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 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 OTHERS {PRINCIPALLY) JND MYSELF
 
 3. II. HAKNKS ( I S74) 
 
 [Frontispiece 

 
 FORTY YEARS ON 
 THE STAGE 
 
 OTHERS {PRINCIPALLY) AND MYSELF 
 
 BY 
 
 J. H. BARNES 
 
 LONDON 
 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, Ltd. 
 
 1914
 
 Richard Ci.ay tz Sons, Limited, 
 
 RRCNBWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET «. E. 
 AND BDNOAT. SUFFOLK.
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 J. H. BARNES (1874) 
 
 JOHN BARNES OF WATLINGTON (OXON) 
 
 J. C. M. BELLEW .... 
 
 To fact 'page 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 3 
 5 
 
 AUGUSTUS HARRIS THE ELDER (STAGE MANAGER, COVENT 
 GARDEN OPERA) ..... 
 
 MISS ADELAIDE NEILSON .... 
 
 WILLIAM TERRISS (1872) .... 
 
 MRS. WYNDHAM AND R. H. WYNDHAM (OF EDINBURGH) 
 
 MRS. SCOTT SIDDONS 
 
 H. J. (HARRY) MONTAGUE 
 
 CHARLES MATHEWS 
 
 THE ORIGINAL CAST OF " THE AMERICAN LADY " WITH 
 WHICH THE CRITERION OPENED, 1874 
 
 J. H. BARNES AS CLAUDIO (" MEASURE FOR MEASURE") 
 
 SAMUEL PHELPS 
 
 SALVINI .... 
 
 J. H. BARNES AS SERJEANT TROY 
 MADDING CROWD ") 
 
 MADAME RISTORI . 
 
 J. H. BARNES AS INGOMAR 
 
 MISS MARY ANDERSON AS GALATEA 
 
 J. H. BARNES AS PYGMALION . 
 
 (" FAR FROM THE 
 
 12 
 
 19 
 19 
 28 
 31 
 33 
 33 
 
 40 
 
 56 
 67 
 79 
 
 134 
 136 
 145 
 146 
 147
 
 VI 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 • 
 
 J. M. BARNES IN "A PRISONER FOB 1.UT." . . 150 
 
 FRED ARCHES (1885) ...... 158 
 
 CHARLES ii. E, BROOKFIELD as TRIPLET . . 155 
 
 KR8. JOHN DREW AS MRS. KALAPROP . . . 190 
 
 I'.nniN BOOTH ....... 193 
 
 J. 11. BARNES AS MICHAEL DENNIS (" HER ADVOCATE ") 205 
 
 J. II. BARNES AS HINDERS (" PROFESSOR'S LOVE STORY ") 20G 
 
 J. II. BARNES AS W.M.. DRURY LANE LODGE, NO. 2127, 
 
 i.a.m 244 
 
 J. II. BARNES AS JOHN PEERYBINGLE (" THE CRICKET ON 
 
 THE HEARTH ') . . . . . . 2G7 
 
 .1. II. BARNES IN "THE FINISHING SCHOOL" . . 269 
 
 .1. II. BARNES AS 1 ATIIER DEMPSEY (" JOHN BULL'S OTHER 
 
 ISLAND") ....... 278 
 
 J. H. BARNES AS ROEBUCK RAMSDEN (" .MAN AND SUPER- 
 MAN*) 280 
 
 .). II. BARNES AS FATHER JOSEPH (" RICHELIEU ") . 290 
 
 SIR JOHNSTON FORBES-ROBERTSON AS HAMLET AND 
 
 J. H. BARNES AS POLONIUS .... 306
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 I think I hear the reader say, " What ! another actor's 
 reminiscences ? " and I am fain to admit that there has 
 been a plentiful crop of them in the last few years. Let 
 me hasten to give my reason and ask excuse for adding 
 mine to the list. In some articles I wrote on stage 
 matters in the Nineteenth Century a few years ago, I 
 was able to say with perfect truth, " I have never been 
 interviewed. I have never inspired a paragraph. I have 
 never made speeches," and I may add I have never been 
 photographed except at the request of my manager at 
 the time. I was taught, in my early days on the stage, 
 that the actor's duty was behind the proscenium, and 
 that his best and most telling pronouncements were 
 those made when the curtain was up. In that faith I 
 have lived and worked earnestly and sincerely. It 
 is an old-fashioned and out-of-date creed in these self- 
 asserting days, but in the autumn of one's career it is 
 too late to change, and it follows as a matter of course 
 that I am not one of those who consider their lives, 
 their doings or their thoughts of general or public 
 interest. But in my forty-odd years on the stage I 
 have been brought in contact, and in a representative
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 capacity, with nearly every great artist, male and female, 
 on both sides of the Atlantic, and it is of them I propose 
 to write principally. In short, I hope to make my own 
 career a peg on which to hang impressions and anec- 
 dotes of men and women and places and circumstances 
 which can hardly fail to prove entertaining reading for 
 many, both inside and outside my own calling. I shall 
 4t nothing extenuate nor set down aught in malice " ! 
 
 First, then, to clear the ground as to myself. I was 
 born in the little old-fashioned town of Watlington, in 
 Oxfordshire, on February 26, 1850. In this quaint, 
 old-world place with its genuine Norman Church tower, 
 its genuine Tudor market-place and its " white chalk 
 mark " on the Chiltern Hills under which it nestles, I 
 passed my childhood. My mother died when I was 
 quite an infant, and under the loving care of a remarkable 
 father, and a dear sister, whom I helped to lay to rest 
 only three years ago, I led the ordinary life of 
 an English country boy. In speaking of my father as 
 " remarkable," I do not think I am over-stating my 
 case. A finer specimen of the best yeoman blood of 
 " Old England " (that blood which has done so much 
 for Britain in the past ages) never lived. Upright, 
 fearless, kindly, courteous and loving, and withal 
 humorous, he was indeed — 
 
 " A man, take him for all in all, 
 I shall not look upon his like again." 
 
 Had he lived at the right time, he might well have been 
 the original of the line in Gray's " Elegy " — 
 
 " Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast." 
 He lived respected and beloved, and died regretted by
 
 JOHN BARNES OF \\ A'l 1. 1 \< .1 i >N (oxiix) 
 
 [To face page 3
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 3 
 
 all, and it often occurs to me that, if in our last long 
 sleep, we are ever permitted to " revisit the glimpses 
 of the moon," I should rest a little easier and sleep a 
 little happier if I dare hope that my own dear son will 
 be able to remember his father in the same way that I 
 remember mine. There was plenty of grit about him, 
 too ; and often when I have found myself stubbornly 
 resisting humbug and charlatanism, of which the actor's 
 calling presents a goodly variety, I am inclined to think 
 I inherit some of my good father's characteristics in 
 that respect, and I hold to my tenets all the more 
 strongly. 
 
 So much for my father. I make no apology for the 
 enthusiasm. If the expression, " a nature's noble- 
 man," was ever justified, he was a notable instance. 
 For myself, I went to the only really fairly good school 
 there was in the neighbourhood, without any particular 
 distinction except one. I had quite an extraordinarily 
 good memory. My brother, a little older than myself, 
 had frightful trouble with his lessons. I could always 
 study mine (and be quite perfect) on the three-quarters 
 of a mile of road that lay between my home and the 
 school. One instance of this is perhaps worth relating 
 as strongly bearing on my future. Our master was 
 fond of poetry and recitations, etc., and we used to have 
 one afternoon every second week devoted to such 
 studies. I was rather known as the Reciting Boy. 
 
 On one occasion our master said he considered that 
 Milton was perhaps the finest and also the most difficult 
 blank verse to commit to memory, and he would give 
 a special prize to any boy who would commit the first 
 book of Paradise Lost to memory within the term. On
 
 i FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 the eighteenth day from the time he said it I repeated 
 the whole of the first book, and I still have the little 
 school prize book bearing this inscription on the fly- 
 leaf— 
 
 "' Presented to John Barnes as a reward for his com- 
 pliance with a wish that he should commit the first book 
 of Milton to memory — expressed by his friend and 
 
 tutor, 
 
 " Joseph Brothwood. 
 
 " Christinas, 1861." 
 
 Considering that I was then eleven and a half years 
 old it might be considered an achievement. How this 
 memory was to serve me in after years in the career I 
 was to choose for myself I shall have more than one 
 occasion to refer to. 
 
 The agricultural depression that set in in Great Britain 
 about the middle of the nineteenth century, caused by 
 so much cultivation of food products in other parts of 
 the world, and the consequent lowering of prices of the 
 home-grown articles, caught my father (amongst many 
 others) in its toils, and " times " became bad in the old 
 home, and it was advisable (indeed, necessary) for me 
 to consider what I was going to do for a living. 
 
 Those were the days of firm apprenticeships in busi- 
 ness, and, following in the footsteps of an elder brother, 
 it was arranged for me to go to London and take my 
 place in a business house. This was when I was thirteen 
 years old only. And within a few months an event 
 occurred which was destined to have an enormous 
 influence on my after life. 
 
 One Sunday morning I found myself attending the
 
 Photo] 
 
 IF. H. Fry 
 
 J. C. M. BELLEW 
 
 ( To lace page 5
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 5 
 
 service in Bloomsbury Chapel, of which the Rev. 
 J. C. M. Bellew was the pastor. Bloomsbury Chapel, 
 long since pulled down, was situated to the south-west 
 of New Oxford Street, in Bloomsbury Street, on the 
 site of what is now a clothing store, etc. Its pastor was 
 a most extraordinary man — well known as a great 
 reader on both sides of the Atlantic and in India. 
 His was undoubtedly one of the most attractive person- 
 alities conceivable. With a juvenile set of features, 
 of great character, and white hair, which lay wherever 
 he chose to shake it, and a wonderfully beautiful hand, 
 his appearance alone arrested attention. Add to this 
 a glorious voice, capable of modulation and vibration 
 to every kind of emotion and character, and the fact 
 that he was the very best reader and elocutionist that 
 I have ever heard down to to-day, and his magnetism 
 and charm may be fairly estimated. To the female 
 mind he was well-nigh irresistible, and many were the 
 stories, at the time, of the devotion of his admirers. 
 It was said that his farewell sermon, on leaving India, 
 was preached in a tent to 10,000 people, and as many 
 were on the plain outside endeavouring to catch his 
 tones and words. Certain it is that anything like his 
 power and eloquence in the reading desk and pulpit 
 I have never heard. Has any one ever considered the 
 full possibilities of some portions of the service of the 
 Anglican Church ? Some of the prayers and collects, 
 for instance ? I am the last man to advocate theatrical- 
 ism in devotion, but I am bound to say that J. C. M. 
 Bellew first opened my eyes and ears to the beauties and 
 strength of the Church service. After having heard 
 them droned out, all my boyhood days, by the ordinary
 
 <5 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 country parson, his reading came as a revelation to mc 
 and arrested my attention as nothing had ever done 
 before. It is, I believe, a fact that Bellew would have 
 been an actor (as his son Kyrle eventually became), 
 but unfortunately the graces of his person did not 
 extend to his nether limbs, which were painfully paren- 
 thetic in their conformation. In his public readings, 
 which were immensely popular in whatever part of the 
 world they were heard, this part of his anatomy was 
 unexposed. Of his dramatic skill it may be noted that 
 he coached Charles Fechter, the French romantic actor, 
 in the part of Hamlet (a performance which Fechter 
 made world-famous), and I once saw Bellew make the 
 curious experiment of reading the whole of that play 
 (every part) with all the characters performed, in dumb 
 show, by a company of trained artists. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the attractiveness of his public 
 readings, and I say, without any hesitation, he has never 
 been equalled. I just knew, and heard several times, 
 the great Charles Dickens read, but he did not compare 
 with Bellew, even in reading his own works, except in 
 the one notable instance of the murder of Nancy Sikes, 
 in which he was incomparable. In comedy, tragedy, 
 dialect, humour, or pathos, Bellew was facile princeps. 
 
 From all this it may be gathered how completely 
 he compelled my admiration and swayed my under- 
 standing when I first heard him on that eventful Sunday 
 morning in church. He rekindled in my mind all the 
 love of my schooldays for the study of the poets, and 
 relighted a spark which, though it smouldered for a 
 long time, was destined to burst into open flame, and 
 burn on for all my days.
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 7 
 
 In the early seventies Bellew undertook a reading 
 tour in the United States, which was eminently success- 
 ful, but whether the climate disagreed with him, or the 
 work was too hard, or from natural causes, I have no 
 means of knowing, but he returned a jaded, sallow, 
 worn-out-looking man, and died shortly afterwards. 
 Nor can I speak of him as a religionist, pure and simple ! 
 Coincidentally with his great artistic and financial suc- 
 cess as a public reader he " verted " to Roman Catholi- 
 cism. How fervently he followed up that faith I know 
 not. I attended every Bellew reading I could ever get 
 to, and went to as many theatres as I could afford for 
 years, and became familiar, as any outsider could, with 
 the men and women and the affairs of the stage, and as 
 a matter of course, was an ambitious mimic of much 
 that I saw and heard ; but my father, to whom I 
 broached my ambition, would not hear of the stage as 
 an occupation (there was an enormous amount of preju- 
 dice against it in those days). So for eight years I was 
 destined to continue in a business which was distasteful 
 and irksome to me, with only the annual relaxation of 
 a holiday in my old home. 
 
 Whilst on one of these holidays as incident occurred 
 which has often struck me since as being distinctly 
 humorous. I went with my father to Thame (in 
 Oxfordshire) on market day. As we alighted from the 
 old-fashioned gig (of those days) in the yard of " The 
 Spread Eagle " Inn, the ostler came to our horse's 
 head. He had a most remarkable face, a Bardolphian 
 nose of huge proportions, a complexion in which all the 
 hues of the rainbow were represented, and eyes which 
 spoke all too plainly of stronger liquid refreshment than
 
 8 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 water. My father (to whom he was an old acquaintance) 
 said : " Johnnie ! It has taken a lot of money to paint 
 your nose that nice colour, hasn't it ? " He replied, 
 without a moment's hesitation : " E'es, sur, so it 'ave ! 
 but if I could affoord it I'd 'ave 'im varnished neow." 
 
 In 1868 came the first great grief of my life. I lost 
 my good father, and it seemed at the time that I could 
 never get over it. But " Time, the healer," came to 
 my aid, and my longing for a change of occupation re- 
 asserted itself when I was my own master. For the 
 next three years I worked on in business all day and 
 studied hard well on into the middle of most of the 
 nights, and October 22, 1870, I made my first public 
 appearance as a reader in Westbourne Hall, Bayswater. 
 I gave another reading on December 14, 1870, at the 
 same place, and yet another on November 16, 1871. I 
 received considerable Press encouragement. 
 
 At the time of my third venture I had got, through a 
 friend, the merest speaking acquaintance with Dion 
 Boucicault the elder and, with the temerity of the 
 amateur, I wrote to ask him to attend with a view to 
 judging of my qualification for the stage. Needless to 
 say, he did not do so, but he wrote me a very pleasant 
 and characteristic letter in which he said : " Readings 
 give little or no proof of dramatic ability. A good 
 reader may be a very bad actor, and vice versa. If you 
 are fully bent on going on the stage begin at the bottom 
 rung of the ladder and work up like an honest man," 
 and he added a sentence which, as a precept, I have 
 never lost sight of to this day : " Depend upon it, 
 experience is the only master, and the public are the 
 only judges."
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 9 
 
 My last years in business had been quite successful, 
 and I was mentioned for a good position in an enter- 
 prise, then under consideration, which has turned out 
 amazingly well. It is now one of London's biggest 
 monuments of business success, and has resulted in a 
 baronetcy for the manager, with whom I might have 
 been associated. An old proverb says, " You can't 
 burn the candle at both ends," and the strenuous life 
 I was leading began to " tell its tale," and I was advised 
 by a kind old doctor, who knew me well, that if I did 
 not give up one employment or the other I should break 
 down utterly, or lose my reason, and one day when 
 suffering from acute neuralgia, I resented an insulting 
 remark made by an officious " jack in office," and finally 
 resigned my position and started out to try my fortunes 
 in the walk of life for which I had been hungering for 
 so long a time. A stroke of luck befell me almost at 
 once ! I had an acquaintance named Henry Melton, 
 who had been the life-long friend and was the executor 
 of the will of Walter Montgomery, the brilliant actor 
 and elocutionist of world-wide renown, who shot him- 
 self in London on account of a most beautiful but worth- 
 less woman some time before this. Melton introduced 
 me to Mr. H. L. Batemen, manager of the Lyceum, who 
 was about to produce The Bells, in which Sir Henry 
 (then Mr.)]Irving, made his enormous success and stepped 
 into stellar rank. To my great joy, Mr. Bateman 
 gave me an opportunity to make my first appearance 
 on the regular stage as Mr. Irving's double in what 
 was to him (and the theatre) a great and eventful 
 night. And, for good or ill, I was an actor ! This was 
 on the night of November 25, 1871.
 
 II 
 
 Few people know how momentous, in more ways than 
 one, was the first night of The Bells. Mr. Bateman, an 
 American manager settled in London, had already 
 launched his eldest daughter, Kate — the present re- 
 spected and esteemed Mrs. Crowe — as a successful star 
 in England through the medium of the play Leah, the 
 Forsaken, and, with a limited capital, had taken the 
 Lyceum, which had been a failure and closed for a long 
 time, with the hope of making another daughter, Isabel, 
 also a great feature. He rather relied on a fine character 
 actor of the day, George Belmore, for his male attrac- 
 tion. He had engaged a good all-round company, 
 though, including Irving. The first play — Fanchette — 
 failed disastrously, and was followed by a version of 
 TJie Pickwick Papers, prepared by James Albery. 
 In it Belmore made only a moderate success as Sam 
 Weller. Irving succeeded greatly as Alfred Jingle, but 
 again the play failed to attract the public. The Bells, 
 a version of Le Juij Polonais, adapted by a London 
 solicitor, Leopold Lewis, was put up as a last and forlorn 
 hope. Had it failed the theatre would have closed. It 
 succeeded from the very first line. Irving scored a 
 veritable triumph from which he never looked back, and 
 the Lyceum started on a tide of prosperity the like of 
 which it had scarcely ever known before. Pickwick 
 
 10
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 11 
 
 was played as an after-piece the first night of The Bells 
 and for many weeks afterwards, but Irving soon re- 
 signed the part of Jingle to Charles Warner and confined 
 his efforts to the conscience-stricken Mathias only. I 
 shall have occasion to refer to Irving more fully in the 
 course of these reminiscences, but an incident of this 
 time is, I think, worthy of record. 
 
 After one of the rehearsals of The Bells, I found myself 
 (I don't know how) in conversation with Bateman, 
 Lewis, and Irving, when some topic of the politics of 
 the day was being discussed. As showing how one man, 
 destined to rise, seems to smell out another of a similar 
 character, I remember, very distinctly, Irving saying, 
 in his most telling manner, " Ah ! I fancy we shall hear 
 a good deal more of this chap Joe Chamberlain from Bir- 
 mingham before we have done with him." Be it re- 
 membered that at that time Irving himself had not 
 played The Bells and Joseph Chamberlain was known 
 more as a very successful and popular Mayor of Bir- 
 mingham than as the brilliant statesman who was 
 destined to take so prominent a part in the affairs of 
 Great Britain. 
 
 Consequent on Irving's success, Bateman became his 
 very enthusiastic champion, and voiced his excellences 
 as an artist on every possible occasion in language of 
 great force, liberally embellished with his own picturesque 
 vocabulary. Indeed, it became so much a mania with 
 him that a few years later (1875), at a banquet given to 
 celebrate the 100th night of Irving's performance of 
 Hamlet, he bitterly resented some remarks of Charles 
 Dickens, jun., in which the latter referred to the then 
 impending visit of the great Italian tragedian, Salvini,
 
 12 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 to London, and claimed a generous reception for him. 
 Batcman regarded it as quite a personal and almost 
 international affront, which was odd, considering his 
 own nationality. However, Salvini came and set London 
 wild with his Othello for one season; but his great suc- 
 cess did not extend to a second. 
 
 Bateman was, withal, a kind friend to me, and soon 
 advised me that as The Bells was " in for a run," I was 
 not doing myself much good in continuing in a negative 
 non-speaking part, and so I sought out H. J. Montague, 
 whom I had met on one or two occasions, and who was 
 then the manager of the Globe in Newcastle Street, 
 Strand — long since swept away by the radical street 
 improvements of London which have given us Kings- 
 way and Aldwych. 
 
 Montague offered me a small engagement, and I played 
 my first speaking part under his management on De- 
 cember 18, 1871, in the farce My Wife's Out, with E. W. 
 Garden (still happily with us) and Misses Nellie and 
 Maria Harris — daughters of Augustus Harris — (a very 
 able man), stage manager of Covent Garden Opera 
 under Gye, and sisters of him who afterwards became 
 Sir Augustus Harris, manager of Drury Lane. A candid, 
 valued friend told me years afterwards that, witnessing 
 my effort at that time, he came to the conclusion that 
 I had not only mistaken my vocation, but was a " stick " 
 of a very pronounced kind. 
 
 A book might be written about the career of Montague. 
 Indeed, it is almost a wonder it was never done. What 
 can I say that will not appear like " painting the lily " 
 or " gilding refined gold " ? His dearest friend would 
 not have spoken of Harry Montague as a great actor,
 
 AUGUSTUS HARRIS THE ELDER 
 
 (Stage Manager, Covent Garden Opera) 
 
 [To face page 12
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 13 
 
 and yet he had a vogue which many a great actor might 
 have envied, and filled a niche in which he has not to 
 this day been replaced. Coming into prominence with 
 the so-called " tea-cup and saucer school " of Tom 
 Robertson, he had a method and a charm which were 
 all his own. He was not really handsome, though he 
 had a most pleasing face and a graceful, lithe figure, 
 but he had the delightful attribute, both on and off the 
 stage, of making it appear that the person he was 
 addressing was the one of all the earth in whom he was 
 most interested. No one has ever spoken the pleasant, 
 tender lines of modern comedy or interested an audience 
 in the purely jeune premier role as he did. One reads a 
 good deal in these days of " matinee idols." Com- 
 paratively speaking, Montague was a " matinSe god." 
 The younger female population of two countries seemed 
 to consider that the " sun rose and set " in his one 
 pleasant personality. 
 
 After enjoying unbounded popularity in England, he 
 journeyed to New York and took his place in the company 
 at Wallack's Theatre (then at 13th Street and Broad- 
 way). There his triumphs, artistic and personal, were 
 renewed and, if possible, redoubled. Indeed, I have 
 myself, when in his company, been a witness of circum- 
 stances where his social popularity was positively em- 
 barrassing. He never returned to England, after his 
 success in New York, where he made a handsome income 
 for some years. Alas ! with a physique never too robust, 
 he scarcely led the life which makes for longevity. 
 With a disposition to consumption, he broke a blood- 
 vessel and died quite suddenly in San Francisco in what 
 should have been the prime of life. This was in 1878.
 
 ii FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 His Funeral in the " City of the Golden Gate " is almost 
 historic, and partook <>f the nature of a State or even 
 Federal function. His body was brought to New York 
 and buried from " The Little Church Round the Corner," 
 where Dr. Houghton, one of his dearest and most loving 
 friends, spoke the last sympathetic words to waft him 
 on his final journey, and where a most beautiful stained 
 glass window is erected to his memory by his admirers. 
 This is an excellent reproduction of his features. He 
 appears in the costume of the monk's disguise worn by 
 Romeo in the Ballroom scene of Romeo and Juliet. This 
 part, by the by, he never played, except in the Balcony 
 scene, once, for a benefit in London. The part was one 
 of a greater depth than he could tackle successfully. 
 Poor Harry Montague ! And yet why " poor " ? To 
 have given pleasure to countless thousands and to be 
 remembered affectionately by a large section of the 
 public of two hemispheres is not to have lived in 
 vain ! 
 
 I have spoken of " The Little Church Round the 
 Corner." To those who have not read Joseph Jefferson's 
 biography, where the incident is so charmingly de- 
 scribed, it may be interesting to learn how the church 
 got that name. An actor, a great friend of Jefferson's, 
 died, and Jefferson applied to the pastor of a certain 
 fashionable church in New York to conduct his funeral. 
 This gentleman demurred at the fact of burying an 
 actor (such was the prejudice of those days), but, said 
 he, " There is a little church round the corner where you 
 might be able to arrange it." Jefferson withdrew, 
 saying, " Then God bless the little church round the 
 corner." The story got abroad, and ever since that
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 15 
 
 time the church has gone by that name. It is endeared 
 to members of the actor's calling by many circum- 
 stances. Its real name is " The Church of the Trans- 
 figuration." It stands in 29th Street, just out of 5th 
 Avenue. The pastor, for many years (the Rev. Dr. 
 Houghton), understood us and our work. He sympa- 
 thised with our aspirations, as with our heart-breakings 
 and calamities, and here, just within a few steps of the 
 " busy haunts of men," there was always a welcome and 
 quiet seclusion of rest and peace ; and here so many of 
 our comrades, male and female, have been wished a 
 loving farewell when starting on their great final tour — 
 a farewell wherein their failings have been forgotten and 
 their merits remembered by one who knew and loved us 
 all, as equal members of the one great family it was his 
 work to guide. 
 
 I stayed with Montague the whole of the season and 
 got a chance of playing two or three small original parts, 
 and also some important ones as understudies (for which 
 I was always ready), and it was a pleasant little feather 
 in my cap that Montague was rather annoyed that I did 
 not remain with him for the following season. About 
 this time also I got a flattering and tempting offer to 
 return to my former business life, but I had " smelt the 
 powder " — the battle-cry rang in my ears, and work, 
 work, work in my chosen profession was the absolute 
 " breath of my nostrils." 
 
 After a reading in my native place (June 28, 1872) for 
 a local charity under the auspices of the vicar of the 
 parish and some other local " big wigs," I joined the 
 company engaged for the first opening of the Londes- 
 borough, Scarborough (July 8, 1872), as first walking
 
 10 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 gentleman, Those were the days of strict lines of 
 business and first walking gentleman was an appre- 
 ciable advance for me. At this Fashionable Yorkshire 
 
 Seaside resort work was very hard indeed, but never 
 too hard for me. The theatre was opened by a Mr. 
 Waddington, a wealthy pianoforte dealer of York. We 
 had to change the bill two and three times every week, 
 and played usually a farce, a comedy, and a burlesque 
 every night, with a drama on Saturdays. Business 
 was fair only. In the company was a gentleman making 
 his first appearance on the stage, named H. G. Blythe, 
 son of an Indian judge, an Oxford graduate. He after- 
 wards crossed to the United States, changed his name, 
 and was the well-known actor, quite fair dramatist, 
 and quite brilliant humorist, known as Maurice Barry- 
 more, who married that capital actress Georgie Drew, 
 daughter of Mrs. John Drew, the elder, and sister of 
 the present popular John Drew. Poor Barry's sad 
 end was regretted by all. He had many friends and 
 few, if any, enemies. 
 
 Our leading man at Scarborough was Charles Van- 
 denhoff, son of George Vandenhoff, who settled in 
 Boston, U.S.A., as a teacher of elocution, etc. Rather 
 a dramatic episode arose in this connection. When 
 Charles was becoming well known on the stage, his 
 father wrote a public letter, stating that " only two men 
 had any right to use the historical theatrical name of 
 Vandenhoff — himself and Henry Vandenhoff, then 
 residing at Liverpool." This was, strictly speaking, 
 true, but certainly cruel and in questionable taste, 
 Charley felt it very, very bitterly. He wrote a digni- 
 fied and intensely human letter in reply, in which he
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 17 
 
 signed himself " the natural son of a most unnatural 
 father," but, in a way, it seemed to embitter his whole 
 life. Charles Vandenhoff was a good all-round actor, 
 a little undersized, perhaps, thoroughly experienced, 
 just a trifle stagey, but steady and sound ; a loyal friend 
 and a good fellow. A strong friendship which began at 
 Scarborough between Barrymore and him ended only 
 with their respective lives. 
 
 Only one " star " came to us during the season — 
 that capital character actor, John Clarke, and he brought 
 with him his bride, to whom he had been married the 
 week before at Yarmouth, a pretty creature and pleasant 
 actress — Miss Furtado (long at the Adelphi, London). 
 
