamboat trip, so we'll pass 
 Natchez by, and land at New- Orleans. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " Sister of joy ! thou art the child who wearest 
 Thy mother's dying smile, tender and sweet ; 
 Thy mother Autumn, for whose grave thou bearest 
 Fresh flowers, and beams like flowers, with gentle feet, 
 Disturbing not the leaves which are her winding-sheet.'' 
 
 Revolt of Islatn. 
 
 Shelley's beautiful thought applies, in its 
 fullest force, to New-Orleans, even in Decem- 
 ber; for there " Winter's savage train" is literal- 
 ly left out of the calendar, and a long summer 
 meets in luxurious greenness an early spring. 
 
 There had been a formidable rise, and the 
 river was in all its glory ; overtaking the up- 
 rooted, " unmanufactured produce of the forest," 
 and running on its own-made hill, actually above 
 the land on either side, which gave us an oppor- 
 tunity, not to be enjoyed at a low stage of water, 
 of viewing the magnificent homesteads of the 
 planters on the coast. 
 
 It was a dark and drizzly evening when we 
 arrived at New-Orleans, and landed at the foot 
 of Poydrass-street, then close to the Levee, and 
 before a wharf was built in the upper faubourg, 
 now the Second Municipality, and parcel of the 
 city. Captain Still, a harmless teacher of mu- 
 sic, but who had been an actor, and honestly 
 earned his warlike title by being so often adver- 
 tised for all the Captains, "with a song," was my 
 conductor to the Camp-street Theatre. At the 
 time I speak of, an experienced pilot, with a lan- 
 tern, could scarcely save you, in rainy weather, 
 from being knee-deep in mud in wading to the 
 Banquette, then-only curbed by the old timbers of 
 a broken- up flat-boat, doomed by the impedi- 
 
 mental current of the river never again to reach 
 the quiet spot where it was launched, 
 
 "Amid the obsolete prolixity of trees." 
 
 I have seen two mules with a dray sink in a 
 mudhole, in the now well-paved Camp-street, 
 and struggle for an hour, till hauled out by ropes, 
 with only their ears and noses above the mire to 
 assure you they were there ! 
 
 The enterprising, great Caldwell — "great will 
 I call him" — for who but he, chained down by a 
 profession which all the world is ever willing 
 to degrade, would, or could, have first attempted 
 to raise the standard of the American drama in 
 the outskirts of a city then governed by the- 
 refugees of France and Spain, and the imme- 
 diate inheritors of all their national prejudices; 
 and speaking — that apparently insurmountable, 
 obstacle to his pursuit — a different language? 
 But he was undismayed, and built the brave oUl 
 Camp : one of the prettiest of theatres, and bet- 
 ter adapted to that peculiar climate, and charac- 
 ter of the theatrical patrons, than any I have ever 
 seen. Caldwell's energies were not alone con- 
 fined behind the scenes; his prophesying was 
 listened to by the wealthy and intelligent Amer- 
 icans, and his example followed in buying and 
 improving property in the immediate neighbour- 
 hood ; and it is now admitted by all that he is the 
 actual founder of the Second Municipality, as it 
 is called, but really first in everything ; its 
 churches, hotels, squares, and well-paved, expan- 
 sive streets leaving the old city "away down 
 the river," literally out of town. With his own 
 hard-earned, handsome fortune, in 1836 he rais- 
 ed a temple to the drama on a spot where, a few- 
 years before, a swamp had been, far excelling 
 in extent and magnificence any building of the 
 kind on this continent, and comparing with ad- 
 vantage with any in the older world. At the 
 time I speak of the Camp was the only building 
 in the city lighted with gas, manufactured on 
 the premises, and superintended by an intelli- 
 gent Scotchman named Allen; and thus prac- 
 tically educated, by experimenting with an ap- 
 paratus not much larger than a cooking-stove, 
 Caldwell ultimately introduced that best of all 
 police to the whole city, and became the presi- 
 dent of the New-Orleans Gas-light and Banking- 
 Company. The destruction of the " Temple" 
 by fire on Sunday evening, the 13th of March, 
 1842, with property to the enormous amount of 
 half a million of dollars, prostrated, in all prob- 
 ability, his dramatic fortunes forever. But his 
 energetic nature is still unconsumed, and, as an 
 able member in the councils of his adopted city, 
 he still promises long to continue to witness and 
 aid her increasing prosperity. 
 
 Hamblin I found just concluding an engage- 
 ment, at the termination of which I entered 
 into a most successful one for "a few nights," 
 which, to the advantage of all parties, was re- 
 newed from week to week, till the "springtime 
 of the year" found me parting with regret from 
 a host of new-found friends. The company, 
 taken collectively, was the best by far on the 
 continent, the gentlemanly though austere na- 
 ture of Caldwell ensuring to all kindred spirits a 
 lasting and profitable employ under his liberal 
 government. Richard Russell was his acting 
 manager, with whom I formed a friendship 
 which ended with my paying the mournful cere- 
 mony of holding the corner of his pall. Miss 
 Placide, Mrs. Rowe and her husband, Hernizen, 
 Field, Old Gray, all, too, are gone; and others,
 
 96 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 which any eulogium of mine to their memory 
 would but painfully disturb the slumbering rec- 
 ollections of their numerous lamenting friends. 
 
 Mrs. Russell and her charming daughter are 
 still ornaments to the stage, the widow paying 
 the highest tribute of respect in her power to her 
 husband's memory, by still retaining his name. 
 The daughter married my worthy friend, George 
 Percy Farren, and she is now, and has been for 
 some years, the principal attraction of Ludlow 
 and Smith's company ; the expression of sincere 
 regret at her yearly departure from St. Louis 
 obliterated, in turn, by the smiles which always- 
 welcome her at New-Orleans. The amiable wom- 
 an and the talented actress were never more 
 happily blended than when nature selected her 
 as the model for both. Every one who knows 
 her loves her, the endearing freshness of child- 
 hood still remaining to adorn the well-borne du- 
 ties of the wife and mother. 
 
 It was my intention to have returned to the 
 North again by the river, and, of course, I gave 
 the Helen M'Gregor the preference as a convey- 
 ance ; but, unfortunately, or, rather, fortunately, 
 I missed my passage. I arrived at the Levee 
 with my dear boy and baggage just five minutes 
 after the boat had started, and at Memphis her 
 boiler burst, and an extraordinary number of 
 passengers were blown into eternity as she 
 shoved off from the landing. " It had been so 
 with us, had we been there ;" but " those who 
 are born to be" — " the proverb is something mustt/." 
 And in the good little ship Talma, Captain Den- 
 nis — who now sails a vessel large enough to 
 take her as a cabin passenger — after a boisterous 
 passage of twenty-eight days, we arrived at New- 
 York. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 "What neetl'st thou run so many miles about, 
 When thou may'st tell thy tale the nearest way ?" 
 Shakspeare's Richard III. 
 
 My then "sweet home" was at Philadelphia, 
 where we were joyfully welcomed the following 
 day. That summer poor Charles Gilfert died, 
 and Hackett and Hamblin became the lessees 
 of the Bowery, at which I was engaged. But 
 as my early acquaintance, Hamblin, whom I 
 had ever considered as a brother, properly ex- 
 pressed it, " friendship has nothing to do with 
 business ;" and as I was unreasonable enough 
 to believe that it should, our theatrical connex- 
 ions terminated forever at the end of three nights. 
 
 Russell had taken the Tremont Theatre, and 
 t engaged with Caldwell as his acting manager 
 at New-Orleans for the coming season, broke 
 up my establishment at the North, as we South- 
 ern gentlemem call all places where the ice 
 grows, determining to make the Far West my 
 home for the future. 
 
 Willard employed me to conduct the Rich- 
 mond Theatre for him for a month, where Cald- 
 well and young Kean were to play a few nights, 
 on their way to New-Orleans; and that job end- 
 ed, I made my route through Virginia over the 
 mountains, by the way of Charlottesville and 
 the Sulphur Springs, to meet the Ohio River 
 once more at Guyandotte. 
 
 " Memory, the bequest of the past to the pres- 
 ent and the future," urges me to linger in recol- 
 lection of this most wondrous country; but it is 
 not german to the character of this book to do 
 
 so — that is, if this book has any character at all — and 
 I must therefore pass it by, as other travellers 
 have done, for I know of none who have ever 
 noticed it! 
 
 That year I bought a pretty little farm of one 
 hundred acres in Whitewater township, Ham- 
 ilton county, Ohio, eighteen miles northwest 
 from Cincinnati, and seven due south from the 
 estate of General Harrison, then clerk of the 
 County Court ; a most amiable and kind-heart- 
 ed neighbour, he then as little dreaming as I 
 did that in ten years from that time he would 
 be the most enthusiastically popular President 
 of the United States ever known, "for a little, 
 month." What a queer world it is ! He might, 
 in all probability, have lived there for many 
 years, but for this over-excitement that was 
 heaped upon him, honoured as the defender of 
 his country in her determination to maintain the 
 position she had achieved, and pointed out in 
 his calm old age as a model for the American 
 farmer in the peaceful valley of the Miami. 
 
 To compare small things with large, I meant, 
 and had a right to believe then, that there 1 should 
 pass the remainder of my days, making my pro- 
 fession, during the winter months, a profitable 
 pastime. But it was not to be. When Caldwell 
 built his Dramatie Temple in 1836, 1 once more 
 joined his standard for the season, and was hail- 
 ed as New-Orleans knows how to welcome back 
 a favourite ; but, in the midst of our splendid 
 career, I was unexpectedly laid on a bed of sick- 
 ness for four long months; and to Doctor Ca- 
 rey, who tended my flickering chance of life 
 with all the devotedly intense anxiety a timid 
 child bestows upon an almost exhausted taper, 
 left between it and darkness, I am indebted for 
 being able now to say, I here, for the sake of 
 others, throw a veil of oblivion over my theat- 
 rical life, which individually I should wish to 
 lift. For what gate leading through life is so 
 strongly barred, even by virtue and religion — 
 putting out of the question our compelled busi- 
 ness in the world, which sometimes leaves it 
 open — where poverty, disease, and death does not 
 unhinge the doors, and, in one or all these 
 shapes, take possession of our chimney-corner, 
 and drown in unearned wretchedness the bright- 
 ness of our domestic hearth! I have endured 
 the tortures of all these, in their most terrific forms ; 
 but I am "one, in suffering all, that suffers no- 
 thing" in appearance ; an iron constitution has 
 upheld what, in a fragile one, would have been 
 sympathized with as a sensitive mind; and my 
 uncountable number of friends in the United 
 States — I shake hands with twenty-five thou- 
 sand at least every year — will bear me out in 
 the assertion, that during the varieties of fortune 
 they have known me to struggle with, " Old Joe 
 Cowcll" has always seemed the same. But, my 
 dear wicked reader! — "so must I call you now," 
 for we should by this time be on very familiar 
 terms — I have not achieved this boasted reputa- 
 tion from apathy for the miseries I have endu- 
 red : no; but from the self-satisfactory triumph 
 between myself and my nature, of proving my 
 power to conceal them. And I have often gone 
 to a theatre, and made an audience, you inclu- 
 ded, "die with laughing," when I have felt my 
 heart broken into such little pieces, that I have 
 expected to see the fragments leaking out through 
 the darns in the funny stockings I was wearing 
 for Crack. 
 
 The nature of my task, as I have already ob- 
 served, prevents me from giving even a sketch
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 97 
 
 •of the beautiful " Crescent City," as she now is; 
 but to me she must ever be most dear, as the 
 depository of one unlettered tomb, on which I 
 never 
 
 " Shall have length of days enough 
 To ruin upon remembrance with mine eyes." 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 ' It is time to close what I have to say of myself; one 
 never gets anything by egotisms, which is a species of in- 
 discretion that the public hardly ever excuses, even when 
 we are forced upon them."— J. J. Rousseau. 
 
 From the little experience I have gained while 
 making this book, I firmly believe that the main 
 difficulties an author has to encounter, in any 
 work of the same ephemeral character, is to 
 skilfully arrange a beginning and an end. A 
 well-chosen text often entreats listening for a 
 prosing sermon, and "many a dull play has 
 been saved by a good epilogue." In choosing a 
 book, too, of this class, the first and last chapters 
 are all that are ever consulted; and, in many 
 instances, all that are ever read. But I am 
 deprived of the many advantages which fiction 
 could so easily furnish, to dazzle and disarm 
 criticism, and secure applause at the close of 
 this performance, in consequence of being tied 
 down by a plain, matter-of-fact narrative, and 
 must, therefore, against my will, put an end to 
 my theatrical life, in the same uninteresting, in- 
 sipid manner in which it actually occurred. 
 The remaining chapters will therefore contain 
 as brief a detail as possible of the circumstances 
 attending my last engagement, which may be 
 considered as a very favourable picture of the 
 dramatic world as it now exists in the United 
 States. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 "In another room we found comedians shut up for having 
 made the world laugh. Said they, ' If by chance some 
 equivocal words have impressed the spectators with evil 
 thoughts, was it not rather their fault than ours V 
 
 " ' Oh !' said the devil to me, ' if they had done no more 
 than that, they should scarcely have come here ; but think 
 of their lost time, knaveries, and secret crimes ! No, it is 
 not the comedy which damns the players ; it is what passes 
 behind the scenes.' " — Quivedo's Vision of Hell. 
 