 Two rather funny incidents occurred during this 
 season, the first one to myself. I was playing Alphonse 
 de Grandier in Delicate Ground, a charming one-act 
 play taken from the same French source as Sardou used 
 in recent years as the basis of Divorgons. Alphonse 
 has to enter very nervously, calling on the wife of 
 Citizen Sanfroid, disguised as a pack-man, with his 
 box of wares, as if for sale. Citizen Sangfroid says, 
 " Sit down, at all events ; your legs seem giving way 
 under you." I entered as nervously as I could and was 
 received with such a shout of laughter that I was dis- 
 posed to plume myself on the possession of, till then, 
 undiscovered comedy powers. Alas ! I was soon un- 
 deceived. A little later in the scene I discovered I had 
 carried on a box labelled at the end showing the audience, 
 11 Epps' Homoeopathic Cocoa," which the property man 
 had dodged up in a hurry for the purpose without 
 noticing the aforesaid label. As the action of the play 
 takes place at the period of the French Revolution, it 
 c
 
 is FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 can be readily imagined the audience found good cause 
 for merriment. 
 
 The other accident was equally unfortunate. The 
 play was The Corsican Brothers one Saturday night. 
 The trick swords had been telegraphed for from London, 
 but had not arrived, and the manager promised the 
 actors that if they would file their own swords so that 
 they would break at the right moment he would indem- 
 nify them for the loss. They did so. At the given 
 moment in the celebrated duel scene where Mont- 
 giron said, " This fight cannot proceed ; Monsieur de 
 Chateau Renaud's sword is broken " — (as it was) — 
 " the weapons are not equal ; " Vandenhoff, as Fabian 
 di Franchi replied, " It shall proceed. I have made 
 them equal." Montgiron : "Implacable?" Fabian 
 di Franchi : "As destiny ! " and he essayed to break 
 his sword over his knee ; it bent double. He repeated, 
 "As destiny" and tried to break it the other way; 
 again it bent double. What it was made of Heaven 
 alone knows, but it seemed as if it could be tied in a 
 knot without breaking, and poor Fabian had to finish 
 the fight with the butt end of Chateau Renaud's sword, 
 amid the derisive and amused shouts of the audience.
 
 10 
 
 M « 
 
 a t 
 
 H 2. 
 p
 
 Ill 
 
 The autumn of 1872 found me back in London at 
 Drury Lane in Andrew Halliday's version of Sir Walter 
 Scott's romance, " The Lady of the Lake." 
 
 The manager of the theatre was F. B. Chatterton, 
 the gentleman who gave out the oft -quoted statement 
 that " Shakespeare spelt ruin and Byron bankruptcy," 
 which was pretty nearly true as he understood it ; but, 
 in the words of a well-known saying, " There were 
 others." 
 
 Halliday seemed, at that time, to have a " corner " 
 in Scott's works, and produced one nearly every year. 
 I am afraid this one was not a good play, but it had a 
 very successful feature, namely, a gorgeously painted 
 panorama of Loch Katrine, by that scenic master, 
 William Beverley. The cast was a strong one — James 
 Fernandez (Fitzjames), Henry Sinclair (Roderick Dhu) 
 J. Dewhurst (Douglas), William Terriss (Malcolm 
 Graeme), and our leading lady was a beautiful and 
 charming creature, Miss Maria B. Jones, quite a talented 
 actress, who died at an early age, to the sorrow of a 
 large circle of friends and the inexpressible grief of her 
 husband, F. C. Philips, the distinguished dramatist and 
 novelist, author of As in a Looking Glass. 
 
 On the first night a contretemps occurred which would 
 have broken the nerve and heart of any one less in 
 
 19
 
 20 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 earnest than 1 was. I played a small part called 
 Captain Lewis, and I remember I was dressed in an 
 all -yellow eostume, looking like a large animated 
 mustard pot. At a certain point I had to advance, with 
 my sword drawn, to protect the heroine from the un- 
 welcome attentions of a body of soldiery, saying : 
 " Stand back, ye knaves ! " I did this correctly as 
 rehearsed, but, unhappily, our stage manager, Mr. 
 Edward Sterling, who w r as growing old and somewhat 
 oblivious, had not sufficiently instructed them in their 
 advances or " business," and I had threateningly drawn 
 my sword on as mild a lot of supers as ever killed a 
 scene by their incompetence. A roar of laughter went 
 up from all parts of that vast auditorium which I can 
 never forget. The manager, and indeed everybody 
 concerned, hastened to absolve me from blame in the 
 matter, and I even received credit for displaying nerve 
 in such a situation ; but it was greatly disconcerting, 
 and is to this day a painful memory. 
 
 But this engagement brought me one great com- 
 pensating pleasure. A friendship begun at that time 
 with that fine actor and downright good fellow, James 
 Fernandez, has continued without a moment's break or 
 intermission down to this day. Amongst the many 
 dearly loved comrades in my profession I could think of 
 none whose friendship has worn better or brought me 
 greater happiness than that of this able, genial, and 
 sterling artist and chum. 
 
 In December (1872) I joined the company at the old 
 
 Strand, then under the management of Mrs. Swan- 
 
 borough, a kind old lady with a big heart, but who had 
 
 ot had many of the advantages of education, and whose
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 21 
 
 malapropisms were the cause of much mirth amongst 
 her acquaintances. The things she said, and the things 
 that were said by others and attributed to her, would fill 
 many pages. On one occasion she was congratulated 
 on a pretty carpet in use on the stage in a drawing-room 
 scene. She replied, " Ah, I'm glad you like it ! The 
 Prince of Wales expectorated on that carpet when he was 
 here the other night." 
 
 On another occasion she was speaking of improve- 
 ments she had made in the theatre, and in enumerating 
 them said, " And I have had a new spinal staircase put 
 up to the flies." 
 
 When the Vaudeville was first opened it was to be 
 called the Bijou, and the prospective managers an- 
 nounced were David James, Thomas Thorne, and H. J. 
 Montague. At that time David James had a year's 
 contract still to run at the Strand, and Mrs. Swan- 
 borough said : "If Mr. David James intends to play 
 me any tricks and go off to that Bougie theatre, I'll serve 
 him with an injection, and see what comes of that." 
 
 At the Strand I met that incomparable humorist, 
 H. J. Byron. I played in three of his plays — Sir Simon 
 Simple, Prompter's Box, and Old Soldiers (first produc- 
 tion), and was fortunate in making a firm friend of him, 
 which continued up to his death. He was not a 
 great actor, though he had a delightful way of delivering 
 his own good lines. And what good lines they were ! 
 But every second sentence that fell from his lips was a 
 joke, and always a genial one, never sarcastic or caustic. 
 It would, indeed, fill a volume to record half of his 
 sallies, but many of them have passed into proverbs ere 
 this, and I am constantly being told of jokes that men
 
 22 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 have made nowadays which, to my certain knowledge, 
 date back to and emanated from him. 
 
 Heaven knows how many plays lie wrote, dramas, 
 comedies, and burlesques. He has been known to write 
 an act of a comedy in a day, and a short burlesque 
 between Friday and the following Monday. Perhaps 
 his best play was a comedy, entitled CyriVs Success ; 
 but, of course, his most successful one was Our Boys, 
 which ran fourteen hundred nights in London on its 
 first production, and has had any number of revivals 
 since — indeed, it is constantly being played somewhere 
 to this day. 
 
 One of his best jokes was on the occasion of the pro- 
 duction of his drama, The Lancashire Lass, at the old 
 Queen's. A very long w r ait occurred at the end of the 
 third act. The orchestra had tried to bridge over the 
 gap, and the audience were getting very impatient 
 indeed. Byron was in a box with E. L. Blanchard, the 
 critic. All at once a strong sawing was heard at the 
 back of the curtain. Blanchard sympathetically and 
 excitedly said, " What's that, Byron ? What's that ? " 
 Byron quite calmly replied, " Upon my soul, I don't 
 know, old man, unless they are cutting out the fourth 
 act ! " 
 
 When he was manager of one of the Liverpool theatres 
 he was consulting with the foreman during some re- 
 decorations as to a suitable embellishment for a large 
 bare space on the wall of the box-office. The foreman 
 made two or three suggestions, such as the City coat of 
 arms, etc., etc., when Byron said : " No, no ! I have 
 it; the very thing — Shakespearean quotation, 'So much 
 for book-ing 'em.' "
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 23 
 
 On what proved to be his death-bed (for he never got 
 up again) he made a joke. His coachman came to see 
 him, and in the course of conversation said, " That grey- 
 mare of ours don't seem to do well, sir ! I think I must 
 give her a ball ! " Byron replied, feebly, " Well, do 
 so, then ; but don't ask too many." 
 
 He had a perfect mania for changing his places of 
 residence, and it must have been a frightfully expensive 
 one, for he never seemed to be six months in the same 
 home. For a man who did so much clever work he did 
 not die well off, and I fear with him, as with many 
 others, it was easier to make money than to keep it. 
 A kindlier, cleverer, wittier, or more genial gentleman 
 never lived. Requiescat in pace. 
 
 Other well-known artists at the Strand at that time 
 were Edward Terry, W. H. Vernon, Miss Kate Bishop, 
 Miss Ada Swanborough, and that wonderful " old 
 woman," Mrs. Raymond. 
 
 And yet it is wrong to speak of Lucy Raymond as an 
 " old woman " of the stage ! She was in fact a female 
 low comedian, if ever there was one. I have seen all 
 the best comic acting of my day, but I don't believe 
 I can recall any man or woman who could excel this 
 extraordinary old lady in compelling laughter. She 
 had a funny, squatty figure, and a large face, with a 
 broad man's jowl and a kind of stony, fixed, perplexed 
 stare. Heaven help the comedian who fancied he was 
 getting all the laughs if he was playing a scene with her. 
 I have in my recollection one or two such cases. She 
 was fairness itself, but she had only to fix that stony 
 stare on the other performer and jerk out her lines in her 
 own inimitable way for the audience to be convulsed.
 
 24 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 She positively drew money to the theatre on her own 
 account. It was not unusual to hear old gentlemen 
 sa\ in trains and omnibuses, " 1 always go to see Lucy 
 Raymond ; she makes me laugh so." 
 
 If it were possible for her to be funnier than when she 
 was speaking her lines it was w r hcn she forgot them. 
 Her perplexity was side-splitting. On the first night 
 of Old Soldiers she had to say to Miss Kate Bishop : 
 " Shakespeare says, ' What's in a name? ' I say every- 
 thing." Under the influence of first-night nervousness, 
 her mind wandered temporarily, and she said, haltingly 
 and spasmodically, " Somebody says — who is it ? is it 
 Chaucer? or Sir Benjamin Jonson? or Shakespeare? 
 or some of those old gentlemen you see in Westminster 
 Abbey ?— ' What's in a name ? ' " 
 
 Byron, who was standing by, shook with laughter, and 
 immediately said : " Well, I can't write anything as 
 funny as that; I'll put that in." And it will be found 
 incorporated in the printed book of the play as sold 
 to-day. 
 
 After a short and futile return to the Lyceum, under 
 promise of a part in a play, which was eventually 
 abandoned, in July 1873, I was engaged by Edward 
 Saker, the manager of the Alexandra, Liverpool, for a 
 play called Coming Home ; or, Sithors to Grind. It was 
 written by an actor named George Leitch, who had 
 been first low comedian with me the previous summer in 
 Scarborough, and had kindly recommended me. Saker 
 had produced the play in the country, and was fired with 
 an ambition to act it in London, for which purpose he 
 took the old Globe for a summer season. It was not 
 quite a good play, but a very interesting one, a sort of
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 25 
 
 recollected dream of Dickens. It succeeded mildly 
 only. Mrs. Saker (Miss Marie O'Beirne) was in the cast, 
 also Fred Warde, who afterwards went to America and 
 finally became a fairly successful classic star. But it 
 was destined to be a most important event for me. 
 Edward Saker was the younger brother of Mrs. R. H. 
 Wyndham, of the Edinburgh Royal, and her husband 
 was among the audience at his brother-in-law's first 
 night. I was fortunate in striking him favourably, 
 and he inquired from Saker who and what I was. 
 Learning that I was reliable and always in earnest, he 
 asked me to meet him at dinner at the Tavistock Hotel, 
 Covent Garden. I accepted his invitation, and, to my 
 great surprise, he offered me the position of leading man 
 at his theatre. Now at that time the Royal, Edinburgh, 
 housed not only one of the last of the historic stock com- 
 panies, but was recognised as one of the very finest 
 training schools of the British stage, where many of the 
 foremost artists had served their apprenticeship under 
 the marvellous and incomparable stage management and 
 instruction of Mrs. Wyndham (down to to-day the best 
 I have ever seen). I pointed out to Mr. Wyndham that 
 I had never been in such a position and that every part 
 I should play under such an engagement would be for 
 the first time. He replied that he was aware of that, 
 but from what he had learned about me Mrs. W. and 
 he were willing to take the risk if I were willing to work 
 and try hard. Of all things, " it was the very favour I 
 would have asked." 
 
 I gratefully closed with the offer, took my books and 
 parts with me, and went down to my old home in 
 Oxfordshire, and here the excellent memory which I
 
 26 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 spoke of in my opening pages was to serve me well. I 
 lay about the meadows and the orchard and on the 
 banks of tin- old mill stream, and went to Edinburgh 
 for my opening on September 22, 1S73, perfect in the 
 words of twenty-six leading parts.
 
 IV 
 
 This may be a good place, perhaps, for a few words 
 on the subject of the old stock companies. One so 
 constantly hears the question mooted and discussed 
 (and often by people who know nothing whatever about 
 it) that a few words by one who does may be of interest. 
 Let me say at once that, in my judgment, the stock 
 companies of the last generation were by " all odds " 
 the finest schools of the drama that ever existed. In 
 them work was continuous, varied, and earnest, and 
 nearly always under the guidance of an experienced 
 stage manager who could, and did, give the aspirant 
 the benefit of his knowledge, and, be it remembered, the 
 companies were, generally speaking, made up of artists 
 of considerable attainment as well as almost unlimited 
 practice. When I have sometimes had occasion to 
 speak of the work we used to get through, young ladies 
 and gentlemen of to-day have sneeringly said, " Yes, 
 but how was it done? " I have always replied — and I 
 state here without the slightest reservation — that if we 
 had dared to give the slipshod, colourless, invertebrate 
 performances I see very often on the stage nowadays, 
 we should have " got our notice " in less time than it 
 takes to write this sentence. 
 
 The last two of these fine stock companies were at 
 
 Bristol and Edinburgh. Bristol was under Mr. and Mrs. 
 
 27
 
 28 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 Chute and Edinburgh, as I have said, undei Mr. and Mrs. 
 Wyndham; and these two companies between them 
 supplied many of the prominent artists of the contem- 
 porary stage. From Bristol came Ellen Terry, Madge 
 Robertson (Mrs. Kendal), Miss Henrietta Hodson (Mrs. 
 Henry Labouchcre), William and George Rignold, 
 Charles Coghlan, etc. From Edinburgh came Henry 
 Irving, J. L. Toole, A. W. Pinero, John Ryder, Mrs. 
 Scott Siddons, and many others. 
 
 The Royal, Edinburgh, was very nearly ideal as 
 a training ground. Everything was punctual and 
 methodical. We could never have got through the 
 work we did if it had not been so. Consequently it was 
 the easiest possible theatre to work in. No one took 
 liberties; they were not permitted. 
 
 Robert Wyndham himself was quite a good actor 
 when he chose to work, but he had grown fond of his 
 ease when I knew him. He was a splendid Mercutio, 
 Rolando {Honeymoon), and good in all light comedy 
 parts of the old plays ; an excellent farce actor in parts 
 such as Felix O'Callaghan (His Last Legs), and an 
 admirable Irish comedian (he was an Irishman). Mrs. 
 Wyndham was, really, rather a stagey actress, but she 
 seldom acted. She confined her efforts almost entirely 
 to stage management, and in all my life I have never 
 met a person with such a general and complete know- 
 ledge of this branch of our work and such a splendid 
 method of imparting that knowledge to others. She 
 knew every phase of the drama, from Hamlet to the 
 children's ballet of the pantomime. She had the classic 
 plays at her finger-tips, and her brain was a veritable 
 treasure house of the effects and points made by all the
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 29 
 
 great actors of her time, and she was never happier than 
 when helping those who tried. She had a most direct 
 method, and her favourite expression, " This is what 
 you do, and this is why you do it," conveyed as much 
 as many stage directors could conjure up in a whole 
 day, and was generally found to be as effective and 
 sound as the result of any amount of reflection. 
 
 In my early days I worked under three great stage 
 managers — Mrs. Wyndham, Charles Calvert (of Man- 
 chester), and Dion Boucicault (the elder), and, with every 
 respect to modern opinion I do not think any one since 
 could compare with any of the three. To Mrs. Wynd- 
 ham I owe a deep debt of gratitude for much kindly 
 consideration and advice, and I shall always feel that 
 whatever I may have done in my life in the direction 
 of pleasing my public dates from her expert instruc- 
 tion. 
 
 One great difference to be noticed between the old 
 and modern day stage managers is that, whereas the 
 old ones came to the theatre with their ideas cut and 
 dried and ready to be rehearsed straight away, the 
 modern man nearly always moves his characters about 
 like pawns on a chess-board till he finds his effects, and 
 thereby takes hours and days about what used to take 
 minutes. 
 
 One good story of Mrs. Wyndham before passing on. 
 A clown had come down from London for the Christmas 
 pantomime calling himself Signor Thomasini. I shrewdly 
 suspect his name was Thomas and his " native heath " 
 somewhere near the Whitechapel Road. The production 
 of the pantomime was approaching. A rehearsal was 
 called for the " comic scenes " at 11 o'clock — the
 
 30 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 11 opening " at 12 o'clock. At 12 o'clock, punctual as 
 ever, Mrs. \Y. came on the stage and found it littered 
 with the dibris of the comic scenes — perambulators, 
 bandboxes, dolls, sausages, etc. Calling Henderson, 
 the prompter, she said, in her most austere, inflexible 
 manner — 
 
 Mrs. W. : Mr. Henderson, it is 12 o'clock; why is 
 the stage not ready for me ? 
 
 Henderson : I can't help it, madam. You must 
 speak to the Signor. 
 
 Mrs. W. : Will you bring the Signor to me ? 
 (Advance the Signor, obsequiously.) 
 
 Mrs. W. : Signor Thomasini, I wish you to understand, 
 once and for all, that I am an absolutely punctual 
 woman. I give you an hour for your comic scenes. I 
 call them at 11 o'clock, and my " opening " at 12 o'clock, 
 and I expect to begin at 12 o'clock. Please remember 
 that in future. 
 
 The Signor (in choice Cockney dialect) : I couldn't 
 'elp it, Mrs. Wyndham; they 'adn't got my bloomin' 
 slums and fakes ready, an' I couldn't get on. 
 
 Mrs. W. (coldly, without the smallest change in her 
 face or manner) : Mr. Henderson, why were the Signor's 
 " blooming slums and fakes " not ready for him at the 
 appointed time ? 
 
 The Edinburgh audiences of those days were quite 
 up to the average in intelligence and artistic apprecia- 
 tion, and it used to be said, with some degree of truth, 
 that any one who could " pass muster in Edinburgh 
 could do well anywhere." There was a certain amount 
 of reason for this. Edinburgh has always been in the
 
 MBS. S< l ITT HHU"\- 
 
 \To /ace pi ye 31
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 31 
 
 van in matters educational, and, even then, high-class 
 education was to be had there for much less expenditure 
 than in the South. The consequence was that many 
 people of good family and limited means had settled 
 there to enjoy those advantages in the bringing up of 
 their children, and the number of educated, thinking, 
 and intellectual minds amongst the usual theatre 
 audiences was quite a goodly one. 
 
 I entered on my engagement there full of hope and 
 determination. My opening part was Romeo, with 
 Mrs. Scott Siddons as Juliet. I received a somewhat 
 cold welcome, but in the course of Mrs. Siddons's fort- 
 night's engagement (in which I played some eight or 
 nine parts of the classic drama, as well as in one manu- 
 script play, Ordeal by Touch, by Richard Lee), I began 
 to feel the audience warming towards me, and began, 
 also, to feel my feet. I had followed a good (if rather 
 stagey) leading man, and perhaps what I lacked in skill 
 I made up in freshness and sincerity; at all events, I 
 soon found myself appreciably growing in favour, and it 
 was the beginning of as happy a time as I can call to 
 mind in all my career. Did an actor ever know a better 
 time, or feel a greater amount of personal gratification 
 than was his lot as a favourite in one of the old stock 
 companies ? I doubt it very much, no matter what his 
 future might have in store. Every man and woman in 
 the place was his friend, and in his little realm he was 
 " monarch of all he surveyed." 
 
 Mrs. Scott Siddons was a sweet little gentlewoman, 
 with a beautiful classic set of features and a petite, 
 pretty figure. She was not a powerful actress, but had 
 very distinct charm and a delightfully educated and
 
 82 FORTY YEARS OX THE STAGE 
 
 refined method. She just missed taking the place on the 
 stage to which Bhe aspired, and, later on, fell under the 
 ban of domestic trouble, but I fancy very many people 
 who remember her treasure a warm spot in their hearts 
 for a very clever and charming little lady. 
 
 Apart from our own productions during the season 
 I met as stars besides Mrs. Siddons, J. L. Toole (of him 
 more anon), Henry Talbot (a tragedian who scarcely 
 reached front rank — his real name was Calvert, and 
 Ik- was the son of a master of the Edinburgh High School, 
 hence he had a particular " hold " on Scottish audiences) ; 
 Ada Cavendish (with her great London success, The 
 New Magdalen), and the absolutely incomparable Charles 
 Mathews. What can I say of him that has not been 
 said, or how convey a notion of his brilliance as a light 
 comedian ? He probably never had — and perhaps never 
 will have — a rival in his own line of parts. His art 
 was the essence of " art concealed," and his naturalness 
 was such that, in playing with him, until you got used 
 to his method you positively could not distinguish if he 
 were casually chatting with you or speaking the words 
 of his part. Indeed, this naturalness caused his failure, 
 to a great extent, on his visit to America, where, outside 
 the few central cities, the audiences and the Press 
 declared he was not " acting at all, but just conducting 
 himself as he would in his own room." Remember, this 
 was some years ago. He was not seen at his best in 
 scenes of sentiment or pathos, but certainly for dexterity, 
 aplomb, and splendidly marshalled and rehearsed 
 (though apparently unconscious) humour I have never 
 seen his equal and, frankly, I don't expect to. It was 
 (in one word) delicious. I had met him, personally, at
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 33 
 
 Palgrave Simpson's reunions in London before his visit 
 to Edinburgh. In the latter place I played in nearly 
 every one of his light plays with him, and we became 
 very firm friends. He was the most charming com- 
 panion imaginable — full of fun, anecdote, and artistic 
 recollection, and I rejoiced in his company, as everybody 
 did who had the privilege of it. 
 
 One very funny incident occurred during his engage- 
 ment at this time. He was travelling alone (Mrs. 
 Mathews had remained in London), and such was his 
 temperament that when awake he hated to be solitary, 
 so he used to ask me round to his rooms to supper very 
 frequently. Invitations which, it is needless to say, I 
 eagerly accepted. One night he had given his landlord 
 an order for the theatre to see him act. As we took our 
 seats for supper, the said landlord hung about the table 
 in an indefinite way, like a man who wants to say some- 
 thing, and the following little dialogue took place — 
 
 Charles Mathews : Well ! well ! did you come to 
 the theatre ? 
 
 Landlord (very Scotch, nervously handling the cruets, 
 etc.) : Yes, sirr ! I was at the theatre ! 
 
 C. M. : Well, did you get a good seat ? 
 
 Landlord (still very nervous) : Yes, sirr ! I had a 
 fine seat. 
 
 C. M. : Well, did you enjoy yourself, eh ? 
 
 Landlord : Weel, Mr. Mathews, I could scarcely 
 keep frae laughing ! 
 
 Those who remember Mathews and his mirth-provok- 
 ing work will appreciate the point of this story. For 
 ourselves, we kept our faces as well as we could till the 
 landlord left the room, and then simply exploded with
 
 :u FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 laughter. I told this story in aftei years to Charles 
 Dickens, jun., who incorporated it in The Life of Charles 
 Mathews, which he wrote and published. 
 
 Charles Mathews married twice. His first wife was 
 the fascinating and beautiful (as well as clever) Madame 
 Vestris, and a good story of a "Comedy Old Lady's " 
 humour is told anent this. Madame Vestris was what 
 is known nowadays as " a lady with a past " — and quite 
 a good deal of it. When the wedding took place it was 
 much too delicious a piece of scandal for the company 
 at tin Lyceum (where he had been playing with her) 
 to let go by without some " spicy " comment. Said 
 one member of the company in the Green Room before 
 rehearsal : " Have you heard the news ? Charles 
 Mathews was married to Madame Vestris this morning." 
 Said another : " Is it possible ? Dear ! dear ! What a 
 pity ! What will his people say ? " No. 1 replied : 
 ' They say she told him everything." No. 2 rejoined : 
 " Well, that was frank and honest anyhow." First 
 Old Lady (Mrs. Glover) from the corner : " Yes ! and 
 good gracious ! what a memory ! " 
 
 At this time neither husband nor wife had the least 
 regard for the value of money, and both were frightfully 
 extravagant, consequently Mathews was always in debt 
 and — one can't say — difficulties, because nothing of that 
 kind ever worried C. M. They seemed to go on the 
 principle that if they paid nobody there could be no 
 jealousy. Wondrous are the stories of his splendid 
 audacity in dealing with angry creditors. On one 
 occasion he was incarcerated for debt in a country gaol, 
 and such was his persuasive magnetism that he went 
 to the local races with the governor of the prison.
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 35 
 
 Another time a very irate dun forced his way into the 
 office at the Lyceum, swearing he would not leave without 
 his money. But he did, and when he came to his senses 
 (outside) he discovered he had lent Mathews another 
 £100. 
 
 One morning a very gruff, surly, angry man met C. M. 
 on the doorsteps of his house at Kensington with the 
 remark : " Mr. Mathews, you are the man I'm looking 
 for." Mathews replied : " Really, how you startled 
 me ! What's the matter ? " The surly one said : 
 " Matter, Mr. Mathews, last quarter's rates is the 
 matter ! Quite a trifle for a gentleman in your position. 
 Eight pounds four shillings, and I've been here a dozen 
 times after it, and I'm not coming again. I want the 
 money here and now ! " Mathews looked at him quite 
 surprised, and replied, airily : " God bless my soul ! 
 Eight pounds four — for rates, and you've been here 
 a dozen times after it. I should have thought it 
 would have paid you better to have paid the money 
 yourself." 
 
 On the occasion of his going to Australia he was 
 tendered a farewell banquet, at which he proposed his 
 own health in a marvellously humorous and witty 
 speech. 
 
 Mr. Mathews married his second wife in America. 
 This charming lady reigned as a great favourite amongst 
 a large circle of friends for many years in London, and 
 was the mother of Sir C. W. Mathews, a very popular 
 and successful member of the English Bar, and the 
 present well-known and able Director of Public Prosecu- 
 tions. 
 
 If ever a man's amiable weaknesses and foibles were
 
 86 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 offset by hi^ delightful contributions to the gaiety of 
 
 nations that man was Charles Mathews. 
 
 During my time in Edinburgh I made many sincere 
 ami pleasant friends, amongst them W. B. Hole (the 
 Royal Scottish academician), whose paintings and 
 etchings are so well known and valued, and whose noble 
 work adorns some of the public institutions of Edinburgh 
 in the form of frescoes, etc. Only a short time ago a 
 beautiful exhibition was held in London of a large set 
 of his pictures illustrative of the life of Christ, which 
 was greatly admired and praised, and gave infinite 
 pleasure to all, including the writer. 
 
 We had many confidences in our aspiring salad days 
 of Art, and though in different branches it was very 
 pleasant to be able to congratulate each other on 
 working our way to the front. 
 
 Another valued friend in Edinburgh was the well- 
 known lawyer (or Writer to the Signet), Kenmure Mait- 
 land. He was a clever literary man as well, and con- 
 tributed frequently to the Scottish newspapers, and 
 also wrote the Royal pantomimes. His son married 
 Miss Wyndham. Very witty, with a fund of anecdote, 
 he was one of the best raconteurs I have ever known. 
 One of his fine stories was a little against himself, which 
 he enjoyed. He was coming out of the Scotsman office 
 one winter's night, and got to the head of a steep wynd 
 (or alley). It had snowed and thawed and frozen 
 again and again, and the pavement was like glass. As 
 his feet touched the ground they flew from under him 
 and he sat down violently, and slid down to some 
 railings at the lower extremity of the alley. He got up 
 with an exclamation of agony, and was paying sym-
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 37 
 
 pathetic attention to the part of his anatomy which had 
 recently been his toboggan, when a little urchin rushed 
 out of a doorway and said, " Mon, I ken't ye'd fa'. I 
 fell tae ! " 
 
 Probably one of the best of all my friends, though, was 
 a perfectly splendid landlady. Dear old Mrs. Fin- 
 layson ! Nothing was ever a trouble to her, and I really 
 think she had a genuine affection for me. Many a time 
 when I was studying my parts hard into the night, she 
 would come into my sitting-room at three, or even four 
 o'clock, in the morning with a cup of appetising soup 
 or broth, and say in her quiet way : "I brocht ye this, 
 and I thocht it would be well for ye to gang awa' to your 
 bed th' noo." But she had a tremendously Scotch 
 reverence for the Sabbath, or shall I say, a tremendous 
 respect for her neighbours' reverence for it. One 
 Sunday night I had a little party of friends to dinner to 
 help me eat some game which had been sent me. In 
 my room was an old instrument which masqueraded as 
 a piano. It was, in reality, a pretty good imitation of 
 Thackeray's " rickety, ramshackle, wheezy spinet." 
 One of my friends, who was musical, sat down to play 
 it. In a minute Mrs. Finlayson was in the room, saying : 
 " Mr. Barnes, I'd thank ye if ye would na play the music 
 on the Sawbath." Of course, my friend stopped, and 
 later in the evening quite inadvertently struck a note 
 or two. Again she came in, saying, " Did I no' 
 ask ye not to play the music on the Sawbath ? " I 
 think I replied rather impatiently that there was no 
 harm in it, and there was nothing else to do. She glided 
 out of the room, and in a few moments glided back, 
 saying, " My monny, I brocht ye twa packs o'
 
 .38 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 cards ! " Oh, bless her ! The neighbours did not hear 
 them ! 
 