 After the destruction of the St. Charles, John 
 Greene and myself took a lease from Caldwell of 
 the Nashville Theatre, which we opened in April 
 and closed in July, 1842. Our company was 
 highly creditable on and off the stage, and we re- 
 alized all we expected in that beautiful little city, 
 with the exception of money. Mr. Buckstone and 
 Mrs. Fitzwilliam were our chief attractions, with 
 the single exception of Martin Van Buren ; he 
 very kindly visited the theatre one evening, and 
 it was filled to overflowing. I should like to 
 have engaged him, on his "own terms" for the 
 season. But Buckstone and the joyous Fanny 
 were not so successful ; their best house amount- 
 ed to two hundred and eleven dollars, and their 
 worst to thirty-eight; and we paid them half the 
 gross proceeds ! ! 
 
 The American, and the "Old Camp," then 
 used as an auction mart, were both burned down 
 — by design, no doubt — during the summer; and 
 every effort Caldwell could exert to restore the 
 Temple had totally failed, leaving New-Orleans 
 without any theatre saving the French Opera- 
 house. The proprietors at length agreed to re- 
 H 
 
 build the American, which was offered to Cald- 
 well and accepted; and the day he signed the 
 contract, his man of business, worthy George 
 Holland, sent me an offer in his name. When 
 I arrived in New-Orleans, in October, a very 
 few minutes' conversation with my friend Cald- 
 well gave me reason to believe it would be more 
 to my interest to take an engagement for the win- 
 ter at Mobile, if at that late period I could obtain 
 one. The next morning I crossed the lake, and 
 succeeded. The theatre there, Caldwell, who is 
 the proprietor, had leased for the season to 
 Messrs. De Vandel and Dumas. The former is 
 "president pro lem." of the Gas Company, and the 
 latter a celebrated restaurateur, who, having 
 made a supposed fortune by keeping an eating- 
 house and opening oysters, thought to easily in- 
 crease it by opening a theatre. Charles Fisher, 
 who is "secretary to the Gas Company," was em- 
 ployed by the "president pro tern." to select the 
 performers, his knowledge and experience in 
 theatrical matters being as notorious as that he 
 is " brotlier to the celebrated Clara Fisher." Now 
 he being very desirous of proving his friendship 
 for the Jefferson family, engaged all the imme- 
 diate descendants of the " old man" now alive, 
 and as many of the collateral branches as were 
 in want of situations. Mrs. Richardson had 
 been in Mobile the season before, and therefore 
 she was the nucleus around whom was clustered 
 her two sisters and their husbands, Messrs. Mac- 
 kenzie and "Wright ; her brother, Mr. Joseph. 
 Jefferson, and his two very clever children, and 
 her niece, Mrs. Germon, and the good man who 
 gave her that name. The whole company, in 
 consequence, were literally in the family way, 
 with the exception of Jemmy Thome and my- 
 self, Mrs. Stewart, Morton, and Hodges and his 
 lady ; so that when poor Joe Jefferson died of 
 the yellow fever, which he did on the 24th of 
 November, the theatre had to be closed for two 
 nights, for without the assistance of the chief 
 mourners we could not make a performance. 
 B)'-the-by, it should have been said before, that 
 the "president pro tern." had backed out, and 
 Jules Dumas became the "sole lessee;" but, un- 
 fortunately for him, the "secretary" had made 
 the selection before he or his stage-manager had 
 any control. 
 
 Dumas was a Frenchman born, and, while a 
 mere child, had been thrown headlong into the 
 world's vortex, and had struggled round and 
 round in every possible capacity where shrewd- 
 ness and industry were all the capital required, 
 to make money, till at last he got a little out of 
 his depth, as the manager of the Mobile Thea- 
 tre. His dramatic education had been obtained 
 by being employed for a short time by the Rav- 
 els, as a sort of prompter and interpreter, and 
 having kept the saloons with great success. But 
 even in the intricate conduct of a theatre, his su- 
 perior talent for finance saved him from the pe- 
 cuniary embarrassments which, in all probabil- 
 ity, would have prostrated an American or an 
 Englishman, surrounded by the same encum- 
 brances. Well schooled, by saloon experience, in 
 the modern propensities of dramatic life off the 
 stage, immediately opposite the theatre he had a 
 snug, quiet, well-appointed drinking-roorn, where 
 backgammon, dominoes, and other inducements 
 to conviviality might be comfortably indulged 
 in, with the advantage of unlimited credit at the 
 bar. And behind the scenes, contrary to the usu- 
 al fastidious rules in most well-regulated estab- 
 lishments, a servant was ready to procure, at a
 
 98 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 moment's notice, anything required, from a bot- 
 tle of Champagne down to a gin-cocktail. Con- 
 sequently, a large portion of each salary — some- 
 times all — was paid in liquor to most of the 
 gentlemen {including myself) beforehand; and 
 the balance, if any, it was in his power to retain 
 as a forfeit, should anyone be imprudent enough 
 to take a drop too much. And by this very in- 
 genious, tariff-like system, each actor was liable 
 to a heavy tax upon his income, without feeling 
 or considering that he was putting his earnings 
 again into the pocket of the manager. 
 
 The taste and moral wants of the audience 
 were quite as carefully provided for. Next to 
 the tavern he erected a spacious assembly-room, 
 where, two or three times a week, as policy dic- 
 tated, a ball was given, where "ladies that have 
 their toes unplagued with corns" could dance, 
 and drink iced-punch, and sip hot coffee free of 
 all expense; and gentlemen in character or with- 
 out character, or disguised in any way, even in 
 liquor, or in " happy masks that kiss fair ladies' 
 brows," by paying only one dollar for a ticket, 
 could jig away a harmless night to the ear-pier- 
 cing noise of a negro band, and fancy themselves 
 in heaven or Wapping, Paris or a lunatic asy- 
 lum, without any extra charge. It was a glori- 
 ous relaxation from the perils of the sea and toils 
 of cotton sampling for the jolly Yankee captains 
 and honest deacons' sons, whose early days had 
 passed unknowing such enjoyments. The mas- 
 ter of the ceremonies was a sleek-haired down- 
 easter, from some place " where the sun rises" — he 
 was a delicious character — a study for Dan 
 Marble — he looked so particularly out of his 
 natural element, dancing in his hat — I mean, 
 with his hat on — his coat out at elbows, and a 
 large diamond breastpin. It was a delightful 
 place for fun or philosophy. I had a free ad- 
 mission, and was there every night. 
 
 Hodges, one of the very best educated tenor 
 singers on the continent, but too lazy to assert 
 the fact, had, from some cause or other, been ap- 
 pointed by Dumas stage-manager, an office 
 which nature, habit, and inexperience rendered 
 him more unfit to sustain than any other man of 
 the same high respectability in the Union. He 
 said to me, seriously, and in a business-like man- 
 ner, one night, in the office, 
 
 " Cowell, have you ever played the comic part 
 in the Apostate?" 
 
 Of course I said, "Yes, often. But there are 
 two comic parts," said I, " Pescara and Malec. 
 Now if Thorne will do one, I'll do the other." 
 
 Unfortunately, the stars — Kirby and Jones — 
 had named these characters for themselves, or I 
 believe he would have cast the play as I dictated. 
 Whatever talent his good lady possessed, was 
 entirely obscured by her transcendent personal 
 charms — the beautiful Miss Nelson will no 
 doubt be recollected, as the "divine perfection 
 of a woman" who played with some success du- 
 ring Fawcett's stage-management at Covent Gar- 
 den. Now this lady, and Mrs. Stewart, and Mrs. 
 Richardson, were all engaged for the same line 
 of business. Mrs. Stewart and Mrs. Richardson 
 were both powerful favourites with the audience, 
 and the stage-manager very naturally believed 
 his wife was a much better actress than either 
 of them, and, by placing her continually and fa- 
 vourably before the public, hoped, in lime, to get 
 them to think as he did; but she couldn't play 
 everything ; Mrs. Richardson was, therefore, 
 kept full in sight, but Mrs. Stewart was scarcely 
 seen or heard of, Dumas was easily convinced 
 
 of the folly of paying three ladies for doing what 
 two were made sufficient to perform, and deter- 
 mined to get rid of one of them; but, unfortu- 
 nately, made an imprudent selection. 
 
 A long part was sent to Mrs. Stewart, which, 
 as was expected, she refused, or said she 
 couldn't learn in the short time required, and a 
 forfeit of a week's salary was the consequence; 
 which, being resisted, ended in a discharge. She 
 sued for the amount, and gained her suit: the 
 next week the same course was repeated, with 
 the same result. It was then agreed, mutually,, 
 to have the matter settled by arbitration. Some 
 gentlemen of high standing were chosen on both 
 sides ; and they decided in favour of the lady, 
 awarding her her salary and a benefit, according 
 to the contract, which, they agreed, had not been 
 violated on her part; but with this verdict Du- 
 mas very impolitically refused to comply. 
 
 Mrs. Stewart, though not actually bom in Mo- 
 bile — very few people are born in Moble who 
 can possibly avoid it — was, from a residence 
 there since childhood, held in the respect of a 
 most estimable citizen. The regard demanded 
 by her exemplary conduct as a daughter, wife, 
 and mother, perhaps, might cause her actual tal- 
 ent to be a little overrated; but on the honest, 
 unmolested exercise of that talent depended, not 
 only her own support — now a widow — but that 
 of an aged parent and her two orphan children j 
 the course Dumas had pursued was, therefore, 
 justly considered an insult to public opinion, in 
 selecting, as a victim to his un theatrical arrange- 
 ments, a lady so conspicuously entitled to moral 
 consideration and support. A most delicious 
 row was the consequence ; and it so fell out, that 
 it occurred on the very night that Hackett had 
 advertised that he would prove to the whole crit- 
 ical world — or, at any rate, as large a portion of 
 it as might be found in Mobile — that Kcan knew 
 nothing at all about the character of Richard the 
 Third, and Cook but very little ; but that he, 
 after long study and research, had arrived at the 
 genuine, historical, and Shaksperian meaning of 
 the part, and, on that occasion, would so deline- 
 ate it. 
 
 The house was filled as soon as the doors 
 were opened, for most of the audience rushed in 
 without paying, made a prodigious noise, broke 
 some benches and gas-fixings, and demanded a 
 free benefit for Mrs. Stewart, and the whole of her 
 salunj to be paid for the ten weeks — the period of 
 her engagement— all which Dumas was obliged 
 to agree to. The mayor made a speech, and the 
 row was over; and Hackett was left to deliver 
 himself of his great conception. Under the cir- 
 cumstances, a fair judgment couldn't be formed. 
 The little I saw of it I thought was very odd, 
 and very original, and reminded me very much 
 of his unique manner of performing Rip Van 
 Winkle. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " The best thing- in him 
 Is his complexion ; and faster than his tongue 
 Did give offence, his eye did heal it up. 
 He is not tall, yet for his years he's tall ; 
 His leg is but so so, and yet 'tis well ; 
 There was a pretty redness in his lip, 
 A little riper and more lusty red 
 
 Than that mix'd in his cheek ; 'twas but the difference 
 Between the constant red and mingled damask." 
 
 As You Like It. 
 
 Hackett may be more properly called a suc- 
 cessful dramatic merchant than an actor. He
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 99 
 
 started in business with a very small lot of goods, 
 to be sure, but their variety was suitable to many 
 markets; and, with great tact and shrewdness, he 
 made everybody believe they could not be ob- 
 tained at any other shop. 
 
 Rochefoucault says, "The only good copies 
 are those which expose the ridiculousness of bad 
 originals." But, be that as it may, with an im- 
 itation of poor old Barnes that amounted to iden- 
 tity, he made 
 
 " The two Droraios one in 'semblance," 
 
 and gained, without farther study or struggle, a 
 reputation, which many, with industry and tal- 
 ent, have wasted a lifetime in endeavouring to 
 attain. His profits were enormous. Barnes 
 went with him everywhere, caricaturing him- 
 self, to increase the effect. When this attraction 
 began to flag, who but Hackett would have 
 thought of using Colman's excellent but seldom- 
 acted play of " Who wants a Guinea 1" as a ve- 
 hicle tor introducing such a sketch of humanity 
 as Solomon Swap 1 And though whittling a 
 stick and cheating a man out of a watch are not 
 very complimentary characteristics to select for 
 a Yankee portrait, they were highly relished by 
 the audience, from being better understood than 
 Solomon Gundy's unpractical jokes and broken 
 French. Hill and Marble put in their very su- 
 perior claims to delineations of that description, 
 which interfered greatly with the original invent- 
 or ; but Hackett had an unapproachable re- 
 source in his ancestral dialect, and in Rip Van 
 Winkle he could securely say, " You can't come 
 it, judge !" 
 