 Just as the season was drawing to a close I got an 
 offer from II. J. Byron to return to London for the 
 opening of the new Criterion. Mrs. Wyndham suggested 
 I should take a farewell benefit, which I did, playing 
 Claude Melnotte in The Lady of Lyons to a very full 
 and enthusiastic house and every possible demonstration 
 of goodwill. With a big lump in my throat I made a 
 little speech of farewell, and with a grateful heart and 
 a little added capital closed as pleasant a time as I had 
 ever known. I had not had a large salary. I did not 
 want much in those days, but I had received instruction 
 and assistance for which money could hardly pay, and 
 had tried zealously to consider and follow the good 
 advice given me. I had a sort of tacit understanding 
 with Mrs. Wyndham to return to her next season, and 
 at the time I fully intended to do so, but it was not to 
 be. I was on the " crest of the wave " of success which 
 was hurrying me on from one point to another with 
 bewildering rapidity, and I had nothing to do but 
 thankfully accept the good luck which continued to 
 come my way.
 
 The Criterion was opened on March 21, 1874, by 
 
 Messrs. Spiers and Pond, the famous restaurateurs, 
 
 under the direction of H. J. Byron. The restaurant, 
 
 of which it formed a part, had been in full swing some 
 
 time previously. The opening bill was a pleasant light 
 
 comedy by Byron, entitled An American Lady. It was 
 
 to have been supplemented by a short burlesque, or 
 
 travesty, by W. S. Gilbert, entitled Topsy-turveydom, 
 
 but the decorators, etc., were behind with their work, 
 
 which made it impossible to get complete rehearsals, 
 
 and it was decided to play only the comedy on the first 
 
 night, postponing the burlesque to a few nights later. 
 
 With plenty of capital to draw on, no expense was 
 
 spared, and a most efficient company were engaged. 
 
 Byron himself, John Clarke, David Fisher, the writer, 
 
 Mrs. John Wood, Mrs. Gaston Murray, and Miss Jane 
 
 Rignold formed quite a strong team for a slight though 
 
 bright and pretty comedy. Of these well-remembered 
 
 and well-graced comrades, only two are left — Mrs. John 
 
 Wood and I. What a comedienne she was, and what a 
 
 born humorist ! With her beautiful complexion and 
 
 her glorious black hair and dark eyes, as well as her 
 
 splendid figure, she was the embodiment of radiant 
 
 womanhood, which seemed to permeate the whole of 
 
 her dramatic method. If she had a good line to speak, 
 
 39
 
 to FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 01 a good Mine to play, how she would make it " go "! 
 ami how many a had scene she has made to appear a 
 good one by her dashing and hearty handling of it. She 
 
 was another artist who drew money, irrespective of the 
 play she was in. The public loved her for herself alone, 
 and whether singing (inimitably) "His heart was true 
 to Poll " in the burlesque of My Poll and my Partner Joe, 
 or playing in comedy or drama, she was a host in herself. 
 To her comrades on the stage she was a fountain of fun. 
 Rehearsals in which she was concerned were positive 
 holidays, and if (as in the case of An American Lady) 
 she was associated with a wit like Byron, it was very 
 difficult indeed to get to serious work at all. I could 
 name more than one actress of to-day, earning a large 
 salary, whose position is due entirely to as good an 
 imitation as she can manage to give of Mrs. John Wood. 
 
 In An American Lady, a quip of Byron's provoked 
 one of the biggest laughs I have ever heard in a theatre. 
 It ran thus — 
 
 Mrs. Wood {very emphatically) : Why, we Americans 
 speak better English than you do ! 
 
 Byron : Do you, though ? 
 
 Mrs. Wood : Of course, we do ! Whose pronounc- 
 ing dictionary is invariably considered the best? An 
 American's ? Webster ! What have you got to say to 
 Webster ? 
 
 Byron (very quietly, almost demurely) : Walker ! 
 
 I have been told that the ceiling of the Criterion is, 
 or was, eighteen inches below the level of Piccadilly. 
 Luckily it was not directly underneath, or the pavement 
 might have been in danger at the shout of laughter 
 which went up. Mrs. Wood was never happier than
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 41 
 
 when telling a good story, even against herself, and was 
 at all times a thoroughly good-tempered, whole-hearted, 
 womanly comrade, with whom it was a delight to work. 
 
 When W. S. Gilbert's burlesque Topsy-turveydom was 
 produced after a few nights, that sweet singer, Miss 
 Fanny Holland (Mrs. Arthur Law), made her first 
 appearance on the regular theatrical stage, having been 
 recruited from the German Reed entertainment at 
 St. George's Hall. I spoke the first word (with the 
 curtain up) on the Criterion stage, as I had done at the 
 Londesborough, Scarborough — an odd (if trifling) co- 
 incidence — as it was within three years of my first 
 appearance. The opening season at the Criterion was 
 only moderately successful, and in the autumn of 1874 
 I had engaged myself, after consulting Mrs. Wyndham's 
 wishes, to go to the Prince's, Manchester (then under 
 the direction of that great stage manager, Charles 
 Calvert), to open as Mercutio in a revival of Romeo and 
 Juliet. But, once again, my great good luck stepped 
 in to set that arrangement aside. 
 
 That admirable actor Charles Coghlan had settled 
 to accompany Miss Adelaide Neilson to America as 
 leading man. As the time approached, he repudiated 
 and declined the engagement for some cause that I 
 never learned. On the strength of Mrs. Wyndham's 
 reputation as an instructress, and the quality of work 
 I had done under her direction, I was sent for by John 
 Ryder (Miss Neilson's teacher and general adviser), and 
 asked if I was willing to rehearse some scenes for him, 
 that he might judge if I was qualified for this important 
 position. I cheerfully assented. After trying me in 
 Romeo, Orlando, etc., he pronounced me capable and
 
 42 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 satisfactory; he procured my release from my engage- 
 ment with Calvert (with whom he had influence), and 
 
 it was settled that I should accompany Miss Wilson 
 to America as her leading support. Here was a " leg 
 uj) " indeed ! Truly, I was getting on ! 
 
 I set to work with a will to qualify for my promotion, 
 and in September sailed in the old s.s. Russia for New 
 York. The Russia was then the crack boat of the Cunard 
 fleet, and her captain (Captain Cook) the Commodore. 
 Among the passengers was ex-Governor (of the State 
 of New York) Hoffman, Sir Roderick Cameron, and Mr. 
 William Schaus, a great art critic and judge of pictures, 
 founder of the firm which, in later years, discovered the 
 stolen Gainsborough picture " The Duchess of Devon- 
 shire." I had my first experience of a reading on board, 
 in association with Miss Neilson, w r hen a large sum of 
 money was collected for the Seamen's Orphanage. I 
 also had my first experience of sea-sickness, and a terrible 
 one it was. Temporarily I regretted the engagement 
 which had brought me to sea, and to the point where the 
 future (if there was one) seemed to have nothing in store. 
 However, it is the illness w'e most easily forget, and once 
 in New r York a new r life opened up to me, full of interest, 
 variety, and charm, which I ask permission to describe 
 a little before continuing my purely professional notes. 
 
 Progress has been so rapid in the United States that 
 even I can hardly realise a New York with no elevated 
 railway, with Delmonico's at the corner of 14th 
 Street and 5th Avenue, the " Lotos " Club in a little 
 house in Irving Place, next door to the Academy of 
 Music and 23rd Street, considered, if anything, too 
 far up town for a location of a theatre. Yet that was
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 43 
 
 the city as I first knew it, a place of infinite delight 
 and hospitality and kindness. I was made an honorary 
 member of the Lotos, New York, Union, and Union 
 League clubs, and courtesies were shown me on every 
 side. At the Lotos the late greatly respected and 
 admired Ambassador to Great Britain, the Hon. White - 
 law Reid, then editor (only) of The Tribune, had just 
 been elected President, and was a frequent visitor. 
 Here, in the afternoon, one might foregather with 
 (amongst others) John Brougham, Bronson Howard, 
 Billy Florence, J. T. Raymond, E. A. Sothern, Barney 
 Williams, Mark Smith, " Uncle " Dan Bixby, William 
 Winter, A. C. Wheeler (" Nym Crinkle "), E. Carroll, 
 etc., and what delightful times they were ! John 
 Brougham was a witty, happy Irishman, with a budget 
 of fine stories, which he told splendidly. He did not 
 need an income — his popularity was such that he could 
 pass his whole time as a guest of one or another of his 
 numerous friends. It was said at the time, that, apart 
 from the plays which bear his name, he had not a little 
 to do with the writing of London Assurance. I do not 
 know if it was true, and I give it for what it is worth, 
 but it was often referred to in his presence, and I never 
 heard of his contradicting it. From what I remember 
 of him, I should be inclined to think he was far too 
 honourable and punctilious a man to have " sailed under 
 false colours " in such a matter. 
 
 Referring for a moment to London Assurance it must 
 have often struck people who have seen or studied the 
 play as a strange incongruity that Sir Harcourt Courtley 
 goes all through it, as an old roue and libertine (in every 
 way unworthy), and then speaks the honest man's
 
 44 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 M Tag " at the end. My old friend of years ago, Horace 
 Wigan, a well-read man and one well versed in theatrical 
 matters, gave me the following explanation of this: — 
 When William Farren (the elder) was in the zenith of 
 his fame and the play was first produced at Co vent 
 Garden, he (William Farren) absolutely refused, at 
 one of the last rehearsals, to play the part of Sir Har- 
 court, unless he spoke the tag. Hence the apparent 
 glaring anomaly ! It would seem that even in those 
 days professional jealousy was not unknown. 
 
 To return to the Lotos Club. I have known it in 
 four locations — Irving Place, two different positions on 
 5th Avenue, and its present palatial home in 57th 
 Street. In all of them I have had the privilege of 
 visiting membership, and have received at each in- 
 numerable marks of friendship and goodwill. Whitelaw 
 Reid was a tower of strength, especially when pre- 
 siding at the banquets tendered from time to time to 
 distinguished visitors. A graceful, eloquent speaker, he 
 had that touch of human nature which makes the whole 
 world kin, and he was greatly missed at the club, I 
 fancy, when his numerous and higher duties drew him 
 perforce in other directions. Bronson Howard was the 
 distinguished dramatist, author of Saratoga (known in 
 England as Brighton), and a very fine American war- 
 play Sheyiandoah, not seen in England, why, I can never 
 understand. He wrote many other good plays. E. A. 
 Sothern was, of course, the original Lord Dundreary, 
 that wonderful chap who said the wisest things in the 
 manner and make-up of the veriest fool. Sothern was 
 also the original (and a splendid) David Garrick. Mark 
 Smith was a prominent member of Wallack's Theatre
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 45 
 
 Company. Barney Williams and his wife, distinguished 
 Irish comedians, came to England years before and made 
 a pleasing success. Mr. and Mrs. " Billy " Florence did 
 the same later. Mrs. Barney Williams and Mrs. " Billy " 
 Florence were sisters. Uncle Dan Bixby (unattached) 
 was a kind fellow, always doing some service for his 
 friends, and never happier than at such times. William 
 Winter is, happily, still with us, living in well-earned 
 comparative retirement at his pleasant home on Staten 
 Island, New York Harbour. He recently published a 
 charming book of reminiscences. For the best part of 
 his later life (many years) he was the dramatic critic 
 of the New York Tribune, as well as the writer of many 
 delightful books of poems and wanderings in England. 
 His pen and mental force could always be found on the 
 side of what was good, noble, and worthy, to the exclu- 
 sion of what was false, meretricious and ignoble, and 
 the actor's calling loses a firm friend and champion by 
 his withdrawal from public life. A. C. Wheeler (" Nym 
 Crinkle ") was the critic of the New York World in those 
 days — very clever and capable, and also very sarcastic 
 and acid on occasion. Ned Sothern had a mania for 
 practical jokes, and would spend any amount of thought, 
 time, or even money to perfect one. He and J. T. 
 Raymond used to match (or toss) each other for a dollar 
 whenever they met, and they had been known to do so 
 by signs in a theatre when one was acting on the stage 
 and the other seated in a private box.
 
 VI 
 
 Many of Sothcrn's practical jokes became notorious 
 in liis day. One of his elaborate efforts in that direction 
 was played on Billy Florence, and has, perhaps, not been 
 freely recorded. It was as follows : — Billy Florence and 
 Dion Boucicault had quarrelled violently and were bitter 
 enemies. On one occasion when Mrs. Florence was ill 
 a-bed, Billy came home and found a note on his hall 
 table which ran thus — 
 
 " Dear Billy, 
 
 " Why did you not call and see me as you 
 
 promised ? 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 " Emily." 
 
 Now Mrs. Billy, though a good sort, was inclined to 
 be a little jealous ! As Florence knew no one named 
 Emily, he cast about for an explanation, and his sus- 
 picions fell on Ned Sothern, and he proceeded to satisfy 
 himself that he was right. In a frightful rage he wrote 
 to Sothern saying something like this — 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 " You are no gentleman to play such a vile 
 
 triek on a friend. Had your silly note fallen into other 
 
 hands than mine, it might have caused endless trouble. 
 
 You have taken an unwarrantable liberty, which I will 
 
 46
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 47 
 
 never forgive, and I beg that when we meet it may be 
 
 as strangers. 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 " W. F." 
 
 Next day he received a pleasant little chatty note from 
 Sothern, saying — 
 
 " Dear Billy, 
 
 " I got an extraordinary note from you this 
 morning. Of course, I saw in a moment it was not 
 intended for me, so I sent it to Boucicault ! 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 " Ned." 
 
 Is not that " I sent it to Boucicault " delicious ? 
 
 Boucicault was never much of a club man. At that 
 time he had a charming little flat over a French restaur- 
 ant in 16th Street, just out of Union Square. He and 
 several good fellows, including Harry Montague, Wright 
 Sanford, W. H. Marston, sometimes Mark Twain, and 
 occasionally Bret Harte and the writer used to meet at 
 Delmonico's, where it was then situated, many nights in 
 the week after work. Charlie Delmonico was a persona 
 grata amongst us, enjoyed our society, and, although we 
 had no understanding to the effect, he used to contrive 
 that we had a room pretty much to ourselves. Here we 
 passed some delightful hours, and here, too, many bright 
 things were said to appreciative listeners. I remember 
 Boucicault saying, apropos of playwriting : " Ah ! when 
 young men get tired of writing clever plays they may 
 write successful ones ! " That was thirty-nine years 
 ago, and yet it is as true to-day as it was when it was 
 uttered. How well the experienced actor knows that
 
 48 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 clever play which he rehearses for five or six weeks and 
 which, being outside the never-failing ring of human 
 nature, is out of the bill and buried in two weeks' 
 performance. 
 
 Another of Boucicault's sage dicta was anent the study 
 of Shakespeare and the much-discussed hidden meanings 
 that some people are constantly finding in his works. 
 He said : " Never mind what he meant here, or what he 
 meant there. You be content to read what he says, and 
 as long as you live you will never discover anything 
 stronger or more satisfying than what he (simply) 
 says." How emphatically true ! 
 
 The Union was about the foremost club of New York. 
 It sheltered nearly all the New Yorkers of standing. 
 I believe the only member of my calling who was ever 
 elected a regular member was Lester Wallack, the suc- 
 cessful actor and manager of that day. I was introduced 
 by a very popular member, and made the acquaintance 
 of many well-known men, who, one and all, showed me 
 the utmost kindness and hospitality. Pierre Lorrilard, 
 the Belmonts, the Jeromes, W. H. Marston, Herman 
 Oelrichs, Lester Wallack amongst them, and last, though 
 not least, that wit and charming gentleman W. Travers 
 (" Bill " Travers his intimates called him). This was a 
 delightful friend indeed. 
 
 Mr. Travers was a native of Baltimore, who had 
 settled in New York, and had much of the old-world 
 courtesy and charm of the typical Southern gentleman. 
 He had a marvellously ready wit ; and what gave great 
 zest to all his many bons mots, he had a piquant, quaint 
 little stutter. I wonder a collection has not been made 
 of his many clever sayings. They were of frequent
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 49 
 
 occurrence, and would have made most amusing reading. 
 On one occasion he went with some friends into the bar 
 of the old Sinclair House on his way up town, and said 
 to the bar tender : " I w-w-want some w-w-whisky." 
 The bar tender put up the glasses and whisky bottle, 
 and held on to the latter, saying : " Hold on ! Thirty- 
 five cents, please ! " Travers looked at him disdainfully, 
 and said at once : " W-w-what's your hurry ? Does it 
 k-k-kill so d-d-darned quick ? " 
 
 Another time he went with his son-in-law, who was 
 considering the purchase of an English terrier, to see 
 the dog tried with some rats. Immediately the dog and 
 rat came together in the pit the rat seized the terrier by 
 the jaw, and the dog, unused to the game, went round 
 yelping. Travers watched this unexpected develop- 
 ment for some time, and then said quietly, " Johnnie 
 w-w-why the d-d-deuce don't you b-b-buy the rat ? " 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Travers were much attached, a perfect 
 Darby and Joan ; but even with his wife he could not 
 resist a joke. One night, on his coming home late from 
 the club, Mrs. Travers was asleep. As he reached her 
 bedroom, and was taking off his clothes to go to bed 
 quietly, she woke up and said, " Oh, William, is that 
 you ? " " Of course," said he, " w-w-who did you 
 expect ? " 
 
 One more story of him. A. T. Stewart, the great 
 dry goods merchant, on some occasion took the chair 
 at a banquet in aid of a hospital. Stewart was not very 
 popular. As he rose to address the assemblage they were 
 not so quiet or attentive as he could wish, so he knocked 
 loudly on the table with his knife. W. T., seated near, 
 said loud enough to be heard, " C-c-cash ! "
 
 50 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 Stories of him might be multiplied by the score, but 
 we must return to our muttons. Before I began my 
 engagement in New York I saw the acting at some of 
 the theatres there; perhaps the most notable were 
 performances of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, Cardinal 
 Wolsey and Queen Katharine, at Booth's, by George 
 Vandenhoff (of Boston) and the famous Charlotte 
 Cushman. Very interesting, indeed, but the gentleman, 
 though a good elocutionist, was a stilted, unnatural 
 actor of the very old school, and Miss Cushman was 
 really only a ruin, although a magnificent one, it is true. 
 
 I opened as Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing, 
 with Miss Neilson as Beatrice, on October 29, 1874, at 
 what is now the 14th Street Theatre. It was then called 
 the Lyceum, and had been built for and opened by Charles 
 Fechter, the French romantic actor, mentioned earlier 
 in these notes. It bore the marks of his French taste. 
 The decorations carried out the scheme of a large boudoir. 
 In the following week I played Romeo, and although I 
 did not set the Hudson on fire I was pronounced ade- 
 quate, and something better, in both parts, and I set 
 my foot pleasantly on the path which leads to " troops 
 of friends." 
 
 And now what about Miss Neilson ? She became such 
 a tremendous fact in theatrical work on both sides of 
 the Atlantic, especially in the United States, where she 
 was almost a religion, that one has been and is constantly 
 asked, Was she a great actress ? Was she a genius ? 
 
 First, let us consider what is genius. Macready said, 
 " Genius meant hard work." If he was right, Neilson 
 was a genius, very distinctly. Some one else said, 
 " Genius was an infinite capacity for taking pains."
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 51 
 
 Neither definition appeals to me. Genius, as I understand 
 it, and have seen it in three, four, or five instances in 
 my life on the stage, is something God-given. Some 
 moments of inspiration, great or small, which are not 
 learnable nor attainable by work, but which, in their 
 truth to nature, are all-compelling and carry the hearts 
 of men and women along with them with an irresistible 
 force. In this regard Neilson was not a genius, but she 
 was a good, in some moments, a great actress. All that 
 work could do she did ; but I arrive at the above conclu- 
 sion by the following applied test : — I rehearsed three 
 parts with her under John Ryder, with whom she 
 studied all her legitimate roles, and until her death she 
 scarcely altered an intonation of a sentence from the 
 way she had read it with him. She worked so hard and 
 threw such an amount of earnestness into her work that 
 many thousands of onlookers took for genius what was 
 really splendidly marshalled force. 
 
 One quite extraordinary gift she had, namely, that of 
 tears ! At any given moment or cue she could make the 
 tears mount to her eyes, and even run down her cheeks, 
 irrespective of anything she was feeling at the time. It 
 almost resembled the turning on of a tap ! 
 
 Undoubtedly, she had great beauty, wonderful eyes, 
 and an expressive mouth, fine colouring of complexion 
 and hair, and a rather spare figure. Her appearance 
 suggested a woman of Spanish or Italian type. 
 
 She made her first appearance on the stage in London 
 in 1865, after a long course of lessons under John Ryder, 
 and succeeded almost from the very first. 
 
 When she became famous all kinds of romantic stories 
 were told of her Spanish origin, etc. ; indeed, I have
 
 52 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 beard her refer to her mother at Saragossa. As a matter 
 of fact, she was horn of humhle parents in a village in 
 Yorkshire in 1848, and her real name was Elizabeth 
 Ann Brown. In her youth she was by turns a mill 
 hand at Guiseley (Yorks), a nursemaid, and a barmaid; 
 so the strenuous life she must have led to raise herself 
 to the position she eventually attained may be imagined. 
 All honour to her for her perseverance, say I. 
 
 She was a curious mixture of good impulses and way- 
 wardness, a good friend, but a little fiend if " rubbed the 
 wrong way." Heaven help the manager, or, indeed, 
 any one, who offended her. She was quite merciless 
 either in business or otherwise if she were thwarted or 
 annoyed. She was most unfortunate in her marriage, 
 or perhaps she might have been more amenable and 
 considerate. She married the son of an English clergy- 
 man when she was just reaching her big position, and I 
 am afraid that it was impossible to regard Phil Lee as 
 either a good husband or a man of strong character. 
 What a difference this makes to a woman ! What a 
 number of women I have met on the stage and off whose 
 lives and characters have turned for good or ill on this 
 all-important point. Phil Lee was the victim of one of 
 Ned Sothern's great practical jokes. A party of four or 
 five, including the two named, were dining in New York, 
 when, on some trivial pretext — if I remember rightly, 
 the passing of the mustard — an apparently fearful 
 quarrel was worked up, ending with revolvers and knives 
 being freely brandished by all except Lee, who, frightened 
 to death, got behind a door and asked Sothern, as the 
 host, to be allowed to go home. When I met Miss 
 Neilson she and Lee had drifted completely apart.
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 53 
 
 Admiration was the breath of her nostrils, and she would 
 flirt for mere amusement. Sometimes this habit got 
 her into difficulties. In St. Louis one elderly man con- 
 nected with the Press, believing himself aggrieved, and 
 under the influence of much alcoholic refreshment, made 
 himself terribly obnoxious, and expressed his intention 
 of shooting quite a number of people, including Miss 
 Neilson and himself, until the police were consulted and 
 he was temporarily taken care of.
 
 VII 
 
 Our tour was under the management of Max Strakosch, 
 
 the operatic entrepreneur. We travelled with a business 
 
 manager only, playing with stock companies in the 
 
 various cities. And what admirable companies many 
 
 of them were ! Some of the best all-round leading men 
 
 I have ever met ! James O'Neil in Chicago, Milnes 
 
 Levick in Baltimore, Natt Lingham in Louisville, W. E. 
 
 Sheridan in Philadelphia, among others. A curious 
 
 incident occurred in Baltimore. The play was As You 
 
 Like It. Milnes Levick played Jaques, and had spoken 
 
 the Seven Ages speech very finely, gaining tremendous 
 
 applause at the end. Miss Neilson (as far as I know 
 
 without intent) said, " Go on, go on," and the scene was 
 
 taken up before the applause died down. The audience 
 
 got annoyed and seemed to feel that it was being treated 
 
 scurvily, and kept up the applause in a manner which 
 
 stopped the play. Miss Neilson ordered the curtain to 
 
 be rung down, and then the storm burst out. It became 
 
 a battle royal between her and the audience, who simply 
 
 declined to listen to a word until Mr. Levick had repeated 
 
 the speech. A silly scene, which might have been 
 
 avoided, but became an absolute deadlock, out of which 
 
 there was only one way. The audience was master of 
 
 the situation. 
 
 54
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 55 
 
 I remember that during our tour we met one very 
 fine comedian and character actor, Mr. Ben de Bar, 
 manager of the Grand Opera House, St. Louis. A tall 
 man, of large proportions, with a full face, out of which 
 he had the power of taking every possible expression. 
 His performance of Dogberry was admirable. When he 
 opened his first scene with the line : " Are you good men 
 and true? " and also later in the line : " Is our whole 
 dissembly appeared ? " his face expressed nothing more 
 than a blank wall. His Touchstone, too, was excellent. 
 I heard, at the time, that his Falstaff was also very fine, 
 but I did not see it. 
 
 During the tour, Miss Neilson fell ill in New Orleans, 
 and had to forego her engagement there, and we came 
 through to New York for a fortnight's rest. This gave 
 me the opportunity of being present at the first per- 
 formance of Boucicault's play, The Shaughraun, which 
 was a great delight. Its triumph was complete, and 
 the cast (amongst whom were many friends) was one of 
 the best that I ever saw. I also saw during that rest 
 George Rignold in Calvert's production of Henry V. at 
 Booth's theatre. This was another notable performance, 
 which went over all the world, and made Rignold a 
 deservedly rich man. He finally settled in Australia 
 (with occasional visits to England), where he died, much 
 respected and beloved, only last year. 
 
 Another fine actor I saw at this time was Mr. E. L. 
 Davenport, father of Miss Fanny Davenport, and hus- 
 band of the English actress, Miss Fanny Vining, a beauti- 
 ful actor of great power and versatility. I have often 
 heard Americans express the opinion that Davenport
 
 56 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 was about the best all round actor they had ever pro- 
 duced, and 1 should be prepared to accept the statement. 
 He more nearly resembled my ideal, Samuel Phelps (of 
 whom much more hereafter), than any one I have seen 
 before or since. His Shylock, Sir Giles Overreach, 
 William (Black-Eyed Susan), among other parts, were 
 great performances. 
 
 Our first visit to Philadelphia was to Mrs. John Drew's 
 theatre, the Arch Street, and there the popular John 
 Drew played with us, and his sister Georgie — afterwards 
 Mrs. Barrymorc — made her first appearance on the 
 stage as Hero (Much Ado About Nothing). Thus both 
 B anymore and his wife made their first appearance with 
 me. She became a capital actress, and was a humorist 
 of the first water. 
 
 Our return visit to Philadelphia was to the Walnut 
 Street Theatre, and there, during our stay, we produced 
 for the first time on the American continent, as far as 
 we could ascertain, Measure for Measure. It was an 
 unqualified success. Miss Neilson gave an admirable 
 performance of Isabella, and looked a goddess in the 
 nun's costume, the veil proving most becoming to her 
 cast of features. W. E. Sheridan was excellent as the 
 Duke Vincentio, as also were Charles Walcot and his 
 wife (English players), as Angelo and Mariana. Lindsay 
 Harris was a capital Lucio, and I think I scored as 
 Claudio. 
 