 When Kean was driven from the stage, reek- 
 ing with criminality in public opinion, Hackett 
 undertook to play Richard the Third in imitation 
 of him, the high reputation he had gained as a 
 mimic giving warranty of a skilful likeness. 
 Now here was an excellent opportunity given to 
 the curiously virtuous to admire the secondhand 
 mental beauties of Kean, portrayed by a gentle- 
 man of unquestionable private worth and moral 
 deportment, without having their nicer feelings 
 shocked by the actual presence of the depraved 
 original. This must be admitted to have been 
 a clear-headed mercantile conception, but, strange 
 to say, it didn't answer. I so advertised him at 
 Baltimore sixteen years ago ; but it failed to 
 attract a house, in the first place, and the larger 
 portion of those who did come went away before 
 the exhibition was half over. In fact, Hackett, 
 from the first, looked upon the drama as an easy 
 means of acquiring wealth with very scanty 
 materials, if properly managed, and he has real- 
 ized the justness of his calculation. He still 
 holds a high place in dramatic estimation ; though 
 he thought it necessary, the winter before the 
 last, at New-Orleans, to rouse up public atten- 
 tion by a long ancestral and heraldic expose, 
 which occupied half the columns of a short-lived 
 newspaper there, to prove that, though he con- 
 descended to conduct himself like a plain, hon- 
 est, well-disposed Republican player, he was, for 
 all that, a real baron! And I'll bear witness that 
 "that is a fact;" for some six years ago, in order 
 to remove the possibility of any doubt or quib- 
 ble on the subject that might arise hereafter, he 
 actually imported his ancestor, with the title, and 
 Dutch dialect — a most gentlemanly man, and a 
 very ingenious gunsmith, with red and white 
 mustache. He died of the yellow fever, and was 
 buried at New-Orleans in the' summer of 1839 
 or 1840, and therefore Hackett is now the last of 
 
 the barons of that ilk, Bulwer's novel to the con- 
 trary notwithstanding. By-the-by, Hackett, if 
 you have not read the book I allude to, do; you 
 will find an excellent hint for a new conception 
 of Richard there. 
 
 Connor was another star : a very gentleman- 
 like specimen of well-dressed mediocrity ; not 
 good enough in anything to be bad by compari- 
 son icilh himself in anything. He possesses an 
 excellent wardrobe, and knows so well how to 
 use it, that, in consequence, he often looks the 
 character he intends to represent so excellently, 
 that I have frequently felt sorry he was obliged 
 to say anything about it. Richelieu is one of 
 the parts I allude to. I am told he plays it in 
 imitation of Forrest; but I can't believe it; he 
 reminds me very strongly of Blanchard, of the 
 Coburgh's manner of tottering about after he 
 was changed, by a slap of Harlequin's bat, to the 
 "lean and slippered Pantaloon." 
 
 Connor has his ancestors too. Some few years 
 since, at St. Louis, the papers made it to be un- 
 derstood that he had great expectancies from a 
 rich uncle. They didn't say if the old gentleman 
 was a baron or not, but went on to explain that 
 the nephew considered emolument a secondary 
 matter, and was merely acting for his own 
 amusement : an excellent way, by-the-by, of ac- 
 counting for his style. It took. He got great 
 applause, and was driven about and drenched 
 with Champagne by all the first young dry- goods 
 and grocery men in the city — they have all ta- 
 ken the benefit of the Bankrupt Act since — and 
 they made him a great house. But on his re- 
 turn, a few months afterward, the same paper, 
 by way of variety, I imagine, hinted at "pecuni- 
 ary embarrassments," " domestic claims on his in- 
 come," " disappointments :" his uncle wouldn't die, 
 I suppose; or else he had, "and made no sign" 
 in his favour ; in short, the truth leaked out that 
 he was "an honest, exceeding poor man," and 
 could lay claim to the negative virtue of sup- 
 porting an aged mother ; and the corks ceased to 
 pop, and the benefit was a comparative failure. 
 
 To secure a bumper this time (in Mobile), it 
 was advertised that a splendid silver cup would be 
 presented to him by a committee of gentlemen, who had 
 long admired his public virtue and private talent. 
 
 It answered so well, that on my night I got a 
 committee of gentlemen to take a fancy to my 
 public and private virtue, and present me with a 
 splendid tin cup. Connor had the best house; 
 but when it is taken into consideration that his 
 silver cup must have cost from eight to ten dol- 
 lars, and I only gave six bits for my tin pot, I 
 guess, in the end, we were about even. 
 
 Mrs. Sefton, the very best general actress on 
 the continent, adorned the theatre through a long 
 engagement; and Miss Mary Anne Lee, "the 
 celebrated American danseuse" and Joe Field, with 
 some pleasant new farces, proved a refreshing 
 relief. The audience were in ecstasies at her 
 attainments, and the press declared she was 
 quite equal to Ellsler. I am no judge of dan- 
 cing, and I never saw Ellsler ; but I hope it's the 
 fact; for her father was a worthy creature, and 
 a great favourite of mine, and I have known her 
 to be a very good little girl ever since she was 
 dancing in her mother's arms, and I am oldfash- 
 ioned enough to have a strong prejudice in fa- 
 vour of old acquaintances. 
 
 Dan. Marble, that most irresistibly comic soul, 
 came with his bundle of fun. He possesses that 
 extraordinary arbitrary power of making you 
 laugh whether you like it or not : no matter if
 
 100 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 you have the toothache, the headache, or the 
 heartache; the cool, quiet, deliberate nonsense, if 
 you please, with which he surrounds you, as if he 
 didn't mean to do it, would make you laugh at 
 a funeral. In my opinion, he is a much supe- 
 rior actor than he himself, or the public in gen- 
 eral, believe him to be. It is an abstract portion 
 of nature, to be sure ; but so perfect, so pure, that 
 if you are not even acquainted with the source 
 from whence the picture is drawn, you can swear 
 that it is a likeness. The pieces which he car- 
 ries on his shoulders are generally sad trash; 
 but if he could get Buckstone, or some of these 
 dramatic tacticians, to prepare two or three for 
 him, and go to London, if he did not make a pow- 
 erful impression, I will resign all claim to ad- 
 judgment in such matters. 
 