 The Walnut Street Theatre was owned by John S. 
 Clarke, well known in England as in America. He was 
 brother-in-law of Edwin Booth, who was playing an 
 engagement in Baltimore (near by) at the time, and who
 
 J. H. BARNES AS CLAUDIO 
 
 (" Measure for Measure ") 
 
 [To face paije 50
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 57 
 
 closed his theatre at his own expense, and came over to 
 Philadelphia to be present at our first performance. 
 Neilson included the part of Isabella in her repertory 
 from then until the time of her death. Her trump card 
 was, of course, Juliet, and, eminently successful as the 
 season was, it would have been more so if she would 
 have consented to play that part more often, or even 
 every night. At a matinee in St. Louis, when Romeo and 
 Juliet was the programme, one of the newspapers, as 
 a matter of curiosity, undertook to count the number 
 of females present — 2,760 passed the doors, not counting 
 males. This was easily a record up to that time. 
 Amongst the audience were many ladies' schools. And 
 yet, in my personal judgment, it was not her best per- 
 formance. Her Juliet seemed to me just to lack some- 
 thing of the quality that one wanted to find in the scion 
 of a noble house. It conveyed more the notion of a 
 beautiful young woman of another class. I used to think 
 that if we could have had a Juliet of Neilson's force and 
 Mrs. Scott Siddons's breeding, the ideal of the author 
 would have been just about realised. Each of them 
 lacked what the other had. 
 
 No ! Miss Neilson's very finest efforts were in parts 
 and scenes of strongly theatrical power, written for 
 theatrical effect. Her Pauline in The Lady of Lyons 
 was admirable, and as Julia, in The Hunchback, her 
 " Do it ! nor leave the act to me ! " was really very fine 
 indeed. 
 
 This engagement was for me a very arduous one, as, 
 in addition to playing a long leading part every evening 
 and at least one matinee a week, I had to conduct a
 
 58 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 rehearsal Dearly every morning (Miss Neilson rarely 
 
 attended these rehearsals), and over and above all this 
 
 there was the ever-present danger of her differences with 
 the local managers, which had to be bridged over — not 
 always so easy ! The work did not bother me. I 
 thrived on work in those days, and by the exercise of a 
 pood deal of diplomacy I somehow managed to keep on 
 pleasant, friendly terms with my star, whilst doing my 
 very best to serve the manager who paid my salary, 
 and I always got on well with the various theatre 
 managers and their several companies. Alas ! it fell out 
 that our very last week brought about a marked change 
 in this condition of affairs. The tour ended at Toronto 
 (a return visit). It so happened that I had done a good 
 deal of rowing in England in the previous three years 
 and had been, thereby, brought in contact with many 
 foremost amateur athletes. Some of these had migrated 
 to Canada and settled in Toronto. They rallied round 
 me, as only Englishmen in the Colonies know how to. 
 Amongst my greatest friends was a very clever man, 
 T. C. Patteson, w r ho had founded and was then editor 
 of the Toronto Mail. He vied with many others in their 
 efforts to give me a good time. It fell out that in our 
 last week Miss Neilson announced a farew r ell benefit, 
 which really had no business significance, but was an 
 opportunity for arousing a demonstration of enthusiasm. 
 My friends seized on the idea (against which I protested 
 with all the emphasis at my command) that I ought to 
 have a benefit, too. Miss Neilson was consulted, with- 
 out my knowledge, and she in turn was supposed to have 
 taken the opinion of Strakosch (our manager) by tele-
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 59 
 
 gram. It was decided that it was not permissible — at 
 which I was not a bit surprised — but the ball having 
 been started it gained in size and velocity, and our last 
 night, March 24, 1875, when we played The Lady of 
 Lyons, was quite a scene of strong partisanship. Ap- 
 plause came equally for both of us in our efforts. It was 
 really very embarrassing for me, and I could have well 
 wished to have been " saved from my friends." But 
 there was no help for it ! I endeavoured to explain to 
 Miss Neilson, but she was furious and I don't think she 
 ever had a more dramatic moment than when she said 
 at the end — with her fine eyes flashing volumes of 
 indignation — " I'll never speak to you again as long as 
 I live." As a matter of fact, she only did once more. 
 Coming out of a London theatre two or three years after, 
 we met face to face, when she perfunctorily passed the 
 usual pleasantries, and I never saw her again. I was 
 greatly grieved and shocked to hear of her tragically 
 sudden death in Paris in 1880. She had always suffered 
 from dyspepsia, and had rather ignored it by often sitting 
 up late and eating heavy suppers. In Paris, on a very 
 hot day, it was said she drank two large glasses of milk 
 and soda in quick succession, which stopped the heart's 
 action and she died practically before aid could be 
 summoned. She lies in Brompton Cemetery, where a 
 beautiful stone marks her last home which, after the 
 usual inscription, bears the word of so much moment in 
 the actor's life : " Resting." 
 
 So ended one of the most meteoric careers in all the 
 romance of the English stage. At first blush it would 
 appear a sad thing ! But was it ? She had tasted the
 
 60 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 sweets of almost unprecedented honours. She passed 
 in the fullness of her womanhood and at the zenith of her 
 fame, and also when some very distinct annoyances were 
 looming in the future for her. All her fine points and 
 all her faults lie there with her, and the world, when it 
 recalls her at all, remembers only her greatness and her 
 goodness, and happily forgets all else ! By her will Miss 
 Neilson left one thousand pounds to Clement Scott and 
 Joseph Knight ; one thousand pounds to Mr. Edward 
 Compton (still with us), her last leading man, and the 
 balance of her fortune went to an old and dear friend, 
 Admiral Carr Glyn, who endowed with it a fund for 
 certain needy actors. 
 
 The manageress of the Grand Opera House, Toronto, 
 was a Mrs. Morrison, who had been a Miss Nickerson, 
 daughter of an old and respected actor. She was in 
 great favour with the very popular Governor-General 
 of that day, Lord Dufferin. She was a most admirable 
 business woman as well as a very capable actress and a 
 kind, considerate friend to many people, including 
 myself. She persuaded me that I had created sufficient 
 interest in Toronto to warrant my trying two weeks 
 " starring " there on my own account in modern plays. 
 This I did, playing The Romance of a Poor Young Man, 
 Old Soldiers, Partners for Life, etc., with a pleasant 
 result both artistically and financially. After this I was 
 engaged, at Boucicault's suggestion, to play Captain 
 Molyneux in the first Canadian production of his play 
 The Shaughraun. This was the part created in New 
 York by Harry Montague. The play made a huge 
 success in Toronto, and then I was still further retained
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 61 
 
 to play the lead with the beautiful Mrs. Rousby, an 
 English star visiting America that year. She was indeed 
 a lovely woman, but alas ! this was another case of a 
 frightfully ill-assorted marriage, and one of the worst ! 
 She had married, years before, quite a good actor in 
 England, Wybert Rousby. Where the fault lay was a 
 matter of opinion amongst those who professed to know. 
 Perhaps there were faults on both sides, but certain it 
 was they were completely and irrevocably estranged. I 
 managed to get on very well with her (sometimes difficult) 
 and she drew quite a good week's receipts in Toronto. 
 At that time, as they do to-day, they liked an entertain- 
 ment with the English stamp on it. I played with her, 
 amongst other things, the romantic part of Edward 
 Courtenay in Tom Taylor's 'Twixt Axe and Crown, of 
 which she was the original of her part in London, and I 
 think one of the biggest and most prolonged roars of 
 applause I ever heard in a playhouse was when I finished 
 a passionate heroic speech with the line, " For England ! 
 England's Queen ! and England's Law ! " It really 
 seemed as if they would never stop applauding. 
 
 After Mrs. Rousby 's engagement closed I had a week's 
 tour of some smaller Canadian towns, accompanied 
 by Mrs. Morrison, and then spent a few days in Toronto 
 saying " good-bye " to a lot of as good friends as a man 
 could ever expect to make away from home. I had 
 many a lump in my throat as one and all wished me 
 " God-speed ! " On the last Sunday night J. L. Toole and 
 I walked and talked of old friends on the shore of Lake 
 Ontario, and I bore all kinds of messages to his friends in 
 England in anticipation of his return. He had been on
 
 02 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 his first and only lour iii America thai same year, ami 
 we had nut at odd times ill Philadelphia! Cincinnati, 
 St . Louis and Toronto. 
 
 Our of the prominent members of Mrs. Morrison's 
 company in Toronto was a Bplendid old English actor, 
 Mr. C. W. Couldock, who, years afterwards, created the 
 leading part in Hazel Kirke, a play which ran at the 
 Madison Square Theatre, New York, for years "off the 
 reel." Apropos of this play, the late Henry Pettitt 
 always insisted that it was taken from his English 
 melodrama. The Green Lanes of England, and certainly 
 the similarity was so extraordinary that if he was not 
 justified in his contention the long arm of coincidence 
 was quite unusually en evidence. 
 
 Passing through New York I saw a very fine per- 
 formance of The Two Orphans at the Union Square 
 Theatre there, under the management of A. M. Palmer. 
 I had seen the play in Paris and London previously, but 
 the New York performance was by far the best. It was 
 a strong cast — Charles Thorne, McKee Rankin, Stuart 
 Robson, F. F. MacKay, James Stoddart, Fanny Morant, 
 Ida Vernon, Kate Claxton, Kitty Blanchard, etc. 
 McKee Rankin was especially fine as Jacques. 
 
 I sailed home by the s.s. Britannic (Capt. Thompson) 
 on May 29, 1875, and reached London on June 8. I saw 
 my first iceberg on the way, and many of them. One of 
 the letters I bore home from J. L. Toole was to a member 
 of the club called " The Knights of the Round Table," 
 held at Simpson's, in the Strand. The result of this 
 introduction was that I was elected a member of that 
 club, and remained so for many years. It was not very
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 63 
 
 much of a club, but rather a coterie of jolly old friends 
 who had the run of Simpson's fine English food and Simp- 
 son's fine cooking in a good, large, private room. Many 
 actors and managers belonged to it, amongst them 
 Henry Irving, David James, Thomas Thorne, John 
 Hollingshead and others. We had the largest round 
 table in the world made from a single piece of wood. It 
 was in the great Exhibition of 1851 — a solid piece of 
 mahogany at which some sixteen members could sit and 
 dine with ease. Here some kind genial old friends 
 used to meet most days, and on Saturdays a goodly 
 number would amuse one another with impromptu 
 concerts, etc., and many happy times were spent. The 
 president of the club in my day was John Christopher 
 Pawle, a London solicitor (father of Mr. Lennox Pawle, 
 the present-day actor), but the moving spirit was that 
 kindly, good-natured Englishman, E. W. Cathie, manag- 
 ing director and practical proprietor of Simpson's. A 
 better fellow never lived, and when I say he reminded 
 me greatly of my own good father, to whom I have 
 alluded in my opening chapter, it may be gathered how 
 strong was my affection for him and with what sadness 
 I received the news of his sudden death when I was on 
 one of my tours in America some years after. I believe 
 the club and the round table are still at Simpson's, but 
 I have not seen either for some years. Here David 
 James gave his dinner to celebrate the 1,000th night of 
 the run of Byron's Our Boys, and one of the old members, 
 George Ledger, brother of the founder of the Era and 
 uncle of the late proprietor of that paper, used to show 
 with great pride the voucher for the seat he occupied
 
 64 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 at Edmund Kean's last appearance in London. What 
 a wonder Kiliiiund Kean must have been ! George 
 Ledger said to me once : " It is true, my hoy, that he 
 was only live feel six and a-half inches in height, but, 
 by Heaven, I have seen him when he seemed ten feet 
 hiffh ! •"
 
 VIII 
 
 The autumn of 1875 found me at the Royal, Man- 
 chester, under special circumstances. A powerful and 
 wealthy syndicate had been formed to take over the 
 theatre from the estate of the previous manager (John 
 Knowles) and run it on first-class lines. There was any 
 amount of capital at the back of the scheme, and their 
 ambition aimed as high as to form a company such as 
 could go to London, even, as the Manchester Theatre 
 Royal Company. Manchester has always been a fertile 
 ground for local theatrical enterprise (witness the 
 success, in recent years, of the management of that 
 astute and clever lady Miss Horniman). The proprietors 
 in 1875 were unfortunate in their choice of a manager. 
 Mr. William Sidney was a man of great experience, but 
 principally gained in smaller towns such as Norwich, etc., 
 and he seemed quite incapable of " reaching out " as 
 the syndicate would have liked. His successor, Alfred 
 Thompson, was extravagant enough for anything, but 
 his talent lay chiefly in the production of pantomime and 
 extravaganza, and his purely dramatic capability was 
 not what was required in the instance mentioned ; so by 
 degrees the gentlemen interested, finding their hopes 
 unrealised, got tired of their enterprise, and the theatre 
 drifted back to the ordinary level of provincial houses. 
 It was a great pity and a great chance missed. 
 
 We opened on September 4, 1875, with a great flourish 
 » 65
 
 66 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 of trumpets. Everything was new and bright and well 
 done. The opening play was As You Like It, with Mr. 
 and Mrs. Kendal as Rosalind and Orlando. I played 
 Jaques. During their visit the Kendals produced 
 several of the plays in their repertory, and we did very 
 good business indeed. I wonder if Mr. Kendal remembers 
 how near he was to death during our early rehearsals ? 
 A counterweight of the drop-curtain became detached 
 from its rope, which was new, and fell, just touching his 
 arm, crashing right through two floors ! After the 
 Kendals, we produced with our own specially selected 
 company Tom Taylor's fine play Lady Clancarty, and in 
 this I was very fortunate in getting on good terms with 
 my public and greatly pleasing my proprietors. Our 
 company was quite a strong one, and included as good 
 an all-round leading lady as I have ever seen — a much 
 better actress than one-half the so-called stars — Miss 
 Louise Willes. Unfortunately, she was not beautiful, 
 but such was her marked intellectuality that I have 
 seen her look very positively bewitching when her brain 
 shone through her work. She was an artist to her 
 finger-tips. Nothing came amiss to her. She played 
 Lady Clancarty beautifully. She was a splendid Lady 
 Teazle, and her Lady Macbeth and Ophelia, etc., were 
 worthy of all praise. I am sorry to remember she died 
 " unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung," without her great 
 merits having been fully recognised. She had been in 
 poor health for some time previously. 
 
 After Lady Clancarty, which did fine business, we had 
 a fortnight's visit of Mr. and Mrs. Bandmann ! Only 
 moderately successful. Bandmann was a tragedian who 
 hailed from Germany. He was certainly not of the first
 
 SAM1 EL PHELPS 
 
 7 ., hnv nmif ii,
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 67 
 
 water, but an adept in the gentle art of making himself 
 disliked by his fellow-artists through a painfully over- 
 bearing manner. 
 
 And then came the event which was to mark an epoch 
 in my career and a red-letter time in my life, which I 
 have never failed to look back on with feelings of the 
 greatest interest and pride. Samuel Phelps came to 
 us as a star to play several of his great parts, and for the 
 first time I met the man who was to have an influence 
 on all my future life, and not only compel my positive 
 worship of himself, but strengthen in a marked degree 
 my respect for the art to which he and I had the honour 
 to belong, in showing me its nobler side and its far- 
 reaching influence for good and evil when employed in 
 truthfully " holding the mirror up to nature." By 
 many actors of the modern school, whose reverence is 
 not their strongest point, I have been thought quite mad 
 in my worship of Samuel Phelps. Well, I plead guilty, 
 as they understand that worship. I have never seen 
 such an actor ! I am also more than ordinarily familiar 
 with stage history, and I can find no record of such 
 an actor ! Let me hasten to explain this last state- 
 ment. He played more parts and a wider range of 
 parts — well, than any actor who ever spoke the English 
 language. I should not claim for Phelps that he could 
 play Othello or Richard III., or even Shylock, as well 
 as Edmund Kean, or Lear as well as Forrest, or Abel 
 Drugger as well as Garrick, or Coriolanus as well as 
 John Philip Kemble. All these and many others 
 unnamed have left reputations in one, two, three, or 
 even six parts, but Phelps's reputation rests on sixty — 
 and more. For eighteen years — from 1844 to 1862 — he
 
 68 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 Conducted Sadler's Wells Theatre. He produced there 
 thilty-foui of Shakespeare's plays, and his list of other 
 productions and parts played is practically a list of 
 every great play in the language. He changed his 
 programme every week, fortnight, or month, as required, 
 and drew all London to what was an outlying theatre 
 to see his work. All this time Charles Kean, under the 
 direct patronage of the Queen and Royal Family, was 
 doing fine work at the Princess's, but the great heart of 
 the public was with Phelps at Sadler's Wells. If this is 
 questioned, speak to any white-haired playgoer about 
 any one of the great classic plays and you will be met 
 by some such remark as this : " Ah, I have not seen that 
 play since Sam Phelps produced it at Sadler's Wells, 
 and I don't want to see any one else in it." This sort 
 of statement is his monument, and, to the disgrace of 
 London be it said, his only one. Apart from his own 
 individual acting his ideas of our art were all broad and 
 grand. Nothing little or narrow-minded found a place 
 in his nature. To paraphrase what Disraeli said of his 
 wife : " To know him was a liberal education," and to 
 talk with him on any play or theatrical subject was an 
 intellectual treat. On the stage he was fairness itself, 
 and he would (and did, constantly) show any one who was 
 in earnest how to make the most of his part, even when 
 it would seem to score against himself. From the first 
 hour of my acquaintance with him I was fortunate in 
 apparently winning his esteem and regard. He seemed 
 never tired of showing me how I could improve my 
 performances, and we became great friends, and when, 
 alas ! I followed him to his last resting-place on that dull 
 November day in 1878, and saw London standing
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 69 
 
 respectfully bareheaded for miles as we passed, I knew 
 that many thousands of people (including myself) had 
 lost a friend whose artistic endeavours had amounted to 
 genuine benefactions, and whose particular niche in 
 their regard could not, and has not since, been quite 
 rilled. In private life he was a devoted father, who 
 lived for his home and the love of his children (he had 
 been a widower for years) and his art. In the course 
 of my life I have never met an artist in any profession 
 whose ideals were higher and whose sympathies were 
 broader. He was in no sense a society man. He had 
 not the time. His one holiday was usually spent in 
 fishing in the shires, and an amusing story is told of a 
 country farmer and his wife seated in the pit at Sadler's 
 Wells, and when Phelps came on the stage the farmer 
 
 turned to his wife and said, " Betsy, I'm d d if it 
 
 ain't the old fisherman." One of the few of the public 
 who had ever seen him in private ! 
 
 In Manchester I played with him in John Bull, 
 Richelieu, The Man of the World — in which he was 
 magnificent as Sir Pertinax MacSycophant — and finally 
 we produced on a scale of much magnificence The School 
 for Scandal. It is possible that this was the most 
 elaborate and costly production of this play ever seen. 
 We used the same models as had been employed at the 
 Prince of Wales's under Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft's manage- 
 ment, but, of course, in the splendid area of the Royal, 
 Manchester, the effect was bigger and finer. All the 
 costumes were new and handsome. I should be afraid 
 to say what was the worth of the genuine Queen Anne 
 silver (lent by Mr. Agnew, one of the directors), which 1 
 had in my supper scene as Charles Surface, but it was
 
 70 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 very valuable indeed. Phelps played Sir Peter Teazle, 
 Miss Willes Lady Teazle, Miss Margaret Cooper Lady 
 Sncerwell, John Wainwright Joseph Surface, and the 
 writer Charles Surface. All the other parts had good 
 exponents. The whole thing was a very big success 
 indeed — individually and collectively — and drew splendid 
 houses. I was very fortunate in consolidating my 
 position in the town and theatre. The public and my 
 managers made a great fuss of me, and, what was most 
 gratifying of all to me, dear old Mr. Phelps went out of 
 his way to be particularly complimentary. Altogether 
 it w r as one of my happiest experiences. 
 
 Mr. Phelps had a fund of humour, and used to tell 
 some stories inimitably. One good one was of his 
 coming out of Sadler's Wells one night with a large 
 bandana silk handkerchief (as used in those days) 
 hanging far out of his pocket. Two little pickpockets 
 were following him to steal it, when, just as one of them 
 was about to grab it, the other said, " 'Ere, Bill, don't 
 operate on 'im; 'e's a brother pro." Another story he 
 delighted in was of a performance of Bulwer Lytton's 
 Money in Sheffield. In the Club scene, where the Old 
 Member says nothing but " Waiter ! snuffbox ! " at 
 frequent intervals, it so got on the nerves of a man in 
 the gallery that, after three or four repetitions, he called 
 out in broad Yorkshire dialect, " Hey ! give t'oud fool 
 snuff-box, and let him put it in t'is pocket and let 
 t' play go on." 
 
 In 1876 Alderman Cotton was elected Lord Mayor 
 of London, and during his year of office a luncheon was 
 given at the Mansion House to the dramatic profession. 
 I believe it was the first public recognition of our calling
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 71 
 
 within the city proper. There were only two toasts — 
 " The Queen " and " The Drama," coupled with the 
 name of Samuel Phelps. He rose to respond, and his 
 opening words were these : — " My Lord Mayor, ladies 
 and gentlemen, — I am sixty-three years of age — forty- 
 three years of which have been spent in the service of 
 the public as an actor, and it may interest you to know 
 that this is practically the first time I have ever addressed 
 a word to an audience which has not been set down for 
 me by the author." And so it was ! No speeches, no 
 paragraphs, no interviews, no photographs, no bunkum 
 of any sort ! Just honest, straightforward work for the 
 public when the curtain was up. I don't think any words 
 ever affected me so strongly. Here, good reader, was 
 my text and my sermon in one ! This very speech 
 caused the resolve on my own part that I would try 
 to follow in his footsteps in these particulars (to which 
 I alluded in my opening chapter), and when the time 
 comes for those left behind to speak of me I ask no better 
 eulogy than the words, " according to his lights, he 
 faithfully followed the teaching of his great and chosen 
 master." 
 
 After the Phelps engagement at Manchester (the 
 season was nearly over) the Grand Opera Company came 
 to the theatre and the dramatic company moved to the 
 Amphitheatre, Liverpool, and the Royal, Sheffield. 
 For these two dates we were strengthened by the addition 
 of Mr. T. C. King, a well-known and well-liked provincial 
 " star," whom I had met the previous year in America, 
 as also in London, where he had made several pronounced 
 successes, notably as Quasimodo in Notre Dame. He was 
 the possessor of a magnificent voice — deep, full, and
 
 7_> FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 resonant. Indeed, he had been so much congratulated 
 tin it during his life that it had been almost a disadvan- 
 tage from the fact that he had come to use only his 
 rolling, line lower chest notes for every part and scene, 
 sometimes at the expense of naturalness. In rugged 
 parts he was excellent — a splendid Ingomar, a good 
 Othello, and a fine William — Black-Ey'd Susan. The 
 season in Manchester ended just before Christmas, and 
 I returned to London.
 
 IX 
 
 January, 1876, found me back on an old stalking- 
 ground — the Royal, Edinburgh, which had been burnt 
 down during my tour in America, and was now rebuilt 
 and reopened under the management of J. B. Howard, 
 who had preceded me as leading man under Mrs. 
 Wyndham. For the opening he had secured the first 
 performance, in the provinces, of Boucicault's immensely 
 successful play, The Shaughraun. It was well produced 
 and cast. The company included Mr. and Mrs. Hubert 
 O' Grady, J. D. Beveridge, Thomas Nerney, myself, the 
 beautiful Rose Massey, and a sweetly pretty little lady, 
 Miss Eveleen Rayne (" Mickey Ryan " she was called 
 amongst her friends), a daughter of Desmond Ryan, 
 for many years musical critic of the London Standard. 
 Boucicault had cabled to Chatterton whilst I was on my 
 voyage home from America to engage me for the part 
 of Captain Molyneux for the original production of the 
 play in England at Drury Lane, but William Terriss 
 was on his staff and salary list, so he did not do so. It 
 was pleasant, therefore, that Boucicault engaged me 
 himself when the matter was in his own hands. The 
 play ran six and a-half weeks in Edinburgh — an almost 
 unprecedented run in those days — to enormous houses. 
 O'Grady could not compare with Boucicault as Conn; 
 but, then, nobody could, and as the provinces had not 
 
 73
 
 7 1 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 seen the great original he satisfied them very well in 
 what is known in the profession as an " actor-proof " 
 part. Rose Massey was splendid as Claire Folliott, 
 Beveridge excellent as Corry Kinchclls, Nerney made a 
 " hit " in Shiel Barry's part of Harvey Duff, and Miss 
 Rayne was a deliciously piquant and pretty Moya. 
 This was a great achievement, as it was her first appear- 
 ance on the stage, but she had been beautifully coached 
 by the sweet original (in London), Mrs. Boucicault. 
 
 From Edinburgh we went in turn to Glasgow, New- 
 castle, Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham, and other 
 large towns. Everywhere we played to crowded houses. 
 I left the company in April to return to London under 
 engagement to Horace Wigan at the Princess's for a 
 play called Abel Drake, by Tom Taylor and John 
 Saunders, which failed hopelessly. John Clayton played 
 the leading part. I played a heavy part, but the play 
 was doomed from the first line apparently. As a stop- 
 gap we revived The Lady of Lyons and The Sheep in 
 Wolfs Clothing, Miss Coghlan playing the leading female 
 part with me in each. She was an admirable actress, 
 with great glow and humanity in her work. As soon 
 as it could be got ready we followed this with a good 
 revival of The Corsican Brothers. It had been produced 
 originally in the same theatre by Charles Kean, and was 
 a very favourite play there. John Clayton played 
 Louis and Fabian de Franchi, and I played Chateau 
 Renaud. We were both good swordsmen, and we 
 carefully rehearsed a very interesting duel under Mr. 
 McTurk, who was the successor of " Angelo," of St. 
 James's Street, and it was not an uncommon thing for 
 some of the officers of regiments quartered in London
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 75 
 
 and others interested in swordsmanship, to come to the 
 Princess's after dining to see the fight alone. Let me 
 here observe (parenthetically) what a very useful thing 
 it is for all young actors to learn fencing and dancing 
 if they have the energy and the chance. Apart from 
 their absolute use on necessary occasions, which are not 
 as frequent now as in the old days, they are invaluable 
 in giving grace and carriage and bearing at every and all 
 times on the stage. We still retained The Sheep in 
 Wolfs Clothing in the bill. Miss Coghlan played Ann 
 Carew therein, and Miss Caroline Hill played the leading 
 part in The Corsican Brothers. Horace Wigan, the 
 manager, was a delightful man — well-read and genial, 
 though with an apparently surly exterior. He was a 
 brother of Alfred Wigan, who was a popular and success- 
 ful actor — the original John Mildmay (Still Waters Run 
 Deep), and the original Chateau Renaud in England. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Wigan had a considerable vogue 
 as " stars " for some years about that time. Funny 
 stories are told of her. She became badly bitten with 
 the " Society craze," and although not born to it, she 
 gave herself considerable trouble in assuming the airs and 
 graces of the beau monde. On one occasion she was 
 congratulated on a pretty shawl she was wearing, and 
 she blandly observed : " Yes ! There are only two like 
 this in England ! " Vicky ' has the one and I have the 
 other ! " This " chatty " allusion to Her Majesty 
 Queen Victoria was quite a little gem in its way. She 
 got a sad " calling down " once from that fine actress, 
 Mrs. Stirling. Mrs. Wigan, in early life, had been a 
 stilt-walker in a circus. None the worse for that, 
 perhaps, but she chose (as many others have done) to
 
 76 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 forget and ignore the past. On one occasion she was 
 rehearsing at the old Olympic, when she and Mrs. 
 Stirling came to loggerheads about the setting of some 
 furniture in a drawing-room scene. After a somewhat 
 heated argument, Mrs. Wigan (much forgetting) said : 
 " My dear ! I hope you'll allow me to know as much about 
 drawing-room furniture as you do. I expect I have seen 
 quite as many drawing-rooms as you have ! " Mrs. 
 Stirling (much remembering) said : " Doubtless, love ! 
 Through the first-floor window ! " 
 
 In August, 1876, I commenced a short engagement as 
 Sir Leicester Deadlock in Jo, J. P. Burnett's version of 
 Bleak House, in which his wife, Miss Jennie Lee, made 
 an enormous success, and with which she went all over 
 the world. I also created the leading part in a farce 
 entitled The Way of the Wind, by Wallis MacKay, the 
 original " Captious Critic " of the Illustrated Sporting 
 and Dramatic News, when it started. His inimitable 
 drawings with their clever and delicate sense of caricature 
 did much to establish the success of that paper. In 
 October, 1876, I was at the Park Theatre, Camden Town, 
 which stood in Park Street, nearly opposite the Britannia, 
 and has long since been pulled down to make room for 
 business premises. The play was called The Ray of 
 Light, and was a version of the French VAveugle, by 
 Dennery. A very fine story of the kind in vogue at 
 that time. It was under the management of Mr. 
 William Creswick (former manager of the Surrey, in 
 partnership with Richard Shepherd). A version of the 
 play had been done there called The Humpbacked 
 Doctor. Creswick played the doctor. I played a blind 
 part, and added a small mark to my reputation and an
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 77 
 
 addition to the number of my friends among the public. 
 Creswick was a dear old gentleman — a brother of Cres- 
 wick, the great painter — genial and kindly, but with one 
 amiable little foible. He was as vain as a little child, in 
 a cheery, harmless way. Absolutely alike in everything 
 he did, he was, nevertheless, quite a good actor when his 
 personality was fitted. He once said to me : " I have 
 often had a desire to play Polonius and The Ghost and 
 The Gravedigger in Hamlet. I would have given such 
 individuality to each." Now, this was just what he 
 could not do, but with " my tongue in my cheek " I 
 replied : " Well, why did you not do it, sir, when you 
 had the Surrey ? You had the Shakespearean ' ball at 
 your feet ' there." Without a moment's hesitation he 
 answered : " I should have done so, but for the difficulty 
 in finding any one to play Hamlet ! " 
 
 Creswick was the baldest man I ever saw. His head 
 was like a misshapen billiard ball, and he wore the very 
 wiggiest of black wigs . When the Shakespeare centenary 
 was held at Stratford-on-Avon it was considered neces- 
 sary to have an actor present who was prominently 
 associated with Shakespearean performances, and the 
 choice fell on Creswick as the best available at the time. 
 After all the big ceremonies, extending over a week, a 
 banquet was held under the presidency of Mr. Flowers, 
 the Mayor. He was a local brewer of wealth, and had 
 taken a foremost part in the movement which culminated 
 in such gratifying success. Creswick sat on his right 
 hand. The toast of " The Queen " was honoured and 
 the " Immortal memory of Shakespeare " drunk in 
 respectful silence. And the toast of " The Chairman " 
 was proposed in suitable terms. Mr. Flowers rose to
 
 78 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 respond. In the course of his speech he said : " Ladies 
 and Gentlemen, — You may well say my life is bound up 
 with the town of Stratford -on -Avon. I worship the 
 memory of Shakespeare and I love the town which gave 
 him birth. Nearly all my life has been spent here. 
 When I first came to St rat ford -on -Avon my hair was as 
 raven black as my old friend Cres wick's here ! " At that 
 moment he grabbed Creswick's wig, which came off in 
 his hand, disclosing a very bald head, to the discomfiture 
 of the wearer and the hilarious mirth of everybody else. 
 These were the days of the " Albion," which was 
 situated just opposite Drury Lane, and has long since 
 disappeared, where many actors, authors, managers, 
 and Press men could be seen at supper almost every 
 night — Chatterton, Webster, Edmund Falconer, Byron, 
 Halliday, George Honey, John Clarke, E. J. Odell, 
 J. Comyns Carr, and many others — and many were the 
 jokes cracked within its hospitable walls, where the 
 supper snacks — grilled bones, Welsh rarebits, etc., etc. — 
 w r ere of the very best ; and the cellar, too, was excellent ! 
 The seats were in boxes like old-fashioned church pews, 
 nor could it be said you quite had your own way there. 
 The head waiter (one Pauncefort) had an amusing habit 
 of saying : " W T hat you want, sir, is so-and-so," and you 
 rather resigned yourself to the idea that he knew best — 
 sometimes, perhaps, he did. Several clubs also existed 
 where actors congregated which have all passed away. 
 " The Temple " in Norfolk Street, Strand ; " The Unity " 
 in Holywell Street, Strand — long since demolished by 
 the Strand improvements — and especially " The Junior 
 Garrick " in Adelphi Terrace. This last was owned and 
 managed by a Mr. T. Mowbray, and was, for years,
 
 [To face page 79
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 79 
 
 very popular with the profession. Here many notable 
 gatherings took place from time to time. It was here the 
 luncheon was given to Salvini on his first visit to England. 
 He did not speak a word of English and used to travel 
 round with an interpreter named Paravacini, who was 
 a sort of international agent. At the luncheon in 
 question Salvini's magnificent rolling voice and his 
 beautiful Italian diction when interpreted, sentence by 
 sentence, in a cracked, squeaky falsetto, produced a 
 ludicrous effect which may be imagined better than 
 described without an imitation. The Junior Garrick 
 was much affected by the great John Oxenford, the 
 dramatic critic of The Tintes. I say " great " because 
 Oxenford had undoubtedly one of the most tremendous 
 intellects I have ever been brought in contact with. He 
 had read almost everything, and it was said of him that 
 he never forgot even a date he had read. He knew the 
 Drama in nine different European languages. Some- 
 thing like a critic, indeed ! and a worthy successor to 
 the great Hazlitt, whose works are so well known. A 
 great broad mind he had, and though a Bohemian almost 
 to the extent of being Rabelaisian, he was a generous, 
 kindly man, of fine strong instincts of friendship and good 
 nature. On the occasion of our presenting him with his 
 portrait, in oils, to be hung in the Club, he was much 
 affected, and in the course of his speech of thanks he 
 said " he did not recall a time when he had written a line 
 which could send an actor home to find his wife in 
 tears." This was nearly true, but not quite. I remem- 
 ber two instances when he overstepped that line a little. 
 Of a very mediocre actor at the Haymarket (Mr. W. G.), 
 he wrote : " We learn from a contemporary that this
 
 80 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 gentleman is considered a very promising actor. For our 
 own pari we don't care how much he promises so long as 
 he doesn't perform" Of another very conceited per- 
 former from the provinces, who appeared at Drury Lane, 
 and whose self-sufficiency got on his nerves, he wrote: 
 " As for Mr. L., who played the part of the hero, he is 
 so very much favoured by nature that he scorns to be 
 indebted to art" The Junior Garrick went the way 
 of most of the so-called professional clubs. A non- 
 professional element got in and steadily increased in 
 numbers till it gained the ascendancy. Of course, it 
 spent more money than the actors, and the proprietor 
 was, doubtless, justified in recognising on " which side 
 his bread was buttered." At length the two parties 
 became impossible, and at a general meeting in the later 
 part of 1876 a vote went against the professionals, which 
 sounded the death knell of the institution as an actors' 
 club. That very night, in David James and Tom 
 Thome's dressing-room at the Vaudeville, we resolved 
 to start a new club for ourselves, and the foundation was 
 laid, there and then, of the present successful Green Room 
 Club. The scheme, once started, developed rapidly. 
 We drew r up a set of rules w r hich should prevent a repeti- 
 tion of what had so often occurred in clubs of this sort, 
 and which should leave the control alw r ays in the hands 
 of the professional members. Every one took the matter 
 up very enthusiastically, and, although the scrutiny and 
 qualification for membership were much stricter in those 
 days than they are now, w^e opened the club in premises 
 in Adelphi Terrace, Strand, in July 1877. The inaugural 
 luncheon took place at the Criterion Restaurant under 
 the chairmanship of the first president — that grand old
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 81 
 
 patrician nobleman and sportsman, the late Duke of 
 Beaufort. After luncheon, we adjourned to our own 
 premises, where we were joined by those two splendid 
 actors, Samuel Phelps and Ben Webster, as guests, and 
 the club was fairly started on its way. I joined the 
 committee about the second year, and served on it and 
 the house committee, off and on, for many years. The 
 club has had four homes : Adelphi Terrace, two in Bed- 
 ford Street, Strand, and its present handsome premises 
 in Leicester Square. Of course, it went through its 
 dark days, when it seemed certain that we should 
 have to close up — indeed, at one time the trustees had 
 decided that we must do so — but the secretary (George 
 Derlacher) and some of the committee and the house 
 committee, which consisted then of Charles Dickens, 
 Jr., R. C. Carton, the successful dramatist, and myself, 
 asked them to give us six more months in which to try 
 " to pull it through," during which time we had the 
 gratification of seeing it weather the storm and float 
 serenely into the harbour of prosperity. After serving 
 it for a long term of years, I began to find I was so much 
 away from London that I was glad to resign the work into 
 younger hands, but I continued a member down to two 
 years ago (thirty-four years in all), and it was a very great 
 wrench to me to give up my membership and separate 
 myself from many well-loved friends for a reason which 
 one would have thought impossible. 
 
 Although never a member of the Savage Club, I was 
 often a welcomed visitor, and many of its members were 
 great friends, notably Henry S. Leigh, the poet and 
 humorist; Mr. Tegetmeier, the naturalist, etc., and 
 especially James Albery, the dramatist (from my first
 
 82 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 days on the stage). 1 wonder Li many people have read 
 the brilliantly human epitaph he wrote for himself, so 
 painfully descriptive — 
 
 " lie walked beneath the moon, 
 He slept beneath the sun, 
 He lived a life of 'going-to-do,' 
 And died with nothing done."
 
 X 
 
 Through the years I have dealt with I used to run 
 over to Paris and study the French acting whenever a 
 favourable opportunity presented itself. I have seen 
 Got, Regnier, Worms, Febvre, Delaunay, Mounet -Sully, 
 Coquelin, aine Desclec, Croizette, Bernhardt, Chaumont, 
 Judic, Farqueil, Jane Hading, and many others in some 
 of their most famous parts. I saw a splendid perform- 
 ance of Sardou's great drama, La Patrie, at the Ambigu, 
 which so fascinated me that I went back to it four times 
 in one week. I saw both Got and Regnier play La Joie 
 Fait Peur, and honestly preferred Boucicault in his own 
 version of the same play, entitled Kerry, or, Night and 
 Morning (a beautiful piece of acting). I saw a great 
 performance of VEtrangere with Croizette, Bernhardt 
 (in a part almost comedy), Coquelin, and Febvre in the 
 cast. Dejazet I saw play in La Petite Marquise in London. 
 I shall always think that Febvre was one of the most 
 satisfying artists of my time on the Parisian stage; 
 and I have no hesitation in saying that Sarah Bernhardt 
 is incomparably the greatest tragedienne and vividly 
 emotional actress I have seen since Ristori. 
 
 One notable man whom I saw pretty frequently about 
 this time was Henry Labouchere. Of course I met Mrs. 
 Labouchere as manageress of the old Queen's and the 
 Royalty by turns. Her professional name was Henri - 
 
 83
 
 84 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 etta Hodson, and 1 am inclined to think she was a very 
 much better actress than she got credit for being. In 
 some parts she was charming. Her husband was an 
 extraordinary man. Beneath a veneer of cynicism he 
 carried a good heart, and was a very sincere friend, as 
 he could be a most implacable enemy, whilst his absolute 
 delight in probing and exposing fraud and humbug, 
 either public or individual, amounted to a positive craze. 
 At the time I speak of I was living each summer at 
 Teddington, and he had his beautiful home on the 
 Thames just below, " Pope's Villa " at Twickenham, 
 and I used to travel to and from London with him very 
 frequently. The marvellous stories he would tell about 
 himself ! I used to think he must pass"a^large'Jportion 
 of his time inventing them. He once said to me : " My 
 dear fellow, I have made it impossible for any one to 
 vilify me. I have told such dreadful things against 
 myself that no one can think of anything worse." And 
 truly some of his adventures as he recounted them were 
 rather staggering. Many of them referred to his uncle, 
 Lord Taunton, with whom his relations would appear 
 to have been most strained. He thoroughly enjoyed a 
 joke or good point made against himself, and one incident 
 about that time caused him immense amusement. The 
 old City Barge of the London Corporation, the Maria 
 Wood, developed a habit of bringing picnic parties 
 up the river and mooring immediately opposite to 
 " Pope's Villa " for hours in the afternoon, and with a 
 band playing and dancing, etc., the proceedings became 
 what Labouchere thought a very decided nuisance. He 
 wrote to the authorities, and received a reply that " it 
 would be better for him to keep quiet or they would
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 85 
 
 land and dance on his lawn." Perfectly furious, he 
 then applied to the Thames Conservancy for an explana- 
 tion, and it turned out that an old and long-disused ferry 
 and right-of-way had once existed exactly on the site of 
 his garden, and the English law of right-of-way is, as is 
 well known, most difficult and expensive to fight or 
 contravene. He positively roared with laughter when 
 all the facts were known. 
 
 Another good fellow who enjoyed an " up-river " life 
 and spent two or three summers at Teddington, was 
 John Clayton, the actor before mentioned (" Jack 
 Clayton " his friends called him). What a good chap 
 he was ! And how hard he tried, by an. assumption of 
 blase indifference, to disguise the fact. He was a 
 capital actor. His Joseph Surface was fine, and his 
 realisation of the hero in the beautiful version of A 
 Tale of Two Cities (of Dickens) made by that brilliant 
 literary dramatist, Herman Merivale, and called All For 
 Her, was worthy of the enthusiasm it evoked. Later in 
 life, when his figure lent itself less to heroic parts, he 
 became a splendid character actor. His performances 
 in some of Sir Arthur W. Pinero's early and perfect 
 farces were singularly effective. One whose loyal 
 friendships stood firm in sunshine and sorrow, he was 
 very greatly missed by a large circle of friends when he 
 was taken from them, and they have seen his two sons 
 Dion and Donald Calthrop take a sure footing in the 
 world of art and letters with an immense amount of 
 gratification. John's real name was J. Alfred Calthrop, 
 and he was a brother of the distinguished painter, 
 Claude Calthrop. One story of him has so passed into 
 a proverb that I fear it must be a chestnut to everybody,
 
 86 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 but, in case it may meet the eye of any one who has 
 not heard it, I venture to reproduce it here with fitting 
 apology. A budding dramatist (brother of a very 
 successful one) sent him a play to read. After a very 
 short time the author wrote to know if it had been con- 
 sidered. No reply. Quite soon again he wrote a very 
 curt letter demanding an answer. Next day he got his 
 MS. back with the following note enclosed — 
 
 " My dear Sir, 
 
 " I have read your play. Oh ! my dear sir ! — 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " J. C." 
 
 In January, 1877, I entered on an engagement with 
 John Hollingshead at the old Gaiety, which lasted quite 
 a long time. The theatre was owned by Mr. Lionel 
 Lawson, one of the family who made The Daily Telegraph 
 what it is to-day, and uncle of the present Lord Burnham. 
 It was managed entirely by Hollingshead, who, with his 
 faithful henchman, Arthur Talbot Smith, and his stage 
 manager, Robert Soutar, carried it on with huge spirit 
 and enterprise. He was a model actors' manager. So 
 long as the work was done, everything moved easily 
 and happily. An engagement for the Gaiety meant 
 six performances a week, and every extra performance 
 was paid for at the rate of one-sixth. As Hollingshead 
 practically controlled the later London appearances of 
 Charles Mathews, Phelps, and others, and nearly always 
 had at least one other London theatre under his control, 
 as well as odd companies playing in different places, it 
 was essentially a workman's engagement for which my
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 87 
 
 stock company experiences fitted me. Of course, the 
 work was hard, but I have received as many as thirteen 
 nights' salary in six days by playing every afternoon and 
 evening, and at two different theatres on the Saturday 
 night. At the time I joined him he was running the 
 Opera Comique (also demolished by the Strand im- 
 provements) as well as the Gaiety. The usual bill at 
 the Gaiety was a short comedietta, a three-act comedy, 
 and a burlesque ; and sometimes the same sort of enter- 
 tainment was going on at the Opera Comique. I re- 
 mained in the same engagement for eighteen months, 
 with a short summer holiday. I played the leading 
 juvenile parts in The Prompter's Box, Partners for Life, 
 Weak Woman, An Evasive Reply, The Grasshopper, Old 
 Soldiers, War to the Knife, and played with Charles 
 Mathews in The Critic, My Awful Dad, The Liar, Game 
 of Speculation, Used Up, and Married for Money. 
 These gave me little trouble, as I had played most of 
 them with him before, but it was delightful to meet him 
 again, and I think he liked it, as I was familiar with all 
 his business and saved him a lot of trouble and work at 
 rehearsal. 
 
 The Saturday matinees for many months were given 
 over to Mr. Phelps. With him I played in The Man of 
 the World, Richelieu, John Bull, First Part of Henry IV., 
 Henry VIII., etc., also without much trouble to me, 
 and to his satisfaction ; indeed, he used to get Holling- 
 shead to let me go with him for any engagements he 
 played at that time. The Wednesday matinees con- 
 sisted of the most varying programmes. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Kendal played Black- Ey'd Susan and The Lady of Lyons, 
 and I have never seen such a Pauline in my life as Mrs.
 
 88 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 Kendal. How she wrung the hearts of the audience ! 
 and what a bounder she made me feel as Beaus6ant 
 (never a good part). J. F. Young, a member of the 
 company, a dear old modest, great artist, played a 
 maiinie of The Old Corporal, a play adapted from the 
 French — a beautiful performance. He was dumb for 
 two acts. I played the son, and was really almost 
 hysterical at his magnificent pathos. We revived for 
 mutinies The Serious Family and Paul Pry. Arthur 
 Sketchlcy (the original of " Mrs. Brown " papers in 
 Punch) played Falstaff for a matinSe. He was a very 
 good picture of the part in face and figure, but it was 
 only a mediocre performance. I played Prince Hal, 
 as I did also with a gentleman named Murray, a retired 
 East India merchant (a relative of a former Edinburgh 
 manager), who was fired with the same " vaulting 
 ambition," but, alas, it fell heavily on the stage side of 
 the footlights. No really fat man can play Falstaff ! 
 The physical strain in sustaining the unction of voice 
 and manner is as exhausting as the passion of Othello. 
 At least, so said the very best Falstaff I ever saw — 
 Phelps, again. We also revived Goldsmith's Good- 
 Natured Man for a matinee, but it did not act well. 
 Mme. Rhea, a continental actress, made her first appear- 
 ance in English under the tutorage of John Ryder, 
 playing Beatrice in Much Ado. She was a fine woman 
 and a capable actress, who afterwards became a success- 
 ful star in the United States. Selina Dolaro, a sweet 
 little opera-bouffe singer and actress, decided to " have 
 a shot " at comedy, and played Lady Teazle for a 
 matinee. I was the Joseph Surface of a strong cast.
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 89 
 
 She succeeded fairly well. Poor little " Dolly," as she 
 was called ! Some years after, in New York, I got a 
 letter asking me to call to see her, and I found her in 
 the last stage of consumption, her pretty face drawn 
 and sallow, and her prettier figure wasted to a shadow, 
 but still the same " chirpy " pleasant little body who 
 had been so popular with every one in her healthier 
 and happier days. She only lingered a few weeks after 
 I saw her before " taking her last call." 
 
 Some very notable big benefits took place about this 
 time. John Parry, who had been many years with the 
 German Reeds, took his farewell at the Gaiety, and all 
 who could assisted. He was the first of the school of 
 piano entertainers, which has been perpetuated by 
 Corney Grain, George Grossmith, Barclay Gammon, and 
 others. It was said of him that he could " make a 
 piano do anything but talk," and he was a fine humorist 
 to boot. The great Compton benefit took place at 
 Drury Lane and, with its supplementary one in Man- 
 chester, netted an enormous sum (if my memory serves 
 me correctly, between £7,000 and £8,000). Mr. Compton 
 was an immense and deserved favourite with both the 
 profession and the public, and it was a monster pro- 
 gramme in which every one did anything one could. 
 I remember I " walked on " in a farce with Joseph 
 Jefferson. Creswick had a good farewell benefit at 
 the Gaiety before leaving for Australia, playing 
 Macbeth. 
 
 A complimentary benefit was given at the Gaiety 
 to Ada Cavendish. Much Ado was played with a 
 strong cast, including Henry Neville, W. H. Stephens,
 
 00 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 G. W. Anson, Ada Cavendish, Marion Terry, the 
 writer, etc. 
 
 But one of the most notable of these entertainments 
 was got up by Hollingshcad for the benefit of the Royal 
 General Theatrical Fund, when we played John Bull, 
 with a cast including Phelps, Toole, Lionel Brough, 
 Herman Vezin, Kendal, myself, Miss Carlisle, Mrs. 
 Leigh, Miss West, and, as an after-piece, Charles Mathews 
 played his great farce Cool as a Cucumber. Another 
 benefit for the same good object which Hollingshead 
 promoted was a burlesque pantomime, played by all 
 the distinguished amateurs of London. In this, W. S. 
 Gilbert played Harlequin, and got through it very well 
 indeed, but, oh ! he looked dreadfully cross and un- 
 comfortable. 
 
 Toole was the principal comedian at the Gaiety when 
 
 1 went there, but after the first season he started his own 
 theatre in King William Street (now merged in the 
 Charing Cross Hospital), and Edward Terry took his 
 place. Toole was a good kind fellow, with a host of 
 friends — indeed, popular with everybody — and a capital 
 actor, funny in comedy, with quite a power of domestic 
 pathos, a screamingly funny farce actor, and " a tower 
 of strength " with Nelly Farren in the burlesques. His 
 Paul Pry was excellent, as was his Billy Lackaday, and 
 he made lots of money, for years, with two comedy- 
 dramas written specially for him by Byron, Dearer Than 
 Life, and Uncle Dick's Darling, whilst his performances 
 in farces such as The Steeplechase and lei on Parle 
 Franqais were splendid. His Caleb Plummer was good, 
 but not comparable with Jefferson's. In private he was
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 91 
 
 a kind-hearted man, full of fun, very fond of practical 
 jokes, and the perpetrator of many amusing ones. When 
 he and Sothern got together they were incorrigible. 
 He had the sympathy of a wide circle of friends in his 
 hours of great domestic affliction, when he lost succes- 
 sively son, daughter, and wife. After some years of 
 management he gave up his theatre for the reason of 
 ill-health, and retired to Brighton, where he lived in 
 gradually failing vitality for many years, greatly cheered 
 by the loving regard of his old and loyal friend, Henry 
 Irving, and always delighted when any other of his pals 
 were down there and would spend a few hours with him 
 in talking over old times, old memories, and old jokes. 
 During my time at the Gaiety, Miss Marie Litton, with 
 her husband, Wybrow Robertson, started a series of 
 matinees, on the odd days, at the Imperial, at the western 
 end of the Westminster Aquarium, on the site of which 
 is built the great Central Wesleyan establishment. 
 Phelps played John Bull, The Man of the World, and 
 finally, The School for Scandal. Miss Litton made an 
 excellent Lady Teazle; that very fine actress, Mrs. 
 Stirling, was an admirable Mrs. Candour, of course; 
 Phelps asked Robertson to let me play Charles Surface 
 on the strength of my success in the part in Manchester, 
 but William Farren — for years the Charles of the grand 
 old Haymarket company — had expressed a wish to 
 play with Phelps before he retired, and had been engaged 
 to do so. Then my old friend " switched-off " and 
 suggested me for Joseph. This was settled, and I had 
 the immense satisfaction of gaining the favour of the 
 public and the Press of London from The Times down !
 
 92 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 So I had succeeded with him as the two brothers, with 
 their very different characteristics, and found not a 
 little of my pleasure in the fact that I had justified his 
 interest and recommendation and received his very 
 hearty congratulations. William Farren's Charles was, 
 as it was bound to be, most legitimate and fine.
 
 XI 
 
 In April, 1878, Hollingshead released me for a month 
 to play with Mrs. Rousby at the old Queen's in a play 
 adapted from the German by Daniel E. Bandmann, the 
 tragedian, entitled Madeleine Morell. It was not very 
 successful, and was the occasion of a painfully un- 
 pleasant lawsuit between Mrs. Rousby and the author, 
 in which I had to appear as a witness, much to my 
 annoyance. It was decided in the lady's favour, but 
 did not do either party much good or credit. Band- 
 mann's leading counsel was Serjeant Parry, a famous 
 barrister of the day, father of the present popular Judge 
 Parry, of County Court fame, who is a prolific and 
 charming writer of both books and plays. 
 
 One matinee I assisted at was of that very fine play 
 Love's Sacrifice with a great cast. It was to introduce a 
 pupil of John Maclean's, another Gaiety actor — Miss 
 Agnes Leonard — and as well as herself and Maclean, 
 Fernandez, Ryder, John Billington, Harry Paulton, 
 myself, Miss Ellen Meyrick, and Miss Cicely Nott took 
 part. What a magnificent play it is, and, well acted, 
 how it " opened the eyes " of many modern-day play- 
 goers on that particular afternoon ! 
 
 When I left the Gaiety, what John Hollingshead 
 facetiously described as " the sacred lamp of burlesque " 
 was burning brightly. Edward Terry, a great comedy
 
 94 FORTY FEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 and burlesque actor; E. Royce, a good second and 
 perhaps the finest character dancer ever seen; Nelly 
 Farreu (the idol of the London " boys "), an inimitably 
 dashing burlesque boy, and Kate Vaughan, daintiest of 
 dancers, with infinite charm, made up a quartet which 
 drew all London for months at a stretch. Connie 
 Gilchrist, the present Countess of Orkney, was also " in 
 the team " at that time. Kate Vaughan was not really 
 a great dancer in the strict sense of the term, but her 
 unique grace and her innumerable pretty varieties of 
 the valse gave her a hold over the spectators that many 
 great dancers might have envied. The expression 
 11 sacred lamp " reminds me of a fact, not generally 
 known, as showing John Hollingshead's many-sided 
 enterprise. I wonder how many people remember that 
 the very first electric light ever shown in public in 
 London was put up by him in the Strand, outside the 
 old Gaiety ? 
 
 In the autumn of 1878 I was engaged for the first 
 provincial tour of Diplomacy, immediately after its long 
 and successful run in London. Mr. and Mrs. Kendal, 
 who were in the original London cast, had secured the 
 rights for the eight largest provincial towns, and our 
 proprietors had them for all the others, opening at 
 Portsmouth on July 29. We had quite a strong com- 
 pany, with J. D. Beveridge as Henri Beauclere and E. D. 
 Ward as Count Orloff; I played Julian Beauclere. 
 Ward had a most beautiful stage voice. C. Langford 
 was Baron Stein; Walter Everard, Algie Fairfax; Miss 
 Carlyle, Dora ; and Miss Bella Murdoch, Countess Zicka. 
 Miss Murdoch was the daughter of an old and respected 
 actor, Mr. Mortimer Murdoch, and was the first Mrs.
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 95 
 
 George S. Titheradge. Other members of the company 
 were Mrs. William Sidney, Miss Sophie Eyre, Miss 
 Armstrong, Mr. Jordan, etc. We were carefully re- 
 hearsed by Mr. Bancroft (as he then was) with the 
 infinity of detail for which he was noted, and I really 
 think we played the piece very well. Indeed, more than 
 one provincial playgoer compared us favourably with the 
 other company. What a fine play it is ! How splen- 
 didly constructed and of what absorbing interest ! It 
 has been more than once revived in London since its 
 first run, and, as I write, its present revival is nearing a 
 full year of performances. How much better for all 
 concerned, especially the actors, than the filthy, sordid, 
 morbid garbage drama which is nowadays advocated by a 
 certain section of the Press, and which not only empties 
 all the theatres where it is played, but is slowly and 
 surely killing the " theatre habit " amongst the public, 
 by whose favour and patronage alone the actor can live. 
 
 On November 16, 1878, I heard with the deepest 
 sorrow of the death of Mr. Phelps. I was in Southport 
 at the time, and, oddly enough, I had resigned my engage- 
 ment that particular week. Of course, I came up to 
 London for his funeral and terminated my contract 
 finally at the end of the week. 
 
 November 30, 1878, I opened at the Princess's Theatre 
 in a play called No. 20 of the Bastille of Calvados, by 
 Joseph Hatton and James Albery. Charles Warner 
 and I played the two opposing leading parts. It was a 
 pronounced and hopeless failure, only running a few 
 weeks. 
 
 The next few months were not very eventful in my 
 work. I played some odd engagements, including the
 
 96 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 creatioD of a Leading pari in a play written by, and under 
 the management of, Frank Harvey at the old Olympic 
 Theatre, entitled The Mother. Frank Harvey was the 
 husband of Mile. Beatrice, whose company had a great 
 reputation in the provinces of Great Britain. When she 
 died Harvey carried on the company for years. Besides 
 being an excellent actor, he wrote and adapted from the 
 French many good-acting and successful plays. 
 