 The management, no doubt, must have looked 
 at some future point of policy when they enga- 
 ged Ludlow and Smith as stars at Mobile! Not 
 both together; that would have been too much 
 to expect ; neither do they shine to advantage in 
 the same sphere. They each have a favourite 
 round of characters ; but, strange to say, very 
 nearly the same round of characters are the fa- 
 vourites with each. In their own theatres, this 
 is very amicably arranged between them. In 
 the first place, Sol. Smith has given up the en- 
 tire range of high tragedy to Ludlow, with the 
 exceptions of Hecate and the High-priest in 
 Pizzaro ; he also retains The Three Singles, an- 
 other bit of tragedy; but. as a set-off, Ludlow is 
 permitted to play Baron Willinghurst, which he 
 makes equally melancholy, six or eight times in 
 every season ; and as he has to keep looking like 
 Ludlow, and change his dress seven times, it may 
 be justly considered a fair equivalent. Puff, in 
 the "Critic," they do turn and turn about. Sol. 
 plays Darby, and Ludlow, Nipperkin ; and they 
 both amuse themselves with the Lying Valet oc- 
 casionally. Now Smith came first ; and, not sat- 
 isfied with playing all his own pets, took a touch 
 at one of his partner's, Frederic Baron Willing- 
 hurst. I don't want to kick up a row between 
 them, but I decidedly think myself it was taking 
 rather an unfair advantage of Ludlow. They 
 are both remarkably good-looking men ; but Lud- 
 low, as the saying is, is no chicken, and though 
 he is most abstemious in his habits, particularly 
 in eating, he is getting a little clumsy for light 
 comedy, especially about the legs. What a 
 change a few years will make in a man! I re- 
 member him a perfect he-sylph in appearance. 
 Now Smith still retains his figure, and the same 
 fine, frank, joyous, elegant, yet playful deport- 
 ment that he ever had. But, then, he is extreme- 
 ly particular about his personal appearance on 
 or off the stage. I don't believe he either pads 
 or laces, but he might be suspected of doing both; 
 proud of his hair, his nails — I mean his finger- 
 nails — and when he laughs, you can count ev- 
 ery tooth he has in his head. Now, knowing his 
 superior advantage over Ludlow, and that his 
 engagement would commence immediately after 
 his was concluded, and that Ludlow must play 
 Baron Willinghurst or die, his forestalling him in 
 that part, I say it again, was very unkind. Of 
 course, 1 did not see Smith play the Baron; but 
 I saw him dressed for the first scene. His coat 
 was a little too short in the sleeves, to be sure; 
 but that could not be said of the tail ; and it was 
 very Revolutionary in its general character; 
 white trousers, which had been badly packed; a 
 very suspicious-looking hat ; and a pair of high- 
 lows without strings. 
 
 Well, as arranged by the sapient manage- 
 ment, Ludlow followed, with the Lying Valet, 
 Doctor Pangloss, She Stoops to Conquer, cut 
 down to the Humours of Young Marlow ; Nipper- 
 kin, the Duke in the Honeymoon; and on my 
 benefit night he requested me to let him play 
 Baron Willinghurst, and, as I wanted something 
 to give time for me to change my dress, I con- 
 sented, but suggested that any of his other farce 
 parts would be better, as Smith had already 
 played the Baron. 
 
 " Smith played the Baron !" said he. " Psh-a- 
 a-a-w !" 
 
 I wish I could write down his face at that 
 moment. 
 
 " Smith played the Baron ! Pshaw !" and he 
 looked as if he had swallowed a bad oyster. 
 " Smith played it"? Then that's the very reason 
 why I wish to do it myself." 
 
 And I hadn't the heart to refuse him, though 
 I knew it would keep money out of the house. 
 
 Young Vandenhoff, an infinitely better actor 
 than his father was at the same age, played to 
 empty benches for a few nights; and Sinclair 
 was mixed up with Sol. Smith, so that it was 
 hard to tell who kept the money out of the house, 
 but he proved to the few who did hear him the 
 feeble power Time, in his case, has had over 
 
 " Linked sweetness long drawn out." 
 
 But the great incident of the season was the 
 first appearance, on any stage, of Mr. Charles 
 Fisher, in the character of Dazzle, in London 
 Assurance. Gifted with a refined taste and 
 great literary acquirements, and his whole life 
 having been passed in intimate association with 
 theatricals, it was unthinkingly supposed, in 
 consequence, that he would present a more than 
 usually brilliant display of histrionic talent. A 
 large audience was assembled on the occasion, 
 but not so large as might have been expected 
 tinder the circumstances, when, in addition to 
 the high claims on public favour of the fair ben- 
 eficiary, for whom he had gallantly volunteered 
 his services, it is remembered that Mr. Fisher 
 has been a resident of Mobile for some years,, 
 both summer and winter, and universally known 
 and respected. In proof of his great popularity, 
 among other honorary distinctions may be named, 
 that he is a Mason, Odd Fellow, corresponding 
 secretary for the Jockey Club, full private in the 
 volunteer artillery, a fireman, a cowbellian, the 
 founder, and a member for life of the Can'l-get- 
 away Club, and, as I have before stated, making 
 a living as secretary to the Gas Company. Now 
 all this should, at any rate, have produced a full 
 house, but it did not. I staked half an eagle to 
 a sovereign with Joe Field, that there would be 
 six hundred dollars, and I lost my American 
 gold. 
 
 Suffering from great nervous embarrassment, 
 and his natural timidity increased by the knowl- 
 edge of how much was expected of him by the 
 overwrought anticipations of his friends, who 
 had long looked up to him as the sole dramatic 
 oracle for the State of Alabama, he became per- 
 fectly bewildered, and certainly did make a sad 
 mess of poor Dazzle. No allowance was made for 
 stage fright. A highly-finished, experienced per- 
 formance was fully expected from a critic 
 
 "Whose lash was torture, and whose praise was fame ;" 
 
 and his devotees were actually angry with him 
 because he was not himself ail that he had ex- 
 plained to them, in print and private, a good 
 player ought to be. But I see no reason why he.
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 101 
 
 might not, with a little practice, make a star at 
 any rate, if he wouldn't answer tor a regular ac- 
 tor. He has excellent requisites for the kind of 
 parts which assimilate with that he made choice 
 of for his dibut. An immense point in his favour 
 is his extremely youthful appearance, for which 
 he is chielly indebted to his hue pink complexion, 
 resembling the Jack of Hearts; with the same 
 large, soft, washed-out-blue-looking eye, and not 
 unlike him in figure when dressed in regiment- 
 als, if Jack wore a bustle. When diamonds are 
 trumps at a game at uker, I always think of Char- 
 ley, if I happen to have the left botuer guarded. 
 
 A Mr. Kirby, and Mr. G. W. Jones, " the cel- 
 ebrated delineator of American sailors," two more 
 stars, twinkled through a week or two; but if I 
 was to devote a page in giving a description of 
 their talent, it is probable by the time that page 
 is in print they will have ceased to shine, and 
 the reader would then wonder who I was talking 
 about. 
 
 A strong Frenchman — / ivon't remember his 
 name — proved the strongest attraction of the sea- 
 son. His benefit was an overflow ! while poor 
 John Barton, the Shaksperian scholar, the in- 
 nocently eccentric companion for a gentleman, 
 whose talent, wrestling with infirmity, claimed 
 the respect his private worth demanded from 
 all who knew him, took, no doubt, his farewell 
 forever of an American audience, and lost money 
 by his ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Any scrap of Locke's poetical description of modem dis- 
 coveries in the moon, which may live in the memory of the 
 reader, will be very applicable to the subject most promi- 
 nent in this chapter.— The Author. 
 