 The Lyceum, after the death of H. L. Bateman, had 
 been taken over by Henry Irving and carried on under 
 his sole management. For a short summer season in 
 1879 he let it to Miss Genevieve Ward, who engaged me, 
 and we opened with a play called Zillah, by Palgrave 
 Simpson and Claude Templar. She essayed a dual role 
 of a princess and a gipsy. The play was another bad 
 failure, but the first night was one of the most remarkable 
 I can ever remember. Very amusing to look back on, 
 but extremely unpleasant to have been associated with. 
 It was one of those painful occasions when the audience 
 (as they did sometimes in those days) chose to " guy " 
 and to reply to the lines spoken on the stage. The 
 number of lines they found to reply to, and the wonderful 
 replies they made ! One of the characters said, " Ah ! 
 I see it all." Voice from the pit : " Do you, by gad ! 
 we don't." Some papers had been lowered into a well 
 in a bucket. A character said : " If I could only find 
 those papers ! " A gallery wit responded : " Look in 
 the bucket, you old fool, and get it over." But the 
 honours of the evening were reserved for Mr. Tom Mead, 
 a very fine old actor, with a splendid voice, loud and 
 sonorous. Mr. Mead had, in his later life, developed an 
 unfortunate habit of thinking aloud, and as " aloud "
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 97 
 
 meant (with him) stentorian tones, it could, and some- 
 times did, become very funny. In Zillah he had never 
 been quite easy in his words at rehearsal, and in the 
 nervousness of the first night he forgot his first line, and 
 came down to the footlights, saying : " Well, here I am," 
 which had no particular reference to the scene in progress, 
 and got a very sound laugh. Later on he forgot the 
 hero's name, which was Paul de Roseville, and dwelling 
 on the Christian name, like the tolling of " Big Ben," he 
 
 said, hesitatingly : " Paul — Paul — Paul " A wit in 
 
 front said : " Paul — Paul, why persecutest thou me? " 
 Of course, a yell of laughter followed. Again he tried 
 the same name and got it, but with an unfortunate 
 addition, " Paul de Roseville," (and in the same tone :) 
 " Moustache is coming off, by gad." Another yell. 
 Then he had a difficulty about the locale of the play, and 
 said, all in one tone : " Never shall it be said that in this 
 our good city of Toulouse ! — no ! Toulon ! — no ! 'tis 
 Toulouse." Imagine what this meant to an audience 
 already grown uproarious. And so the play dragged on 
 to the end — a heartbreaking night and a dismal " frost." 
 And yet that very night was perhaps the making of 
 Miss Ward's fortune. Through the failure of Zillah 
 she got that fine play Forget-Me-Not, by Herman 
 Merivale and Grove, which was an immediate success. 
 She could only play it, however, at the Lyceum a few 
 weeks, as Irving's autumn season was due. When a 
 suitable theatre was obtained for its new home it ran 
 for many months in London, and went over all the world, 
 making her, I presume and hope, a good, big fortune. 
 Pending the production of Forget-Me-Not we played 
 
 a revival of Lucrezia Borgia for two or three weeks, in 
 h
 
 98 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 which I played the fine part of the Duke. I did not 
 play in Forget-Me-Not ; but it may interest Miss Ward, 
 at this distance of time, to know that maybe I was 
 indirectly instrumental in its coming to her. As thus : 
 I had read the play when I was with Miss Neilson in 
 187 i; she was then considering its production, as it had 
 been written with a view to her playing it. In 1879 I 
 was living for the summer in the King's Road, Kingston, 
 about four doors from Merivale, and the day after Zillah 
 failed so hopelessly, remembering the play, I went to 
 him and suggested his submitting it to Miss Ward. I 
 don't know whether my suggestion had anything to do 
 with it, but it is certain she produced the play almost 
 immediately, with the gratifying result known. A few 
 lines were altered here and there to make it fit her 
 personality, which was considerably different from Miss 
 Neilson's. 
 
 Recurring for a moment to the " gentle art of guying " 
 from the front of the house, what a cowardly proceeding 
 it is ! Much the same as beating a tied-up dog. The 
 artist is quite powerless, as the dog is. And yet some 
 very funny things are said. There was the historic 
 occasion when an actor (George W.), in a play that was 
 failing, had the fateful line, " Oh ! this is dreadful," 
 and the wag in the pit said, " George, it's perfectly 
 awful." But I once heard a remark from the gallery 
 that was quite irresistible. Before the present Earl 
 of Kilmorey succeeded to the title and was Lord Newry 
 he was considerably interested in theatrical specula- 
 tions. I think he was the landlord of both the Globe 
 and St. James's Theatres. He may be still of the 
 latter. He also adapted and wrote one or two
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 99 
 
 plays. A play by him called ficarte was produced 
 at the old Globe. He was not altogether lucky in his 
 cast. One of the principal characters was (from one 
 cause or another) sadly out of drawing, and the play was 
 performed to a sort of running commentary of " chaff". 
 But just about half-way through the last act, at about 
 eleven o'clock in the evening, a sort of heavy father of 
 the story sat down in an easy-chair with his daughter on 
 a footstool at his knee and began what bade fair to be a 
 good stereotyped explanatory speech. As far as I 
 remember it began something like this : " 'Tis many 
 years ago, my child, your mother died," when a fellow- 
 countryman of Lord Newry's in the gallery observed 
 in the sweetest brogue imaginable : " Och ! now thin 
 for the plot ! " Of course, the whole house exploded 
 with laughter, and who could help it ? 
 
 As will be gathered, the last nine months dealt with 
 was not a very fruitful time for me professionally, but 
 my luck was soon to re-assert itself. Henry Irving had 
 engaged me for the autumn before the commencement 
 of Miss Ward's season, and I began my work with him 
 in September 1879, as Fitzharding in The Iron Chest 
 and the light comedy part in the old farce of The Boarding 
 School. The Iron Chest is a play by George Colman the 
 younger, taken from Godwin's Caleb Williams. It 
 had been a great favourite with Edmund Kean, and he 
 used to play it frequently, but though it was beautifully 
 produced at the Lyceum, with all the original music (by 
 Storace), including the chorus so popular with our 
 grandparents — 
 
 " Holy friars tippled here 
 Ere these abbey walls had crumbled,"
 
 100 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 ami everything possible done for it, it was voted old- 
 fashioned and turgid (as it was), and it only ran a few 
 weeks. Fitzbarding was a part quite out of my line 
 at the time — a sort of old buck of the Georgian period, 
 and I was surprised at being cast for it, especially as a 
 dear old friend, Clifford Cooper, was a member of the 
 company at the time, and it was just in his way. How- 
 ever, I managed to pull through, and my old friend was 
 most genially pleasant about it. On the withdrawal 
 of The Iron Chest we played Hamlet for a few nights, and 
 I had another shock in being cast for the part of Osric. 
 Then came the great revival of The Merchant of Venice 
 with Irving's first appearance as Shylock on November 1, 
 1879, and Miss Ellen Terry as Portia. Henry Forrester, 
 a good actor and elocutionist, played Antonio; Frank 
 R. Cooper, Gratiano; I played Bassanio. Salanio and 
 Salarino were played by A. Elwood and A. W. Pinero. 
 Others in the cast were Clifford Cooper and Sam Johnson 
 as the Gobbos. Florence Terry was Nerissa, etc. Our 
 most distinguished dramatist (now Sir Arthur W. Pinero) 
 was then only feeling his way to the great position he has 
 since taken, and, during that season, produced a charm- 
 ing one-act comedietta, entitled Daisy's Escape, at the 
 Lyceum, in which he played a very admirable character 
 study of a sort of cockney cad.
 
 XII 
 
 In approaching the subject of Irving's Shylock and his 
 acting generally, I feel that I am entering on dangerous 
 ground. Henry Irving occupied so prominent a position 
 in the public eye for so long a time and there was such 
 an element of magnetic glamour about his whole career 
 that, at first, it may appear presumptuous in me to 
 attempt to say anything about a man of whom so much 
 has been written by many of the greatest minds of his 
 time. But most of his biographers and commentators 
 have been people outside his own calling, and therefore 
 a few words from one on the inside may not seem so 
 much out of place after all, when we are far enough off 
 to view the facts dispassionately. 
 
 " We needs must love the highest when we see it, 
 Not Lancelot nor another." 
 
 And there is no kind of doubt that Irving was a great 
 actor, a very great actor, indeed. But the same great 
 Shakespeare of England is open to us all, and I should be a 
 poor thing and unworthy of having these pages read if I 
 had not the courage of my opinion to the extent of noting, 
 here and there, points which appear to me worthy of con- 
 sideration. Then, again, it is not always opinion only 
 which is involved. When a man has played alongside a 
 
 number of foremost artists, male and female, and has had 
 
 101
 
 102 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 the opportunity of observing their great thoughts and 
 gnat effects, it is ofttimes as much a matter of memory. 
 As well as what you think a part or scene oughttobe, there 
 is what you have seen it be, and he would be false to his 
 art and the memory of Shakespeare to say that something 
 which he did not think as good was better than his 
 experiences had shown him. Having said so much, I 
 have no hesitation whatever in declaring that Irving 
 was the best actor I ever saw, or ever expect to see, in 
 a great number of parts. In The Bells, Louis XI., and 
 The Lyons Mail he was incomparable ! His Charles I. 
 was a most beautiful performance. Much of his Hamlet 
 was very fine indeed. In parts of the more physical 
 nature he may not have been quite so satisfying. His 
 King Lear, Othello, Macbeth, Coriolanus were open to 
 criticism. Most certainly his Malvolio, Richelieu, and 
 Wolsey were not equal to Phelps's. In many comedy 
 character parts, such as Digby Grant (Two Roses), 
 Chevenix (Uncle Dick's Darling), Jingle (Pickwick) he 
 was quite splendid. In Romeo and Claude Melnotte he 
 was not at his best. I have always held a theory that in 
 playing or reading the poetry and the poetic drama 
 of any country, whether English, French, Spanish, or 
 Italian, etc., it is an absolute essential that the language 
 shall be spoken in its positive purity, so that (to apply a 
 test) a foreigner sitting in the front of a theatre armed with 
 a lexicon of the language being spoken should be able 
 to refer thereto for the meaning of any word falling on 
 his ear with which he is unacquainted. Now some of the 
 mannerisms of speech which grew on Irving year by 
 year would certainly not have stood this test. I say 
 " grew on," because that is the bona fide fact. When
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 103 
 
 I was a playgoer, before entering the actor's calling, I 
 saw practically all his performances, and, in those days, 
 certainly he had none of these mannerisms, absolutely 
 none. They first appeared, as far as I can recollect, in 
 his masterly performance of Digby Grant. They fitted 
 that character to admiration, and little by little crept 
 into all his work. It used to be said that the audience 
 always wanted a low comedian to be himself, and per- 
 petually reveal the same personality. I doubt if it was 
 true, but I am quite sure it would be inadvisable for an 
 actor playing a wide range of the great heroic parts. 
 There were moments undoubtedly when Irving's man- 
 nerisms and readings of some of Shakespeare's immortal 
 lines left something to be desired either in considering 
 their own intrinsic beauty or as an object-lesson to the 
 intelligent foreigner already mentioned. Of Irving the 
 man it would need an abler pen than mine to speak. He 
 was a fine fellow, a loyal friend, a brilliant host, generous 
 to all and to a fault, a great tactician and diplomatist 
 (a man who would have succeeded in any walk of life 
 that he had chosen to take up), with tremendous mag- 
 netism and charm. In our calling a great stage manager. 
 One hears a good deal of the schools formed by different 
 great actors, and one often reads of the Irving School. 
 Now, this, I think, is rather misleading. Undoubtedly 
 his eye for stage effect was unique, but the imparting of 
 ideas to young people was not by any means his strong 
 point. His instructions were often halting, vague, and 
 lacking in directness, which made it difficult for the 
 tyro to gather what was expected or required of him. 
 
 Of Miss Terry it is equally difficult to write (or even 
 more so, during her lifetime).
 
 104 FORTY YEARS ON THE STACK 
 
 Miss Terry was, beyond all question, b most charming 
 actress, and when a pari came within the radius of her 
 charm she was quite irresistible. As Lilian Vavasour 
 (New Men and Old dcres), Olivia (The Amber Heart), 
 Heat lice, Portia, Viola, etc., six- was superb. But I 
 venture to think thai her limitations were well defined, 
 and that sonic of t he stronger parts of the Shakespearean 
 drama were well outside them. Her " thick and thin " 
 admirers and a considerable portion of the Press ap- 
 peared to allow their "reason to be taken prisoner" 
 and to praise all her performances alike without analysis, 
 which is a pity, when dealing with great artistic ideals, 
 because of its baneful influence with the student and the 
 aspirant who are always too ready to follow the lead of 
 artists of prominence. 
 
 " Harking back " to The Merchant of Venice at the 
 Lyceum, it is a matter of history that it was a wonderful 
 success and ran well on to 300 performances consecutively. 
 Irving's Shylock was full of interest and was a really 
 fine study indeed, and Miss Terry's Portia was bewitching 
 and artistic in all the scenes at Belmont. Her trial 
 scene was, perhaps, less convincing. The whole per- 
 formance of this same trial scene, I submit, merits some 
 special consideration. 
 
 An article I wrote for The Stage (June 8, 1899) on the 
 subject of stage traditions contained the following 
 note — 
 
 " Shylock : I have read and re-read most of what has 
 been written about the ' Jew that Skakespeare drew,' 
 and the authorities who declare it was the author's 
 intention to rehabilitate or beget a sympathy for the 
 Jewish race, then suffering under gross tyrannies and
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 105 
 
 cruelties : and I willingly admit that, up to a certain 
 point in the play, Shylock is a most ill-used man, and 
 fully deserving of all the sympathy of the audience ; but 
 the modern-day rendering of Shylock as sympathetic in 
 the trial scene I cannot bring myself to believe in. If 
 ever a cold-blooded murderer was drawn, in all his 
 hateful intensity, this is the example. If Shakespeare 
 intended Shylock to win sympathy here, how easy to 
 have made him prove his rights, beyond all dispute, and 
 then forgive the Christian who had so foully wronged 
 him. Here would have been sympathy indeed. Here 
 would have been a monument of a wronged Jew's 
 magnanimity. But no ! He proceeds to the extremest 
 limit the law allows him ; proceeds to what cannot fail 
 to be a cruel murder with the coolness of a butcher 
 killing sheep. Again, I apply the test of the author's 
 words. Shakespeare laid out the scheme of this act 
 with those superb verbal rejoinders or climaxes of 
 Gratiano's — 
 
 " ' O learned judge ! Mark, Jew, a learned judge ! ' 
 and 
 
 " ' A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew ! 
 
 Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip.' 
 
 and 
 
 '"A Daniel still I say! a second Daniel — 
 
 I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.' 
 
 All of which he takes, as it were, from the mouth of 
 Shylock ; and I refuse to believe that the author intended 
 Gratiano to be here regarded by the audience as an 
 impudent coxcomb, which is inevitable if Shylock carries 
 the sympathy of this scene. No, the baffled, angry, 
 turbulent, tragic (in other words, the traditional exit
 
 106 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 of Edmund Kean and others) is surely nearer to the 
 author's intention and most certainly more effective to 
 the audience." 
 
 I have ventured to reproduce this note in extenso here 
 for two special reasons : First, because the years between 
 have deepened rather than in any way changed the view 
 expressed ; and, second, because in conversations I had 
 with Irving when on my last tour with him in 1901 I 
 think he was almost disposed to agree with my view ; and 
 here I am going to take a rather bold step and to express 
 my curiosity as to whether or not the Shylock he played 
 and made so famous was absolutely the Shylock he would 
 have played if he had possessed a greater amount of 
 physical power. Of course, the Shylock I have in mind 
 depends on the actor's power to play the great scene with 
 Tubal in the earlier act that begins 
 
 "You knew, none so well as you, none so well as you, of my 
 daughter's flight." 
 
 It is here he must build up the character with gradu- 
 ated awful intensity, and it is here that Edmund Kean 
 and his disciples used " to lift the audience out of their 
 seats," as they did in the final exit from the trial scene, 
 which I have seen played in a whirlwind of passion. 
 Now, I may be taking a great liberty with the memory 
 of a man for whom I entertain nothing but profound 
 respect, but I have always fancied that at the early 
 rehearsals I saw him " make shots " at the big scheme, 
 and, with his great mentality, recognise that it was out 
 of his reach, and so, by degrees, he came to develop with 
 consummate art a Shylock he could compass. This may 
 be considered an untenable hypothesis on my part, but 
 I don't think it is very " wide of the mark," and it
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 107 
 
 proves nothing more than his tremendous ability and his 
 power to lead his fellow-men. During the run of the 
 play one or two curious incidents occurred. One 
 Saturday night, quite in the later days, after a matinee, 
 Henry Forrester, as Antonio, forgot his lines in his first 
 scene and suffered from complete temporary loss of 
 memory. None of us could prompt him. As he ex- 
 pressed it afterwards, the theatre seemed one blaze of 
 light and he could not recall anything. Irving had to 
 come on at an earlier cue as Shylock and take the scene 
 up and go on ; meantime Forrester recovered himself and 
 all was well again. 
 
 The 250th performance was a great occasion. Imme- 
 diately on the fall of the curtain the stage was taken 
 possession of by an army of waiters, etc., and was 
 transformed into a huge marquee, where a large number 
 of London's foremost men of art, letters, and brains 
 of every kind gathered at Irving's invitation to supper. 
 The company were included in the invitation. It was a 
 most noteworthy assemblage and did not pass off without 
 a bona-fide thrill. The late Lord Houghton, the poet, 
 had been selected to propose the health of our host. He 
 rose to do so, and it was soon apparent that if he had 
 " primed " himself for the task he had relied on mis- 
 leading aid. He mentioned in turn all the Shylocks he 
 had ever seen, and, as far as we could gather, the only 
 one in whom he could see no merit, or at all events, the 
 least merit, was the man we were gathered together to 
 honour. It was a moment of most painful tension. We 
 scarcely dared look at each other when Irving rose to 
 respond, bland, genial, courteous, and master of the 
 situation, and with infinite tact, gracefully turned the
 
 108 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 whole matter into a humorous groove: put everybody 
 at his ease at once, and proved (if proof were needed) 
 his ability to grapple with a knotty point as only the 
 skilled diplomatist can. I doubt if he ever gave a 
 greater performance of a thoroughly difficult part and 
 scene.
 
 XIII 
 
 For the last few weeks of the run (on May 20, 1880, 
 to be exact) we played The Merchant of Venice without 
 the last act — finishing with its trial scene, and, as an 
 after-piece, played a beautiful version of the , Danish 
 play poem, King Rene's Daughter, by W. G. Wills. 
 There were several versions of this play extant. I had 
 played in two before the one in question, but I think 
 Wills's was by far the best. The delightful legend just 
 suited his style of writing. Irving played the lover 
 (Count Tristan); Frank Cooper, Sir Geoffrey; I, King 
 Rene ; Tom Mead, the physician, Eben Jahia ; and Miss 
 Ellen Terry, the blind daughter. A marvellously 
 beautiful scene was supplied by Hawes Craven, and with 
 gorgeous costume, etc., and very careful rehearsals, it 
 was voted a great success. A rather ludicrous accident 
 occurred one night, which, in a theatre of less reverence, 
 might easily have wrecked the performance for that 
 occasion. Irving and Frank Cooper were both very 
 shortsighted, and the former dropped a jewelled amulet, 
 used in the play, and tried in vain to find it with his 
 foot. Failing to do so, he whispered to Cooper : " Where 
 is it, Frank ? Find it ! Find it ! " Frank whispered 
 in reply : " I can't, governor ; I am more blind than you 
 are." And here was a complete deadlock, when be- 
 hold ! the blind girl (Miss Terry) came on and picked 
 
 109
 
 110 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 it up and handed it to " the chief ! " It was absolutely 
 the only way out of the difficulty, and happily, the 
 audience did not notice the comic side of the incident, 
 or were too well-behaved to show that they did. 
 
 W. G. Wills, the author of this play, was a rather 
 extraordinary man, who merits more than a passing 
 reference from one who knew him. An Irishman, with 
 a pronounced though rather delightful brogue, he 
 occupied a pleasant studio in Chelsea, where he lived 
 and worked with his secretary, Alfred C. Calmour, who 
 afterwards wrote The Amber Heart for Miss Terry, and 
 other plays. A Bohemian of the most pronounced 
 type, with unkempt beard and shabby clothes, and a 
 generally soiled and neglected appearance — steeped 
 to the lips in literature of the best kind — and, ap- 
 parently, thinking blank verse by day and dreaming 
 it by night, as well as painting pictures, many of them 
 much above the average. What a lot of fine plays 
 he wrote — Charles I., Eugene Aram, Vanderdecken 
 (The Flying Dutchman), for Irving; Jane Shore and 
 Juanna for Wilson Barrett and Miss Heath ; Medea for 
 Miss Bateman; Jane Eyre for Mrs. Beere, etc., etc. 
 Of these Charles I. was, easily, the most popular. It 
 came just when Irving was making his great mark 
 and greatly helped him on the road to fame. What a 
 beautiful performance he gave of the part ! His regal 
 dignity, tenderness and pathos were beyond praise. 
 I was present at the first performance of the play in 
 September 1872, and a very unusual thing occurred. 
 When the curtain went up on the first scene, which 
 represented a glade at Hampton Court, so vividly real
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 111 
 
 was it, and so beautifully painted, that the audience 
 absolutely refused to allow a word to be spoken until 
 that splendid artist, Hawes Craven, had come on and 
 bowed his acknowledgments of their congratulation. 
 I have never seen this occur on any other occasion. In 
 Charles I. the treatment of the character of Cromwell 
 raised a tremendous outcry and, truth to say, the great 
 Protector is represented in an unduly truculent and 
 unworthy light — considerably at variance with the 
 impression one gets who reads the history of the times. 
 I never heard Wills 's reason for this ; or whether he 
 was a rabid Royalist. One might imagine so. But 
 it brought about one result. A Colonel Richards, 
 connected with the staff of one of the big London daily 
 newspapers {The Morning Advertiser, if my memory 
 serves me correctly), had written an ambitious play with 
 Cromwell as the central figure. As a sort of protest this 
 play was immediately produced at the old Queen's, with 
 George Rignold as Cromwell (at the Lyceum the charac- 
 ter was originally played by George Belmore). I saw 
 this play, too. It was not a good one, but had one 
 magnificent scene (in fact, it was a one-scene play), 
 where Cromwell had a glorious soliloquy over the coffin 
 of the King. However, it failed to live; and Wills's 
 Charles I. remained a popular feature of Irving's reper- 
 tory till his death, and has been played by his son (H. 
 B.) since. 
 
 A very interesting story was extant at the time anent 
 the writing of Charles I. It ran thus : Wills had got to 
 the end of the third act of the play to the great satis- 
 faction of Bateman and Irving himself, but could not
 
 112 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 find a solution for the end of it. One night all three 
 of them had supped at Bateman 's house in Kensington. 
 Gore and Bateman had left the table and was lying on 
 the sofa smoking. As Wills and Irving were chatting 
 over their cigars, Bateman (who had appeared to be 
 half asleep) suddenly sprang up, saying : " Wills, by 
 gad ! I've got it." Both said " What ? " Said Bateman, 
 " The last act of Charles I. Wills, have you ever read 
 Black-Ey'd Susan?" Of course, Wills had not, 
 probably (dreamer as he was) he had never heard of 
 it. Said Bateman : " Go and get a book at French's 
 and read the parting of William and Susan." Wills did 
 so, and finished Charles I. Now, I give this story for 
 what it is worth ; but most certainly facts bear it out 
 marvellously, because the two situations are identical, 
 even to the disposal of the trinkets, always allowing 
 for the difference created by Wills's beautiful and poetic 
 English. Both of them are good enough, strong enough, 
 and pathetic enough to bring a good big lump into the 
 throat of any true man or woman wherever they may 
 be played. 
 
 When the Lyceum season was nearing its end, it 
 was announced publicly that the autumn production 
 would be The Corsican Brothers. As I had been suc- 
 cessful as M. Chateau Renaud in the previous revival 
 of that play in London and had pleased the adapter of 
 it, Dion Boucicault, who was not easily satisfied, I 
 naturally hoped that I should again be cast for the same 
 part, and I was therefore correspondingly disappointed 
 when it was stated later that William Terriss had been 
 engaged for it. If any influence was at work against
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 113 
 
 me, it strangely miscarried, and my luck once more stood 
 me in good stead. My best friend could not have 
 done me a better turn. Terriss had been playing with 
 Messrs. Hare and Kendal at the St. James's, and, know- 
 ing that they were contemplating a play by W. G. Wills 
 in the autumn, I walked along to see them, and 
 came out of their office with an engagement settled 
 for the autumn. And this is where my good luck 
 came in. 
 
 The Corsican Brothers contains very little female 
 interest. The drama is all between the twin brothers 
 and M. Chateau Renaud. If the latter does not loom 
 up a great factor in the play, deadly, feared, there is 
 not much play left. When I saw the production at 
 the Lyceum I became aware that in the discretion of 
 the stage manager the part was terribly " cabin 'd, 
 cribb'd, confin'd " compared to the scope allowed me 
 at the Princess's, and was not (in this production, at 
 least) at all a good one. And the duel was a poor 
 display compared with what we had given. Neither 
 Irving nor Terriss appeared to be the equal of Clayton 
 and myself as swordsmen. So, all things considered, 
 I did not regret being out of it, and it so fell out that I 
 was destined to make one of the most signal marks of 
 my London career in the play we did at the St. James's 
 (after rehearsing in the provinces) on October 9, 1880. 
 This play was called William and Susan, and was a new 
 version of Douglas Jerrold's classic Black-Ey , d Susan, 
 prepared by W. G. Wills. Kendal played William, 
 Mrs. Kendal Susan, John Hare (as he then was) the 
 Admiral, and I played Captain Crosstree. A perfect
 
 114 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 " storm in a tea -cup " was raised by the London Press, 
 led by Clement Scott of the Daily Telegraph, about the 
 desecration of Douglas Jcrrold's classic. What absurd 
 nonsense it was. As I pointed out to Scott one night at 
 supper, no one had ever seen Douglas Jerrold's drama 
 in our time. The play we had always played was his 
 in name only. His, with one entire act cut out, and 
 hundreds of lines of " gag " written in. Nothing could 
 have been more respectful than Wills's treatment of the 
 subject. He wrote a beautiful new first act to lead 
 up to Jerrold's story, and when he reached the latter's 
 matter he humoured every line, as well as every time- 
 honoured gag. In my humble judgment it was a much 
 better play for the time in which it was played. It 
 had a very considerable success, and ran for several 
 months. John Hare stage-managed it most carefully, 
 and played the Admiral with great delicacy. I have 
 seen better Williams than Kendal, and I have seen him 
 in parts I preferred him in, but he pleased the St. James's 
 audiences greatly. In all my career I have never seen 
 a more perfect performance of sincere, honest woman- 
 liness than Mrs. Kendal's Susan. She was magnificent. 
 My part of Crosstree consisted principally of one big 
 scene with her; and, while I shall have occasion later 
 in these notes to lay my tribute at the feet of Mrs. Kendal, 
 I cannot pass over this particular performance without 
 thanking her with all the warmth at my command for 
 her assistance and inspiration in making a success 
 which was rather exceptional, and advanced me a good 
 long step in the favour of the London public. Good 
 sketches of character were supplied by that fine actor
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 115 
 
 Wenman, Brandon Thomas, the author of Charley's 
 Aunt, etc., Mackintosh, and Miss Phillips, and nothing 
 was ever better played at the St. James's in this or any 
 other play than the small parts entrusted to Albert 
 Chevalier — now so famous in his own inimitable way — 
 and then, as now, an artist to his finger-tips.
 
 XIV 
 
 In the April of 1881 I was playing a series of matinees 
 at the Imperial with Miss Helen Barry, and at Drury 
 Lane every evening with John McCullough. During 
 Miss Barry's season we produced London Assurance, 
 ArkwrighVs Wife, and Led Astray. It was only a 
 moderately successful venture, and was, perhaps, 
 principally notable for the fact that E. S. Willard made 
 his first appearance in London during these performances. 
 He was playing at Brighton at the time, and made the 
 journey to and fro each day. His different impersona- 
 tions were noteworthy for the care and thought which 
 afterwards brought him to the front and made him so 
 sound a favourite on both sides of the Atlantic. Miss 
 Helen Barry was " a monstrous fine woman," and a kind- 
 hearted creature, who had taken to the stage too late 
 in life to achieve more than passing notice. She died 
 in New York a few years after. John McCullough, the 
 American tragedian, was everybody's favourite. He was 
 not, strictly speaking, a great actor, being, in truth, an 
 imitator of his great model, Edwin Forrest, but he had 
 an extraordinary amount of magnetism and a singularly 
 fine appearance for Roman parts. With a good figure, 
 a magnificent torso, and a picturesque head beautifully 
 poised on his shoulders, he looked the absolute embodi- 
 ment of the part of Virginius, in which he opened in 
 
 116
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 117 
 
 England. With all these advantages, supplemented by 
 a good, deep, and resonant voice, he created a most 
 favourable impression. A lady friend of mine who saw 
 the play said : " I wished he was my father," and that 
 was a fair summing up of what many people thought. 
 Our business was quite good. When he changed the 
 bill to Othello, his success was not nearly so pronounced. 
 As a man, he was tremendously popular — kindly, genial, 
 full of fun, anecdote, and humour, but an awful " night- 
 owl." He would never go to bed so long as any 
 one would sit up with him. Thus, I fear, he " burnt 
 the candle at both ends," and in 1884 I met him in 
 New York, his fine physique wasted to a shadow and 
 his poor brain showing signs of that dread ailment in 
 which he passed away in 1885, to the inexpressible 
 grief of as many friends as a man ever had. John had 
 been " juvenile man " with Edwin Forrest, and he used 
 to tell some splendid stories of that, undoubtedly, great 
 actor. I recall one of them as I write. 
 