 All the engagements terminated at the end of 
 twenty weeks, which closed the season ; but a 
 few members of the company with small sala- 
 ries, who could afford to accept one third, or 
 even half of their former income, or, to speak 
 plainly, who could not afford to go without any 
 income at all, commenced a new campaign un- 
 der the management of Mrs. Richardson, instead 
 of Mr. Hodges. Madame Vestris, I believe, 
 was the first to set this fashion of petticoat gov- 
 ernment, which has been followed, with various 
 claims to popularity in this country, by Miss 
 Cushman, Miss Maywood, Miss Virginia Mo- 
 nier, Miss Clarendon, Mrs. Sefton, and now 
 Mrs. Richardson, I am grieved to say, lent her 
 name to eke out the very small demands on 
 public favour of only half a company, only half 
 paid. 
 
 I had a right to a benefit during the twenty 
 weeks, but the season had been so monopolized 
 by sometimes two and three stars at a time, that 
 I had to continue a week longer for a vacant 
 night, and as in all probability I made my last 
 appearance on that occasion, I'll reprint the bill. 
 
 "MOBILE THEATRE, 
 
 Under the management of Mrs. Richardson. 
 
 FAREWELL BENEFIT 
 
 OF 
 
 Mr. JOE COWELL, 
 
 Prior to his departure for some place, but where, 
 He don't know, nor will anybody care. 
 
 At the close of the performance, of course 
 Mr. Cowell will be called out, but if not, he will 
 go out, and have a splendid wreath thrown to him 
 
 from a corner of the second tier, and be address- 
 ed from the stage-box by one of a committee of 
 gentlemen who have long admired his private 
 worth and public services, and be presented with 
 An elegant Tin Cup ; 
 
 to which he will make an extemporaneous reply, 
 prepared for the occasion, after the manner of oth- 
 er distinguished artists. 
 
 Among the many luxuries that could be na- 
 med for both mind and body, such as old wine, 
 old books, and old boots, might be mentioned old 
 plays; but old Joe Cowell being desirous to 
 please everybody, though he may lose his ass into 
 the bargain, has made a selection of one about 
 his own age ; two, born within his recollection, 
 and another that never saw "the light of other 
 days" till now, called 
 
 Joe Short. 
 Now Joe Cowell having the Assurance — not 
 London — but of many friends, that they in- 
 tend to Meddle in his favour on this occasion, 
 begs in a Courtley manner not to Dazzle, but in- 
 form the public that his benefit will take place 
 on Friday evening, April 7th, 1843, when he 
 hopes it will not be considered Pert his recom- 
 mending the patrons of the drama to keep Cool 
 and Harkaway to the theatre, and have the Grace 
 to give him a Spanker. 
 
 The performance will commence with the first 
 and second acts of 
 
 LONDON ASSURANCE. 
 
 Sir Harcourt Courtley - Mr. Bridges. 
 
 Dazzle Mr. Ludlow. 
 
 Meddle Mr. Cowell. 
 
 Max Harkaway - - - Mr. Germon. 
 
 Charles Courtley - - Mr. Morton. 
 
 Grace Harkaway - - Mrs. Mackenzie. 
 
 Pert Mrs. Germon. 
 
 After which, 
 
 Not a Star, but a real Comet, 
 
 from somewheres so far away down east that 
 
 his childhood was passed in breaking day with 
 
 brickbats, will appear and sing 
 
 The Pizen Sarpient. 
 
 By particular desire, 
 
 OF AGE TO-MORROW. 
 
 In which Mr. Ludlow will personate 
 Seven Characters ! ! — 
 
 Maria, with a favourite song, Mrs. Richardson. 
 
 To be followed by a new farce called 
 JOE SHORT. 
 
 Principal characters by Mr. Cowell, Mr. An- 
 derton, Mr. Wright, Mrs. Mackenzie, Mrs. 
 Wright, and Mrs. Germon. 
 
 To conclude with the 
 
 WIDOW'S VICTIM. 
 
 Jeremiah Clip, with his 
 
 inimitable imitations - Mr. Cowell. 
 
 Jenny Mrs. Richardson. 
 
 The Widow - - - - Mrs. Mackenzie. 
 
 The Splendid Tin Cup! 
 will be exhibited on the day of performance, 
 and a deposite at George Cull urn's made at the 
 bar by the committee, for Cowell's friends to 
 drink to his success in a bumper .'"
 
 102 
 
 THIRTY YEARS 
 
 The resident population of Mobile is too re- 
 fined in taste, and too well acquainted with how 
 the drama ought to be conducted, to visit the 
 theatre at all, unless very superior attraction be 
 offered; and at this season of the year all stran- 
 gers are moving homeward as fast as they can. 
 with the exception of the new members of the 
 Can't-gct-away Club, and, poor fellows, their play- 
 going days were passed long ago. Now setting 
 at defiance all these disadvantages, the steward 
 of the steamboat Southerner, who had so far the 
 advantage of Dumas that he had a taste for 
 acting as well as managing, opened a new es- 
 tablishment in a large room over the Corinthian 
 — a splendid grogshop— and called it the Ameri- 
 can T7i£atre. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hodges, Sinclair, and Jemmy 
 Thorne were engaged as stars ; there were none 
 but stars employed, I believe, including the stew- 
 ard, who, unfortunately, indulged himself by giv- 
 ing his conception of Richard the Third, and got 
 hissed so heartily that he advertised his retirement 
 from dramatic life at the end of the week ; and 
 in the same paper I saw that " the American 
 Theatre was, for the future" to be under the 
 management of the pretty young woman who 
 played Grace Harkaway originally, and so very 
 badly, at the Park. 
 
 To effectively compete with such an opposi- 
 tion, Doctor Lardner was engaged at the theatre 
 to deliver a course of astronomical lectures, and, 
 in excellent taste, Mr. George Holland to ex- 
 hibit his magnificent Optical Illusions on the sane 
 evenings! 
 
 For some time past a horde of locomotive 
 penny -magazine men had been scattering their 
 real and pretended knowledge about the country, 
 dignified by the name of lectures, till, like every 
 babble fashion indiscriminately inflates, the 
 practice had become most ridiculously distend- 
 ed. Of course, the more inexplicable the sub- 
 ject of dissertation, the more attractive; and, 
 therefore, every description of mysterious hum- 
 buggery had been administered, and greedily 
 swallowed, and followed, though decency might 
 be set at defiance under the influence of exhilara- 
 ting gas, or common sense prostrated by experi- 
 mental Mesmerism. This imbecile mania pro- 
 duced some little good, at any rate. It had open- 
 ed an unexpected path for a few scientific men, 
 with a small share of worldly tact, and expensive 
 families, to find a ready money-market for their 
 hitherto unsaleable philosophical attainments. 
 The doctor was one of these; and very judi- 
 ciously took the moon by the horns, by way of 
 a bold beginning, and without much danger of 
 the numerous intellectual itinerant quacks pre- 
 suming to intrude with him 
 
 " Into the heaven of heavens !" 
 
 A very fashionable audience attended his first 
 lecture. The upper portion of the theatre was 
 kept closed on the occasion, and very prudently, 
 too, for I certainly think the gods would never 
 have sat quietly and patiently for an hour and a 
 half to hear their old acquaintance, the moon, 
 abused like a pickpocket. All that portion of 
 her early history which we usually learn in the 
 nursery — so simple, and yet so wonderful — was 
 most agreeable to hear repeated with a bit of the 
 brogue ; but devil a bit of the blarny was used to 
 describe her, now that she is found out to be a 
 hard, ill-formed, chaotic lump of disagrecableiuss, 
 *' without one good quality under heaven." 
 The doctor is such a notoriously gallant man, 
 
 too, that one would have thought her grammat- 
 ical sex would have protected her from the rude 
 and familiar manner in which he spoke of her 
 behind her back, as if she were 
 
 "Ease and unlustrous as the smoky light 
 That's fed with stinking tallow." 
 
 And, after setting the only beauty he allowed 
 her to possess (and that a borrowed one) at de- 
 fiance, with his proposed Drummond Pharos, he 
 must have the Irish impudence of Daniel O'Con- 
 nell himself if ever he looked her in the face 
 again. And her inhabitants, too, if she has any, 
 according to his account, are the most unpleas- 
 ant people on earth — neither able to walk, talk, 
 smell, see, hear, touch, taste, nor do anything 
 like other respectable persons. In short, as But- 
 ler says of some other lecturer, more than a 
 century and a half ago, 
 
 " Her secrets understood so clear, 
 That some believed he had been there ; 
 Told what her d'meter t'an inch is, 
 And proved that she's not made of green cheese." 
 
 In fact, destroying, in very commonplace prose, 
 half the charm of Moore's poetry ; and, indeed, 
 everybody's poetry ; and what is worse, and 
 cruel, annihilating, with these scientific imagin- 
 ings, the childish hope (if you please) of the poor 
 shipwrecked mariner, who cheats despair with 
 the innocent reliance on the moon's change to 
 bring relief, while clinging to life, " with one 
 plank between him and destruction." But, se- 
 riously, if all Doctor Lardner said that night is 
 really true, and any one believed that it was, 
 
 " A sadder and a wiser man 
 He rose the morrow morn." 
 
 George Holland's exhibition followed. He is 
 a man after my own heart, and thinks, with old 
 John Ford, 
 
 " Far better 'tis 
 To bless the sun, than reason why he shines." 
 
 His magic lantern was wisely introduced be- 
 tween the first and second parts of the lunatic 
 harangue, and the audience seemed to express 
 their sense of the pleasing relief by their fre- 
 quent approbation. This was as it should be; 
 this was delightful; it disturbed no innocently 
 happy belief, but brought back, in all its fresh- 
 ness, the days of our childhood — the Christmas 
 holydays, the evening at home, the hoarse mu- 
 sic of the grinding organ, and the cry of the 
 shivering Italian " Gallant ee shmv!" indistinctly 
 heard through the pattering rain. The joyous 
 preparation for its reception — the screen put 
 round the blazing fire, the large table-cloth fork- 
 ed against the wall, and the homely, moral fun, 
 never to be forgotten, of pull devil! pull baker ! 
 
 But, when you come to think of it, what a 
 strange combination to form a fashionable en- 
 tertainment in this lecturing age, in a play- 
 house, instead of the sterling comedy, supported 
 by the educated, good old actor, "all of the old- 
 en time !" The doctor labouring with scientific 
 enthusiasm to make you look with philosophic 
 apathy, instead of awe and admiration, on one 
 of the most conspicuous wonders in nature; and 
 Holland, with his show, demanding you to be 
 once more a child, to enable you to express de- 
 light at his little trifles in art. 
 
 As I wandered through Orange Grove, on my 
 way to my solitary lodgings, I looked up at 
 
 " Mine own loved light," 
 
 and could not help but regret that Locke's de- 
 scription of her had so soon been found out to
 
 PASSED AMONG THE PLAYERS. 
 
 103 
 
 be a hoax. What glorious playhouse lectures 
 he covld have made ! " with new scenery, ma- 
 chinery, dresses, and decorations;" much more 
 agreeable to listen to, and quite as easy to be- 
 lieve, as Dr. Lardner's learned suppositions. 
 
 The next day I went to New-Orleans. As I 
 had predicted before the building was completed, 
 Caldwell had been unable to maintain the Amer- 
 ican ; his system is too legitimate for these de- 
 generate days. At the end of a month he pub- 
 lished a manly valedictory, and bade farewell 
 to management forever. Dinneford, who had 
 achieved some unenviable notoriety as a theatri- 
 cal speculator at New- York, some how or anoth- 
 er became the lessee. His career, as might have 
 been expected, was of very short duration. Mrs. 
 Sefton now had the control : the company was 
 small, but her superior talent and experienced 
 energy made it respectably effective. I looked 
 in only for an instant. Connor was toddling 
 about as Richelieu, and Rowly Marks, a distin- 
 guished member of the Synagogue, with an ex- 
 traordinary large emblem of Christianity tied 
 
 round his middle, toddling after him as " Jo-o~ 
 zeph." 
 
 Ludlow and Smith had managed to scrape to- 
 gether some bricks and mortar, and built a small, 
 unpretending affair, in one corner of the ruins of 
 the Temple, and called it the St. Charles. The 
 interior is very neat and pretty. The night I 
 was there, Colonel Richard M. Johnson, the ex- 
 Vice-president of the United States, had also hon- 
 oured the theatre with his presence, but there 
 was a very .slim house, notwithstanding — very 
 few ladies; and a Quadroon ball happening on 
 the same evening, at which, it was ridiculously 
 hinted, it was the intention of the colonel to at- 
 tend, accounted for the absence of that portion 
 of the audience. . 
 
 On the day that the fanatic, Miller, said the 
 world would end, I took my departure from the 
 Balize — which is more like the last end of it 
 than any place that can be imagined — in the 
 brig Orchilla, bound to Baltimore, with her hold 
 full of pork, and a deck-load of molasses and 
 blue-bottle flies. 
 
 THE END.
 
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