 Forrest was playing Virginius, with a bad attack of 
 gout in both hands and feet, and in the scene in Act I., 
 when Virginius gives Virginia to Icilius (played by 
 McCullough), he said, in his grand tone and manner, 
 offering his hand — 
 
 Virg. : "Thou seest that hand? It is a Roman's, boy. 
 
 Knew it the lurking-place of treason, though 
 It were a brother's heart, 'twould drag the caitiff 
 Forth. Darest thou take that hand? " 
 
 Icil. : " I dare, Virginius." 
 
 Virg. : " Then take it." (And then in muttered tone :) 
 " Don't touch, for heaven's sake ! "
 
 118 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 John McCullougfa made a joke one night while in 
 England at the club that " set the table in a roar." 
 1881 was the year in which an American horse, Iroquois, 
 won the Derby, named of course, after the powerful 
 tribe of North American Indians. On the occasion of 
 which I speak we were all charring, and the conversation 
 turned on the contrasted pronunciation of the English 
 language in England and America. I forgot what led 
 up to it, but Johnny Toole remarked : " Why, hang it, 
 you people in America have not got a language." John 
 replied in a flash : " Haven't we, by Jove? What about 
 Iroquois? " He and I became great " pals," and when 
 he was returning to America he made me a pleasant offer 
 to accompany him, but I did not accept for the reason 
 that another old friend, Fred B. Warde, was with him, 
 and I did not see that there would be much opening for 
 two of us in supporting a male " star." In the perform- 
 ance of Virginius at Drury Lane, I played Appius 
 Claudius; John Ryder, Dentatus; J. R. Gibson, Numi- 
 torius ; Gus Harris (the manager of the theatre), Icilius ; 
 and Lydia Cowell (Mrs. James Mortimer), Virginia. 
 Mortimer was editor of the London Figaro. Gus Harris 
 (I knew all of his family when he was a boy) afterwards 
 became Sheriff of the City of London, and eventually 
 Sir Augustus Harris. As Icilius he wore a toga made of 
 light blue soft silk, and I am afraid that, whatever his 
 great capacities were, his dearest friend could not have 
 said they included the performance of Roman parts. 
 John Ryder, who played Dentatus, was quite a character. 
 " Honest John " he was sometimes called, and not 
 without reason. He was certainly bluff and outspoken 
 to a fault, but as " straight as a gun-barrel," and quite
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 119 
 
 fearless when he had anything to say. He was an actor 
 of the Macready school, and unwilling to concede that 
 any one could compare with " Mac," as he called him. 
 He was an admirable stage instructor, and was respon- 
 sible for the success of Adelaide Neilson, Miss Wallis, 
 Margaret Leighton, and many others, as well as a most 
 excellent actor, more especially of strong rugged parts, 
 full of humanity, such as Hubert (King John), Williams 
 (Henry V .), Dentatus, John Ironbrace (Used Up), etc., 
 etc. A number of splendid stories abounded of him in 
 his time, but, unfortunately, he was in the habit of 
 expressing himself so very forcibly that they are not all 
 reproducible in cold print. On the occasion of the first 
 appearance of his pupil, Miss Margaret Leighton, who 
 made a very great success as Julia in The Hunchback, 
 amidst an avalanche of flowers and congratulations, at 
 the end of the performance he led her by the hand to the 
 centre of the stage and pointing his dexter finger at the 
 audience said in emphatic tone : " Look here ! when I 
 am dead, people may say I couldn't act, but, by Heavens ! 
 will anybody say I couldn't teach?" He was most 
 amusing one night in John McCullough's dressing-room. 
 He was then sixty-nine years old and talked of retiring 
 the next year, when he would be seventy. His mother 
 was still alive, aged ninety-one. He told of her complaint 
 that he did not go often enough to see her, and his reply 
 was this : " I said to her, ' Look here, mother, this be 
 hanged ( ?). I'm acting every night and I give three or 
 four lessons a day, and when Sunday comes I'm deuced( ?) 
 glad of the rest. Upon my soul, you look upon me as a 
 blessed ( ?) kid ! ' " Isn't that human ? Bluff old John 
 Ryder as we knew him was still the " kid " (the baby) to
 
 120 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 some one who had nursed and loved him as such. But 
 their was great humanity in all he did. I was told a 
 very pretty story of the marriage of his only daughter (he 
 had been a widower lor years). At the wedding break- 
 fast in the snug little home in Brixton, in the course of 
 the function, his health was proposed and he rose to 
 respond. Putting his hand on the shoulder of the 
 bridegroom, he quoted, inimitably, the speech from 
 Virginius — 
 
 " Didst thou but know, young man, 
 How r fondly I have watched her since the day 
 Her mother died, and left me to a charge 
 Of double duty bound — how she hath been 
 My ponder'd thought by day, my dream by night, 
 My prayer, my vow, my offering, my praise, 
 My sweet companion, pupil, tutor, child ! — 
 Thou wouldst not wonder that my drowning eye 
 And choking utterance upbraid the tongue 
 That tells thee she is thine ! . . ." 
 
 This may sound theatrical to some, but my informant, 
 who was present, told me it was most beautifully done, 
 with the utmost feeling, and every one present was 
 greatly affected. 
 
 John Ryder was a good specimen of an Englishman, 
 tall, straight, and with a fine physique generally. In 
 face he greatly resembled the Abbe Liszt, except that his 
 features were stronger and without the long hair. 
 Writing of the Abbe Liszt, I once had the pleasure of 
 hearing him play, in private, under very interesting cir- 
 cumstances. During a visit of his to London I was 
 calling one Sunday afternoon on an old and treasured
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 121 
 
 friend — W. Beatty-Kingston, of the Daily Telegraph — 
 and the maestro was among his guests that day. Beatty- 
 Kingston was himself one of the finest amateur pianists 
 in England and his daughter was only a little less pro- 
 ficient. After several duets by father and daughter 
 on two grand pianos Miss Kingston played over a pretty 
 ballad of her own composition. Liszt appeared inter- 
 ested, and asked her to repeat it. She did so, and then 
 the maestro sat down to the piano, and, with his eyes 
 half closed and his mind apparently well over the frontier 
 of dreamland, improvised variations on the melody for 
 at least half an hour. It was most delightful and a 
 never-to-be-forgotten treat. 
 
 Every summer about this time a little party of us 
 used to have one delightful holiday in rowing down the 
 Thames from Oxford to Teddington. The trip was 
 organised by Tom Thorne, then co-lessee of the Vaude- 
 ville with David James. He, too, saw to the provisions 
 and the canteen, and everything was of the best; each 
 of us paying our share of the actual cost. We had two 
 skiffs, and a boy to attend to our wants and do the neces- 
 sary work. Our party usually comprised Henry Neville, 
 James Fernandez, Charles Warner, Clement Scott, Tom 
 Thorne, myself, and one or two others. What a glorious 
 time we had, and what over-grown schoolboys we 
 became for the nonce ! We started from Oxford on 
 Sunday morning, and even those who had London 
 engagements could fulfil them each night and do every 
 mile of the journey by a careful study of the railway 
 time-tables. Fernandez would make our sides ache with 
 his wonderfully told stories of his earlier days on the 
 stage. Tom Thorne wanted to race every boat that
 
 122 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 came alongside; Charles Warner had splendid spirits, in 
 which quality the writer was not deficient, and Clement 
 Scott his temperamental sentiment which friendship 
 always brought to the surface so readily. We lunched 
 under the willows at Newnham, dined in the hayfield 
 at Clifton Hampton, and pursued our way by easy stages 
 past lovely Maplcdurham, the regatta course at Henley 
 and Medmenham Abbey, Danesfield, and Harleyford, 
 past the grand Quarry Woods at Marlow, and the 
 glorious sylvan beauties of Cliveden, and so on until we 
 usually pulled up about Friday at a friend's lawn at 
 Teddington, where the hospitality of a kind host and 
 hostess (Mr. and Mrs. Beale) awaited us. Oh, youth, 
 friendship, and nature ! what a combination you made, 
 and how glorious it all seemed in those old, bright days ! 
 Alas ! three of those named have " crossed the bar," one 
 has fallen on evil times. Fernandez and I never speak 
 of the joy of those days without something like a glow 
 of the old happy enthusiasm, not, however, without a 
 large admixture of sad and kindly thoughts for those 
 dear old companions who have drifted away out of our 
 sight.
 
 XV 
 
 In the autumn of 1881 I went to New York under 
 engagement to McKee Rankin. Rankin had come to 
 London in April 1880 with what, I think, was the very 
 best of all the so-called Western dramas, The Danites, 
 by Joaquin Miller, " the poet of the Sierras," as he was 
 called. Coming at that season of the year, he was able 
 to collect what is now called an " all star-cast," who were 
 anxious to visit London and willing to accept terms 
 accordingly. Many of the company were leading artists 
 I had met during my visits to America, whose names will 
 be found in these notes, among then W. E. Sheridan, 
 Natt Lingham, Lindsay Harris, and dear, good Ned 
 Holland, who died within two months of my writing 
 these lines. The play was produced at Sadler's Wells 
 theatre, then under the management of Mrs. Bateman, 
 and made such a favourable impression that it was 
 transferred to the Globe, where it ran along merrily 
 for some months. During his time in London, Rankin 
 saw, and was struck with, William and Susan at the St, 
 James's, and arranged to produce the play in New York. 
 He engaged me for my original part, and to stage-manage 
 the play on the St. James's lines. One condition of the 
 London production was completely reversed in New 
 York. Rankin was an excellent William, but Mrs. 
 Rankin could not compare with Mrs. Kendal as Susan ; 
 
 123
 
 124 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 but the fates were dead against us as it proved. All of 
 us of a certain age will remember the thrill of horror that 
 van through the nation when news came that President 
 Garfield had been shot by a cowardly assassin on that 
 fateful day. July 2, 1881. A good man, worthily risen 
 from a log cabin, brave, honourable, and the chosen ruler 
 of a great people, bound to us by every tie of kinship and 
 interest, had been laid low by the hand of a degenerate 
 who was, as Shakespeare says of Barnardine in Measure 
 for Measure, " Unfit to live or die." For two months, in 
 spirit, we watched by the sufferer's bedside with fear 
 and hope alternating in our hearts as the daily bulletins 
 were announced. When he was removed to Elberon, by 
 the sea, on September 6, hope was in the ascendant ; on 
 the 15th, hope gave way to despair. Blood-poisoning 
 had set in. On the 19th, he breathed his last, to the 
 grief of the whole civilised world, and on the same 
 19th we produced in New York City, at the 14th 
 Street Theatre, William and Susan. We heard the news 
 as we finished the performance; and the next day the 
 city was draped with black in every corner; the whole 
 nation was beside itself with grief, and business was 
 practically dead for days. In those days every produc- 
 tion in America depended greatly on the " send-off," 
 as they call it, and I don't think it is much changed to- 
 day. Nothing could stand up against such a " facer," 
 and William and Susan was as " dead as Queen Anne." 
 When the public recovered its wonted spirit we did 
 another new play, by Joaquin Miller, called 49, a story 
 of the first gold rush to California, which was in that 
 year. It was in a terribly chaotic state when the manu- 
 script reached us, and we had to use all our wits and
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 125 
 
 experience to get it into acting shape. Some time after, 
 during some legal action anent the play, I believe Rankin 
 testified that the second act was entirely constructed 
 by myself. From recollection I don't think I should 
 have claimed so much as that ; but I did a good deal to 
 it and all I could. With William and Susan dead, much 
 of my value to Rankin was gone. Obviously I could not 
 be expected to rival a fine actor like W. E. Sheridan in 
 a purely American part that fitted him superbly in The 
 Danites, and in a thousand little unpleasant ways I was 
 made to feel it, so that after about eight weeks, having 
 received an offer from Joseph Brooks to join him for 
 a tour of the then popular Drury Lane drama, The World, 
 I came to an amicable and equitable arrangement with 
 Rankin in Chicago, and left there with Brooks one 
 Saturday after a matinee for New Orleans, where I 
 opened on Monday. With The World I continued the 
 whole of the season (a quite pleasant engagement), and 
 with it I made my first trip to the Pacific Coast and 
 sampled " the glorious climate of California." I 
 opened in San Francisco in January 1882. I should 
 like to say here, that, wonderful and interesting as are 
 many of the cities of the Eastern States, in their great 
 development of business facilities and luxuries, the 
 scenes and charms of the United States that " stand 
 out " in the mind of any travelling European do not 
 begin until he gets west of the Mississippi River. Every- 
 thing in the great far West is so different to anything 
 he has ever seen, and it is all so stupendous, so pictur- 
 esque, and, in many cases, so wonderful that the mind is in 
 a state of constant expansion and the brain perpetually 
 exercised in " taking it all in." The Humboldt River,
 
 126 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 which you nnvt in the morning on the Union Pacific, 
 is a little ditch, ami after travelling beside it all day, you 
 see it develop into a very large body of water, which 
 discharges into Lake Humboldt, hundreds of miles from 
 any coast, and disappears altogether. Where does it 
 go to? The immense alkali plains, with their herds of 
 antelope, etc., and the journey through the snowsheds 
 of the great Rockies and Sierras, until you descend into 
 the Sacramento Valley of the Pacific slope, with its 
 birds of brilliant plumage, but little or no song; its 
 flowers of radiant colourings, but little or no scent, all 
 go to make up an experience unique and full of interest 
 as you meet it for the first time. And once arrived in 
 San Francisco you seem to take on a new existence. The 
 climate, to a newcomer, is like a joyous tonic. I played 
 there a month and enjoyed every minute of it. I saw 
 all there was to be seen — the park and the great seal 
 rocks; had trips through Chinatown, with its opium 
 dens, its cafes, its joss houses, and its theatres, etc. 
 Was made a member of the well-known Bohemian Club, 
 and met a lot of most hospitable friends — Clay Green, 
 Frank Unger, Harry Jocelyn, Eugene Dewey, and a 
 namesake, Col. Barnes, a very prominent lawyer of the 
 city, a man of great intellect and a firm friend. Saw 
 Jennie Lee and her husband, J. P. Burnett, off to Aus- 
 tralia, and, wonderful to relate, on the same steamer met 
 John Hollingshead's niece, Maud Hobson, all that dis- 
 tance away from home, quite unexpectedly, after having 
 been at the Gaiety Theatre, London, with her for months. 
 She was on the way to Honolulu with her husband, 
 Captain Hailey, late of the Hussars, who had an appoint- 
 ment there.
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 127 
 
 Two things struck me forcibly about San Francisco 
 when I first visited it. The first was the extraordinary 
 cosmopolitan character of its population. All the nations 
 were represented, and all seemed to have their own little 
 colony and almost their own districts wherein they lived. 
 A reason for this was probably to be found in the fact 
 that the Pacific Coast had been the end of the earth to a 
 large body of the world's wanderers. To use a term in 
 vogue nowadays, it was a kind of " dumping ground " 
 for many hundreds who had come there by land or sea, 
 and either could not from circumstances get any further, 
 or were disinclined to ; and there they had settled and 
 formed new ties and started new lives, but always 
 apparently in their own coteries and among their own 
 compatriots. The other impression was the perfectly 
 admirable character of some of the moderate-priced 
 restaurants. There were four or five of these that I 
 could name where a really excellent meal could be had 
 for 50 cents (about 25. of English money), and for $1 
 (4s.) the menu served was positively luxurious. I am 
 writing of the days before the great earthquake, which 
 may easily have considerably changed many of the 
 conditions. 
 
 The trip back from California, playing by the way, was 
 brim full of interest to me, and two or three references 
 will I hope also interest my readers. How the staff 
 managed to get the play The World on to the stage in 
 such places as some of the one-night stands I shall never 
 know. They did, and there's the wonder ! The first 
 place we stopped at was San Jose, where I was much 
 amused by a well-intentioned friend, who drove me out 
 some miles to an old mission house, a dilapidated building
 
 128 FORTY YEARS ON THE STACxE 
 
 looking like an old malt house in England, and, pulling 
 up opposite thereto, said, with great emphasis : " There, 
 sir, one hundred years old ! " I did not at first realise 
 what he was driving at, and he repeated it even more 
 emphatically. I wish I could reproduce his looks, though 
 not his language, when I gathered his meaning, and 
 promised him that when I met him in England I would 
 show him places one thousand years old. 
 
 Sacramento, Stockton, with its big State asylum, and 
 Reno presented no special features, but from the latter 
 we branched off to Carson City, where one of the United 
 States mints was situated, and Virginia City, famous for 
 the great mining boom of the fifties, where the Corn- 
 stock lode was discovered running through the moun- 
 tains, and where the celebrated Californian millionaires, 
 J. Mackay, O'Brien, Fair, and others made their enor- 
 mous fortunes. The true stories of their operations have 
 scarcely a parallel in the whole history of mining. When 
 I was there the production of the mines had practically 
 " given out," and the town was well-nigh deserted. The 
 streets, chiefly of wooden-frame houses, had been taken 
 possession of by the Indians, and I remember a curious 
 feeling coming over me as I walked to the theatre, where 
 the orchestra, after parading the streets, was playing a 
 selection of music on the front verandah, and every 
 doorstep and window sill in sight was occupied by 
 " noble red men " and their families as interested lis- 
 teners, of course, without the means or inclination to 
 go inside. Verily, I felt that I had touched a lower level 
 in my career than I had looked forward to. I went down 
 the Savage mine, which had been one of the most pro- 
 ductive, with the manager, whom I had met in San
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 129 
 
 Francisco, and was shown the little wooden house in 
 which Mrs. John Mackay lived and toiled with her 
 husband in those early days, and I ruminated on the 
 wonderful turns of the wheel of fortune as I contrasted 
 it with the lordly dwelling she occupied, subsequently, 
 in Carlton House Terrace, London. I remember reading 
 in the newspapers of her burning a portrait by Meissonier 
 that failed to please her. 
 
 From there back to Reno and on to Ogden, where 
 again we left the main line to call at Salt Lake City, 
 and it was with no small amount of curiosity that I 
 found myself in the centre of Mormonism. It is not 
 my province to say a word about this faith or its followers, 
 but the city as I saw it showed on every hand evidences 
 of the master mind of a born leader of men. Although 
 Joseph Smith was credited with the foundation of this 
 powerful organisation, beyond all question that master 
 mind was Brigham Young. First, the selection of this 
 particular valley for occupation after a pilgrimage of a 
 thousand miles was a stroke of genius, and the indomi- 
 table will of the " Prophet " and the perseverance of his 
 disciples had turned its fertility to such account that 
 it was a veritable garden in the desert. Then the 
 utilisation of the adjacent perpetually snow-covered 
 mountains was a wonderful instance of foresight. The 
 city was built on the slope of the foot-hills of these, and 
 when the snow melted in summer the water was caught 
 and stored as it ran down the hillsides in a huge dyke, 
 and by a system of small sluices conducted down the 
 sides of the streets under the shade of countless trees, 
 giving a sense of coolness on the hottest day. It was 
 more than 90 in the shade when I was there. And the 
 
 K
 
 180 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 same mind which could harness the forces of nature was 
 able to make the most of the resources of science and art. 
 When Brigham Young wanted to do anything in the pub- 
 lic interest, he was content to go to the highest authority 
 on the subject, and follow that authority blindly. He 
 built a new Tabernacle, which was capable of seating an 
 immense concourse of people with one gallery only, and 
 which, through its exit arrangements, could be emptied 
 in a minute and a half. I was shown over this building 
 by a man who to my surprise addressed me as Mr. 
 Barnes at our first meeting. He had been in the orches- 
 tra at Drury Lane theatre when I was there ten years 
 before. In this immense building, which, from the out- 
 side looked like a long beehive, my guide stood at one end 
 by the organ, and I went to the extreme other end. In 
 the distance he looked positively small. Such were the 
 acoustics that he spoke, whispered, rubbed his coat- 
 sleeve with his hand, and dropped a pin into his hat by 
 turns, and I heard all as distinctly as if I stood at his 
 side. This may sound like an exaggeration, but any one 
 who has been there will know it is a positive fact. And 
 why was it? Because the building was constructed on 
 the rigid principles of acoustics of the greatest authority, 
 Sir Christopher Wren. A domed roof with no beams and 
 a cellared floor. Other public buildings were equally 
 remarkable, but I have said enough to prove the man 
 who planned it all had an intellect quite out of the 
 ordinary. Brigham Young was dead when I was there. 
 His successor, Mr. Taylor, visited the theatre one night 
 with some of his wives, and they seemed interested and 
 quite a happy, though not particularly distinguished, 
 family. Of course, I am writing of the time before the
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 131 
 
 United States Government passed stringent laws against 
 polygamy and other Mormon customs (indeed the law 
 was passed through the Senate the very week I was 
 there). I have not been in Utah since, and cannot, 
 therefore, speak of any change it may have brought 
 about. I only remember that I left Salt Lake City much 
 impressed with the thrift of the people and the evidences 
 of the strong worldly wisdom and common-sense of the 
 departed Brigham Young.
 
 XVI 
 
 Back on to the main line at Ogden and by way of 
 Laramie City to Cheyenne, where a minor surprise 
 awaited me. On the way to the theatre for the evening 
 performance notes of a post-horn greeted my ears, and 
 down the main street dashed a perfectly appointed 
 four-in-hand drag, post-boy and all. A party of rich 
 New Yorkers, including Charles Oelrichs (brother of 
 Herman, previously mentioned), who had a large ranch 
 some miles out on the prairies, had driven in to see the 
 play. That night a ludicrous incident occurred which 
 caused them and the writer no little amusement. The 
 sensation scene at the end of the third act of The World 
 was three starving creatures on a raft in the open sea 
 signalling to a vessel which comes into sight on the 
 horizon. Instead of waiting to descend at the psycho- 
 logical moment as a properly constructed and trained 
 curtain should, the Cheyenne curtain broke from its 
 moorings and dropped to the stage, bodily, some moments 
 before the end of the act, leaving us with nothing to do 
 but swim (or walk) through the ocean in full view of the 
 audience. It was ludicrous, and there was positively 
 no saving of the situation ; so it flashed across my mind 
 that the very best thing to do was to turn it into a 
 thoroughly good laugh and get out of the dilemma that 
 
 way. I shouted to my fellow- voyagers, " There's nothing 
 
 132
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 133 
 
 left but to swim for it, boys, and Heaven give us strength 
 to reach the prompt entrance." And we plunged into 
 the seething ( ?) billows, and walked to the " wings." 
 The audience shouted with laughter, and we had a good 
 joke over it at the club that night at supper ; and so all 
 ended happily. 
 
 From Cheyenne to Denver; and here, too, I had two 
 little surprises. As is well known the high altitude of 
 Denver makes it particularly beneficial in all cases of 
 lung trouble. The air is so light and curative in its 
 effect ! The healthy man finds, at first, a difficulty in 
 breathing if climbing a hill or going up stairs. My 
 first surprise was to meet, quite unexpectedly, Miss 
 Angelina Claude, a charming little singing comedienne, 
 who had been in the old Strand when I was there in 
 1873, walking with her husband, Richard Kavanagh, of 
 Dublin, one of the best fellows who ever lived. " Dick " 
 (as all his friends called him) had gone out there, prac- 
 tically, to die of consumption, but hoping a stay there 
 might prolong his life a few months, and his good loving 
 little wife sadly expected to see the last of him there. He 
 stayed a little over a year and came back so nearly 
 cured — if not quite — that I believe he lived for twelve 
 or fourteen years afterwards; nor do I remember that 
 the old ailment had anything to do with the dear fellow's 
 end when it came. Strolling with this happy Darby and 
 Joan we turned a corner and there was my second 
 surprise — a good-sized ten-roomed house coming down 
 the middle of the street on rollers, being moved from 
 one part of the city to another, a distance of more than 
 a mile. 
 
 Our tour ended in Denver, and I came through to New
 
 184 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 York ami straight home to London again by the s.s. 
 Britannic, then under the command of the popular 
 Captain Perry, sailing on April 1 and arriving April 10. 
 After so much travelling I intended taking a good rest, 
 but it was not to be. Almost immediately on my 
 arrival Mr. J. Comyns Carr hunted me up with an offer 
 to play in his version of Thomas Hardy's Far from the 
 Madding Crowd ; so that I " got into harness " at once 
 and opened in that play at the Globe on April 29, 1882. 
 There was very considerable excitement about the 
 production of this play, and something like a fierce 
 controversy raged round its presentation. Pinero had 
 produced some time previously, at the St. James's, a 
 play called The Squire. That it was founded on Hardy's 
 book it was quite idle to deny. How it came about 
 it is not my province to discuss. Everybody one met 
 advanced a different explanation at the time. Whatever 
 the true story was, there could be no doubt that The 
 Squire, with Mr. and Mrs. Kendal, Wenman, and Mac- 
 kintosh in a great character study of a country yokel 
 called Gunnion, had " taken the wind out of the sails " 
 of Carr's version of the story. Not that the latter was 
 not a good play ! It was, distinctly. I played in The 
 Squire afterwards with the Kendals, and I think a just 
 summing up of their respective merits would be that, 
 whereas Pinero's play was the neatest and best piece of 
 dramatic workmanship, Carr's version retained more of 
 the vigour and local colour of the great original. A lot 
 was made of Hardy's bucolics in Carr's play, and those 
 were a set of characters Hardy delighted in and on 
 which he spread himself with evident relish. It is 
 rather an odd small coincidence that I should be writing
 
 -- 
 
 Photo] 
 
 J. H. BARNES AS SERJEANT TROY 
 
 ("Far from the Madding Crowd") 
 
 [J. E. Mayall 
 
 [To face paije 134
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 185 
 
 of his work a long way from home within forty-eight 
 hours of reading in the newspapers that he has been 
 justly awarded the " Nobel " prize for literature. In 
 Far from the Madding Crowd Mrs. Bernard Beere played 
 Bathsheba, Charles Kelly was the Gabriel Oak, and I 
 played Sergeant Troy, and all the smaller parts were 
 well cast. Kelly stage-managed the play. What a 
 popular chap he was, and what an admirable actor ! 
 He left a troop of sorrowing friends when he was called 
 away. The play was most favourably noticed by the 
 Press, as were the principal performers, but was not a 
 great success and only ran a few weeks. 
 
 It fell out that the July of 1882 was to be a very 
 eventful time in my career. On the third of that month 
 I opened at Drury Lane as Macduff to the Macbeth of 
 my old friend, William Rignold, and the Lady Macbeth 
 of that incomparable artist, Mme. Ristori. I say " in- 
 comparable " because not only was she the greatest 
 actress I have ever played with or seen, but she was at 
 the same time by far the greatest female mentality I 
 have ever met. She came to London for four weeks 
 and played Lady Macbeth and Elizabeth, Queen of 
 England, for two weeks each. Her Lady Macbeth, 
 though a very fine performance, of which the sleep- 
 walking scene was a positive revelation, took such 
 extraordinary liberties with the play as Shakespeare 
 wrote it that at certain points it seemed, and was un- 
 doubtedly, all wrong ; but this was the result of studying 
 the play from a bad translation, as she afterwards 
 admitted in conversation. Her favourite dramatist in 
 Italy, Giacometta, had in her younger days prepared a 
 version of the play for her to " star " in, which obscured
 
 136 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 so much of the text that she was quite surprised, and most 
 graciously so, when it was pointed out to her how much 
 she had missed of the great story. Macbeth had been 
 my favourite study for six or seven years previously — 
 and, indeed, is yet — and I had read everything I could 
 find on the subject, English and foreign, and I could 
 not understand at first how such an intellect could have 
 so completely tripped. We got to be the very best of 
 friends and, through the interpretation of her manager, 
 Mr. Wertheimer, had many delightful chats on the 
 subject, and it was quite amazing to note her interest 
 in some of the points I was able to bring before her. Of 
 course any attempt to make Lady Macbeth the star part 
 of this play will always end in disaster. Shakespeare 
 called the play Macbeth, and if it is considered in its 
 absolute entirety nothing can dethrone him from his 
 dominant position in what is perhaps the greatest play in 
 our language, as well as the nearest approach to the model 
 of the great Greek tragedies which the English tongue 
 can show. But there was nothing but admiration for 
 her performance of the part, as she had studied it. And 
 if one writes this of her Lady Macbeth, what must be 
 said of her Elizabeth ? In all my life I never saw such 
 acting. It was beyond all praise. The part, as is 
 known to many, opens with the Queen as a young 
 woman in love with Essex (which part I played), and 
 each act finds her and all her court growing older until 
 we meet her in the last act, a withered, dogmatic old 
 hag. It runs the gamut of the emotions and brings into 
 play all the phases of the actor's skill. At every point 
 Mme. Ristori's triumph was complete. Even in her 
 love-making one forgot her advanced age in her exquisite
 
 MADAME RISTORI 
 
 [To face page 130
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 137 
 
 art, and when Elizabeth's death came at the end you 
 breathed a sigh of relief from the tension in which she 
 had held you and of positive gratitude to the artist who 
 could weave such a spell of art around you. An actor 
 of any years' standing is often asked : " What is the 
 greatest piece of acting you ever saw ? " I have no kind 
 of hesitation in stating that my very biggest memories 
 are Ristori's Elizabeth and Phelps's Sir Pertinax Mac- 
 sycophant (Man of the World). When it is said that Mme. 
 Ristori was in private a perfectly charming gentlewoman, 
 kind and tolerant to all and most considerate to the 
 humbler workers of the stage, it may be imagined the 
 regard in which she was held. It was a most fortunate 
 engagement for me. I pleased the audience in both 
 plays. The Press of London were unanimous in my 
 favour and especially as to my reading of blank verse, 
 which gratified me very much, as a tribute to the valuable 
 instruction of my kind old manageress, Mrs. Wyndham. 
 Mme. Ristori could not have been more gracious to me. 
 Years after, I was coming out of Wallack's, New York, 
 where I had witnessed Henry Irving's Louis XL, and 
 met her in the lobby. Recognising me, she threw her 
 arms around me and gave me a continental salutation 
 on both cheeks, which arrested the attention of a crowded 
 lobby, and would have been almost embarrassing from a 
 " meaner mortal." 
 
 One point that we chatted on was of special interest 
 to me and others to whom I mentioned it at the time, and 
 may be to some of my readers. When Salvini came to 
 London first he made a huge hit, and yet the vogue 
 did not last long, or, indeed, extend to a second visit. 
 John Hollingshead, amongst his numerous speculations,
 
 188 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 brought over shortly afterwards his great Italian rival, 
 Signor Rossi. Ed their own country he was considered 
 the better net or and many English people were inclined 
 to think so, too; but he came second, when the taste was 
 dead, and therefore did not do well ; indeed, Hollingshead 
 told me that he played King Lear one night at Drury 
 Lane to gross receipts of £18 12s., which seemed incred- 
 il >le for a great actor playing a Shakespearean masterpiece 
 in what was called the National theatre; but it was true ! 
 Both Rossi and Salvini had been members of Mme. 
 Ristori's company at the same time, and she would not 
 hear of any comparison between the two. She said : 
 " Ah, yes ! Salvini, attractive, showy, fascinating, but 
 melodramatic. Rossi, magnifique, a poet ! " And this 
 great woman had been at times something more than 
 all this. Statesmen entrusted her with secret missions 
 during Italy's struggle for freedom, and in 1861 Count 
 Cavour, the Italian Prime Minister, wrote to her : " Use 
 that authority of yours, and I will not merely applaud 
 in you the first actress of Europe, but the most efficacious 
 co-operator in our diplomatic negotiation." All honour 
 to the memory of Mme. Ristori, say I. The actor's 
 calling is ennobled by such an artist and uplifted by the 
 inclusion in its ranks of such a gentlewoman. 
 
 Strange to say, this engagement which brought me 
 so much genuine pleasure was correspondingly saddened 
 by a very serious accident in which I was the absolutely 
 innocent prime mover. I had the great misfortune to 
 stab poor Rignold under the following distressing 
 circumstances. At the end of a strenuous and well- 
 arranged sword fight I used to disarm him, and then 
 ensued a struggle for a dirk which he drew and which
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 139 
 
 I finally succeeded in wresting from his hand and plung- 
 ing into his ribs. It was only in my hand a second 
 of time. On the first night he had looked at his weapon 
 and remarked on its sharpness and danger, but took no 
 steps to have it ground down or blunted. About the 
 third or fourth night I found it penetrate in an unusual 
 manner, and to my horror discovered I had wounded him 
 very badly. He behaved like the plucky, typical Eng- 
 lishman he was, but the blade had gone perilously near 
 the lung, and he bled terribly. After some delay a 
 doctor came and staunched the wound, and we got him 
 home. When I went to see him next day he was in bed, 
 though on the road to recovery, and he tried to put me 
 at my ease as much as possible by saying it was entirely 
 his own fault. But as he had a wife and five children 
 dependent on him, in addition to my grief for a very 
 valued old friend, my feelings may be imagined until 
 he was completely restored to health. Thomas Swin- 
 bourne took his place as Macbeth. I once read (I think 
 it was in De Quincey) of the exquisite and dainty 
 pleasure of feeling a sharp instrument entering human 
 flesh. " God defend me from ever experiencing it again," 
 say I. 
 
 From August to December, 1882, I was engaged by 
 Augustus Harris to play in the Drury Lane autumn 
 drama called Pluck, by Henry Pettitt. This author had 
 almost a genius for constructing and writing melodrama, 
 and his successes were many ; but, unfortunately, Pluck 
 did not turn out one of his best. It was well cast and 
 played, and ran on for several weeks, but not to very 
 great business. My success as Macduff had fired my 
 ambition, and in November of that year I made up my
 
 110 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 mind to " have a shot at the bigger gillie " of Macbeth. 
 As I have stated, 1 had worked at the part for years, 
 and had prepared a careful study of it. The best way 
 to bring it before the public appeared to be by use of 
 the word * k benefit," but I did not feci that I had any 
 righl to ask my fellow artists to make any concessions 
 for me; so I took the theatre and engaged as good a 
 cast as I could procure, and paid each of them his own 
 terms. My confreres included Thomas Swinbourne, 
 John Ryder, Somerset, Jackson, Louise Moodie, and 
 others. All were sound Shakespearean performers. 
 Then I asked Ryder to run me once through the part, 
 that I might not miss any good effect by not being 
 cognizant of it. He cheerfully acceded to my wish, 
 and added, " And I will play Banquo for you and manage 
 your stage; any one who plays Macbeth for the first 
 time does not need anything else to think about." The 
 morning came (November 11), and I can say, without 
 egotism, that I succeeded beyond my expectations. The 
 audience was enthusiastic, and the Press (with one 
 exception) unanimous in telling me I was on the right 
 road, and full of encouragement for me to go on. The 
 exception was one of the only critics I had a speaking 
 acquaintance with (Clement Scott, of the Daily Tele- 
 graph), who took a curious tone, which seemed to infer 
 that it was quite an impertinence on my part to study 
 Shakespeare at all, and in his notice, as in many others 
 about that time, appeared to wish to keep the Shake- 
 spearean field for the exclusive grazing of certain artists 
 toward whom he was strongly biassed. It was rather 
 strange, because he had been loud in my praises as
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 141 
 
 Macduff a few months previously, and, without my 
 knowledge, a friend of mine, a learned Queen's Counsel 
 of the day, " tackled " him on the subject one night 
 at the Garrick Club, and found his mind and opinions 
 perplexing and contradictory in the extreme. Any 
 actor who goes in for a study of Macbeth is doing quite 
 a deal for art's sake and for his personal gratification. 
 It is not one of the grateful parts of Shakespeare. As a 
 proof of this, it may be pointed out how few of the great 
 ones of the past have left their mark in the part. It is 
 only when you get on the stage in it and have settled 
 down to know it, that you find out what a wilderness 
 of words it is, and every line right " in the teeth of the 
 audience." Not a moment when the audience is not 
 antagonistic in its feeling towards the part. It is like 
 rolling a barrel up a hill ; not a point where you can take 
 an " easy " ! An old actor said to me when I was 
 going to play it, and he heard I had worked at it for a 
 long time, " Ah, my lad, it is a great mistake. The 
 same study put into some other parts might get you a 
 fortune; but not Macbeth ! " And yet it always was 
 (and is to-day) to me the most entrancing study, and 
 one that an artist cannot bend his mind to without (I 
 think) finding his knowledge and perception of human 
 nature broadening at every page. 
 
 One of my great gratifications in my first essay was the 
 behaviour of good old John Ryder. After I had settled 
 up all my expenses and paid all my co-workers their 
 terms (there was not a great balance) I went to him and 
 said, "Now, old friend, what do I owe you?" He 
 replied : " Not a farthing ! " And he added in his
 
 148 FORTY TEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 heartiest manner : " I like you, my lad, and I believe in 
 you, and when you want to k have a cut ' at any of the 
 
 Othet big parts that I am familiar with, come to me, 
 and I'll do the same again." I was greatly affected by 
 his kindness. Needless to say, I found some other way 
 to show my appreciation, and a way that pleased him 
 wry much. The night of the performance I was ten- 
 dered a dinner at the Albion, at which a number of old 
 friends and well-wishers assembled, and all sorts of kind 
 things were said to and of me; and my oldest " pal," 
 who had been instrumental in my first appearance 
 (Henry Melton), presented me with a sword which had 
 been worn on the stage by Walter Montgomery and 
 which, he said, he had been keeping for me for years. 
 This sword I afterwards gave to the Players' Club in 
 New York for their museum of relics of the famous 
 departed ones. (I presume it is there still.) And so 
 ended one of the great events of my life, to which I 
 always look back with very considerable pride. About 
 this time I had several proposals of financial assistance, 
 and one friend went so far as to offer to " back " me in a 
 London theatre. I suppose it would have been wise to 
 accept it, as so many others have done, but somehow, 
 though always ready for a gamble on my own account, 
 I shrank from the position of using (perhaps losing) 
 other people's money, and I hoped there would always 
 be room in the calling for a salaried skilled workman. 
 It is possible I may have missed some advancement 
 by the course that I chose, but it is also certain that 
 I have missed a lot of anxieties, and when the time 
 comes for my final exit my responsibilities, as far as
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 143 
 
 investments are concerned, will be covered by my own 
 roof-tree. 
 
 From March to June, 1883, I played at the Adelphi 
 in Stormbeaten, a version by Robert Buchanan of his 
 fine book God and the Man. Charles Warner acted 
 the leading part, Christian Christianson, and I played 
 the villain, Richard Orchardson. Miss Amy Roselle, 
 Kate Christianson; C. W. Somerset and others were in 
 a good cast. It was also a fine production, the great 
 scene in the Arctic Sea being a splendid stage picture. 
 The play was brilliantly noticed by the Press, but it was 
 only a passable success, and did not realise the expecta- 
 tions formed by reading the book. One very funny 
 incident occurred during the run of the play. The 
 reader will remember that the feud which forms the 
 basis of the very dramatic story is caused by the villain's 
 shooting the hero's favourite dog. This dog, with us, 
 was a really magnificent St. Bernard, which the managers 
 (the Messrs. Gatti) bought for the play, and they handed 
 him over to Warner to keep with him so that he might 
 be quite accustomed to his voice and presence and 
 perfectly at home with him at all points. Warner and 
 Carlo became inseparable. On the night in question 
 I had duly shot Carlo, in the first act, and one of the 
 Gatti Brothers had taken him away and brought him 
 back into the refreshment room in front of the theatre. 
 By that time we were playing the last act, and years 
 had supposed to elapse when, some door being open, 
 Carlo heard Warner's voice on the stage. He gave 
 an enormous yelp, rushed down the stairs, through 
 the orchestra stalls, cleared the orchestra with a
 
 144 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 bound, and shaking his tail with glee laid down at 
 Warner's feet on the stage. His inartistic resuscitation 
 at that juncture completely killed the end of the play, 
 but as an individual effort he made a great success 
 and secured the best applause of the evening. Charlie 
 Warner was a fine, robust actor, full of virile power. 
 His Tom Robinson in Never Too Late to Mend was a 
 striking performance, and his Coupeau in Charles Reade's 
 version of UAssommoir, called Drink, was a perfect 
 tour de force and made a great impression. His Harry 
 Dornton (Road to Ruin) was excellent. His experiments 
 in Shakespeare were not so successful. His tragic end 
 in New York a few years ago came as a great shock to 
 many, including the writer. Poor old Charlie ! Only 
 his intimates (of whom I was certainly one) knew that a 
 great abiding sorrow had clouded nearly all his manhood, 
 and in addition he had received his full share of " for- 
 tune's buffets." All which undoubtedly told on a 
 naturally excitable temperament; but that he should 
 " shuffle off this mortal coil " and seek " the undiscover'd 
 country from whose bourne no traveller returns " with 
 such dread determination was terribly sad, and caused 
 a large circle of friends the keenest grief. 
 
 It seems almost impossible that thirty years have 
 passed since that sweet woman Miss Mary Anderson 
 first appeared in England, and set all London talking 
 about her beauty and her talent. Yet so it is. The 
 circumstances in which she came to us were as follows : — 
 Henry Irving had contracted to take the whole Lyceum 
 company, including Miss Terry, to America, under the 
 management of Henry E. Abbey, and one of the condi-
 
 Photo] 
 
 .1. H. BARNES AS INCOMAR 
 
 [To face page 145
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 145 
 
 tions of the contract was that Abbey should take the 
 Lyceum off his (Irving's) hands. It was decided to 
 bring Miss Anderson from America as an attraction to 
 fill the vacancy. She had been a successful star in her 
 own country for years, but I do not think her engage- 
 ment in London was regarded with any overweening 
 confidence. Abbey sailed away to New York to look 
 after his attractions there, and left his London affairs 
 in the hands of a particularly able lieutenant, Michael 
 Gunn, manager of the Gaiety, Dublin. Miss Anderson 
 opened on September 1, 1883, as Parthenia in Ingomar, 
 and I had the honour of being selected to play the name- 
 part with her. She succeeded with the public from the 
 first line. Ingomar is a play which bears its date pretty 
 badly. Adapted from the German by a lady dramatist, 
 Maria Lovell, it is very much of a dramatic duet between 
 Ingomar and Parthenia, and the former has often to act 
 a brave barbarian with language lacking the necessary 
 vigour and character. In his later years that great 
 literary man and dramatist, Charles Reade, did a version 
 of the play for Charles Warner called The Son of the 
 Wilderness, which was a much more vigorous play. On 
 the first night Miss Anderson had not, up to a point, 
 tuned her splendid contralto speaking voice to the 
 acoustics of the Lyceum (never a very easy theatre to 
 speak in), and some playgoer in the gallery said : " Speak 
 up, Mary ! " Never having been used to that kind of 
 interruption, she was, at first, disposed to resent it, but 
 I was able to reassure her, in a whisper, that it was 
 really only intended kindly, and she took the tendered 
 advice good-humouredly, and made a very great hit
 
 146 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 Indeed, and receiving an ovation a1 the end of the play. 
 Ingomar did not, however, draw much more than working 
 expenses. It was followed in a short time with The Lady 
 of Lyons, with a strong cast, including William Farren, 
 Mrs. Billington, Mrs. Arthur Stirling, and others. I 
 played Claude Melnotte, but I had grown rather too 
 bulky in physique to give the idea of so ultra-romantic 
 a part, and I did not fancy myself in it very much. 
 Miss Anderson again looked lovely as Pauline, and made 
 another stride in the favour of the London public. Still 
 the big event was to come. During the run of The Lady 
 of Lyons our late great King and his ever-popular 
 consort, our beloved Queen Dowager (then Prince and 
 Princess of Wales), visited the theatre, and after certain 
 inquiries by the Prince he sent for Miss Anderson and 
 presented her to the Princess, who gave her the bouquet 
 that she was carrying. A small thing, perhaps, and Miss 
 Anderson's stepfather and manager (Dr. Griffin) affected 
 to take little notice of it, but he did not know what 
 weight it had with the ladies of English society. How- 
 ever, he soon found out. The business improved appre- 
 ciably the next day; and when we, in a short time, 
 produced Pygmalion and Galatea, the success was com- 
 plete. For weeks and months the Lyceum was scarcely 
 large enough to hold the audiences that worshipped at 
 the shrine of the new star. She certainly did look 
 divine in her white robe as Galatea, her glorious young 
 womanhood w r as set off thereby to perfection, and each 
 night saw the theatre crowded with " fair women and 
 brave men," and all that was best and brainiest in our 
 land. It was a curious fact that she was almost more
 
 Photo] 
 
 [The " Vander Yeyde Light " 
 
 MISS MARY ANDERSON AS GALATEA 
 
 [To /ace page 146
 
 Photo 
 
 [London Stereoscopic Co. 
 J. H. BARNES AS PYGMALION 
 
 [To face page 147
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 147 
 
 admired by the ladies of England than by the men ; but, 
 as is always the case, the latter followed where the former 
 led. It was a most pleasant season, and in a thousand 
 little ways she endeared herself to all of us. Personally 
 I recall with the liveliest gratitude her great sympathy 
 with me in a domestic sorrow, and I have always kept a 
 very warm spot in my heart for this clever and gentle 
 comrade. 
 
 The production of Pygmalion and Galatea was very 
 nearly marred by a serious situation that arose. Miss 
 Anderson had played the part of Galatea a great deal 
 in America, and had been used to making certain effects 
 and points. W. S. Gilbert, the author, was a great 
 power in those days and more than ordinarily dogmatic ; 
 and he objected strongly to some of these effects and 
 points, with the result that the two came to loggerheads 
 one day. The rehearsal was dismissed, and things 
 looked black, but the diplomatic Michael Gunn took 
 Gilbert out to luncheon, and when we met next day the 
 clouds had rolled by and the sky was clear again. The 
 cast was a good one : Amy Roselle, Cynisca (excellent) ; 
 Harry Kemble, Chrysos ; Frank Macklin, Leucippe ; Mrs. 
 Billington, Daphne ; the writer, Pygmalion ; and all the 
 other parts well filled. For the first few weeks I also 
 played Jasper Carew in A Sheep in Wolfs Clothing as a 
 first piece. This was also well cast. Later on, Gilbert 
 having finished, for Miss Anderson, his fine one-act play 
 Comedy and Tragedy, we rehearsed and produced it in 
 January 1884. Another great hit, and we ran on merrily 
 to crowded houses until Easter. In Comedy and Tragedy 
 I played the Due d'Orleans, Regent of France, and
 
 148 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 George Alexander came over from the St. James's, by 
 permission of Messrs. Hare and Kendal, to play the 
 husband, d'Aulnay. 
 
 At Easter, 1884, another American star came to the 
 Lyceum, viz. Lawrence Barrett, with a play called 
 Yorick's Love, which was not very successful. Mean- 
 time Miss Anderson with her entire company went on a 
 short tour of the English provinces, visiting Edinburgh, 
 Glasgow, Liverpool, Manchester, Dublin, and Birming- 
 ham. Everywhere she was received with acclamation, 
 and our tour was a veritable triumphal march. In 
 Dublin (a city ever susceptible to the influence of beauty) 
 the students of Trinity College insisted on dragging her 
 carriage through the streets. Some slight changes had 
 taken place in the company for the tour. My old 
 friend, William Rignold, joined us, and I gave up the 
 Due d'Orleans in Comedy and Tragedy to him and played 
 d'Aulnay at Miss Anderson's request. " Rowley " 
 Buckstone, so popular in America, was also with us. 
 One of the great pleasures of the tour was the fact that 
 it brought me into a close friendship with that " prince 
 of good fellows," Henry Kemble, which continued 
 uninterruptedly up to his death in recent years. In 
 all my life I never met a bigger-hearted man or more 
 thorough gentleman. Nothing on earth could make him 
 do or think a mean or unworthy thing. His soul was 
 that of a patrician. He had his foibles doubtless ! 
 Who has not ? But they were far outweighed by his 
 sterling qualities. A real humorist ! The stories of 
 dear old " Beetle " would fill many pages, but like so 
 many of the strongly marked characters of the stage
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 149 
 
 they would be, to an extent, pointless without some sort 
 of imitation of the original's manner. One of his very 
 strongest traits was his absolute fearlessness in saying 
 what he thought of any man or his actions, and that to 
 his face for choice. I remember he and W. S. Gilbert 
 had a difference of opinion during the rehearsals of 
 Pygmalion and Galatea, and he astonished us all by saying 
 to that autocratic author in his most sententious manner : 
 " Doubtless you think yourself a very clever person, 
 Mr. Gilbert, but I, for one, fail to see it." 
 
 During the last week of the tour, in Birmingham, I 
 received an offer by cable to play the leading business of 
 the Union Square Theatre, New York, in the autumn. 
 Now this theatre, under the management of Messrs. 
 Sheridan Shook and A. M. Palmer, had long been about 
 the foremost in the United States. The terms offered 
 me were excellent, and I closed with them at once ; and 
 after a good holiday I took all my belongings to New 
 York with me and began my engagement there on 
 October 6, 1884. But, unfortunately, I was destined 
 to suffer a great disappointment. Mr. Shook was still 
 the financial partner, but Mr. Palmer had left, and 
 had gone into management at the Madison Square 
 Theatre. His successor, Mr. James Collier, whose 
 experience had been gained in a broader and coarser 
 field of work, was in no way his equal in either judgment 
 of plays or stage management, and I had a most dis- 
 astrous season as regards plays and parts. During the 
 six months covered by my engagement we tried four 
 plays — The Artists Daughter, Duprez and Son (a new 
 version of VAveugle), by the author attached to the
 
 150 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 theatre, one Cazauran ; Three Wives to One Husband, a 
 farcical comedy, and The Prisoner for Life, a poor melo- 
 drama. Not one of them was nearly a good play, and 
 in not one of them had I a part with any scope to justify 
 my selection for the position. It was rather heartbreak- 
 ing, and, in the circumstances, I was not sorry when my 
 time was up.
 
 J. H. BARNES IN "A PRISONER FOR LIFE " 
 
 [To face page l, r >0
 
 XVII 
 
 I had gone out to New York on the s.s. Grecian 
 Monarch (Captain Bristow), and it so fell out that the 
 same ship was sailing home on the day that my en- 
 gagement ended. With some friends, we were a party 
 of seven, and the managers of the line consented to 
 let the boat lay over one tide for us, so that I played up 
 to and inclusive of Saturday night and went on board 
 after the performance and sailed away before we were 
 up in the morning. Of course, there was not a very 
 full list of passengers, or this could not have been 
 arranged. I reached London on April 14, 1885. The 
 Union Square company were good enough and strong 
 enough for anything if we had been provided with 
 material : Sara Jewett, Maude Harrison, Eloise Willes, 
 Ida Vernon, John Parselle (an old English actor who 
 died during the season), James Stoddart, Jack Mason 
 (now one of America's best actors and most successful 
 stars). Stoddart was a delightful comrade and an ad- 
 mirable actor, a member of an old Liverpool theatrical 
 family, very strong in forcible, rough parts of a hard 
 nature. The American papers praised his Penholder 
 on One Touch of Nature very highly, but he could not 
 compare with Ben Webster to any one who had seen the 
 latter. He was lacking in that great actor's tenderness. 
 I only saw Ben Webster in two or three parts, and 
 
 151
 
 152 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 those quite in his decline, but he was something very 
 like B genius, without doubt. II. J. Byron, a good 
 judge, once told me he was the greatest actor that he 
 ever saw, and he added : " 1 have seen him play every- 
 thing, from tragedy to country boys, and all better 
 than anybody else." 
 
 During my season at Union Square one of my 
 favourite pastimes was attending the sales at "Tatter- 
 sail's of New York," then under the management of 
 a very able man, William (" Billy ") Easton, a model 
 auctioneer and a great authority on all matters per- 
 taining to horses, of which I have always been very 
 fond ; and it was during this season that poor Fred 
 Archer, the famous jockey, whom I had known inti- 
 mately in England, came out to New York with his 
 friend Captain Bowling to try to forget his grief in the 
 loss of his wife. We saw a great deal of each other. 
 I have rarely met a man so bowed down with sorrow. 
 He wanted to start back to England almost as soon 
 as he had landed, but we persuaded him, amongst us, 
 that he could do nothing at home in the off-season of 
 racing, and he finally carried out his original intention 
 and went on to Texas, where Lord Aylesford had a big 
 ranch, and where he stayed some weeks, getting back 
 to England in time to " get into harness " for the re- 
 sumption of his work in the spring. I wonder if the 
 real story of the two years preceding his tragic death 
 has ever been known or told, and I wonder if I gauged 
 the facts aright ? I am inclined to think I did. He 
 made me his confidant oftentimes in New ' York, and 
 also when I returned to England ; finding me sympa- 
 thetic he talked very freely to me. When I heard of his
 
 FRED ARCHER (1885) 
 
 [To face page 153
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 153 
 
 sad end I was back in the United States, in Phila- 
 delphia, and I sent a cable of condolence to his people 
 at Newmarket and in my mind pieced together what I 
 knew of his later life as thus : Poor Fred had not had 
 many advantages in his youth, and as he, by degrees, 
 rose to his big position he got to know and like a better 
 class of people and surroundings, but he was without 
 any resources within himself. He did not care for 
 reading at all. When he married the well-educated 
 daughter of a rich trainer she brought something into 
 his life that he had never known before, and his greatest 
 delight was to get home and listen to her playing the 
 piano and her animated well-read conversation. When 
 she was taken from him the void was truly awful, and 
 was never filled or lost sight of. He has referred to 
 it, in talking to me, at the most extraordinary and un- 
 expected moments ; once after one of his most vigorous 
 finishes at Kempton. And so two years dragged on, 
 and then came that dreadful typhoid and the delirium 
 succeeding it, when, left alone by accident, his poor 
 mind recurred to the one topic that was always upper- 
 most, and he took matters into his own hands and put 
 an end to everything. Fred Archer was a great man 
 in his walk of life ! To those who knew something of 
 racing his position sometimes appeared anomalous. 
 His influence was almost too potent and powerful ! 
 As an instance of the thoroughness which gained him 
 so much eminence, the following may be interesting 
 and instructive : — One evening in my garden at Ted- 
 dington, after a Kempton meeting, there being racing at 
 Windsor next day, he arranged with me to accompany 
 him to the latter place unusually early on the following
 
 154 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 morning. We started; and I gathered from his manner 
 thai he was not in a communicative mood, so I did not 
 bother him. Arrived at Windsor still very early, we 
 started for the course, and once there, with no one 
 about except the waiters put ting out refreshments, etc., 
 he proposed a walk round the course, which was very 
 heavy from much recent rain. At the bend (through 
 some osier beds) he began to prod the ground with his 
 stick and heel, and then it all came out. He said : " I 
 am riding a horse for Baird in the first race to-day [a 
 maiden plate]. If I can keep him on fairly sound going 
 he will win at a good price ; but if he puts one foot in 
 the mud he will shut up like a clasp-knife." All this 
 was happening whilst some of his rival jockeys were 
 still asleep in London ! He rode the horse in question, 
 and won at 100 to 15. And people sometimes wonder 
 how other people become great. If Carlyle, who said, 
 " Genius meant an infinite capacity for taking trouble," 
 was right, surely Archer might be cited as a notable 
 example. 
 
 In 1885 the theatrical profession was not as crowded 
 as it is to-day, and artists who knew their business 
 had less trouble in procuring engagements. At least, 
 that was my experience. I had settled my autumn 
 arrangements before leaving New York in April and, 
 after a summer holiday on the river, I joined Mrs. 
 Bernard Beere for her tour of the British provincial 
 towns to play Loris Ipanoff {Fedora) and Sir Charles 
 Pomander (Masks and Faces). An exceeding pleasant 
 engagement. " Bernie," as her friends called her, was 
 a good sort, a thorough chum, and many little con- 
 siderations were shown to her company both by her
 
 Photo] [Kingsbury and Sotcutt 
 
 CHARLES H. E. BROOKFIELD AS TRIPLET 
 
 [To face page 155
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 155 
 
 and her business manager, Charles Terry (brother of 
 Ellen and Fred of that name). Travelling was made 
 pleasant. Business was excellent and the company 
 were most agreeable. It included C. H. E. " (Charlie ") 
 Brookfield late joint reader of plays to the Lord Chamber- 
 lain, a delightful companion, very witty, also very 
 cynical at times ; and that charming little lady, Miss 
 Julia Gwynne (Mrs. George Edwardes). Brookfield 
 left us towards the end of the tour, and my old friend, 
 James Fernandez, took his place as Triplet, which was 
 also most agreeable to me. Mrs. Beere was the original 
 Fedora in England, and gave an admirable performance 
 of the part on much the same lines as, though by no 
 means an imitation of, Sarah Bernhardt. She was also 
 excellent in Peg Woffington, full of fun, good nature, 
 and humanity. Brookfield's de Sirieux (Fedora) and 
 Triplet were both most artistic; and, needless to say, 
 the latter part suffered nothing in the skilled hands of 
 Fernandez when he succeeded to it. The Press and 
 public were kind to us wherever we went, and altogether 
 we were very jolly. We were at Leicester for the 
 race week, and staying at "The Bell." Mrs. Beere 
 gave a birthday supper there to a lot of friends (some 
 came from London), and insisted on my asking Fred 
 Archer, who was also in the hotel. He was greatly 
 pleased with the invitation, and next day, on the course, 
 he gave us a tip which, I fancy, paid a goodly portion 
 of Mrs. B.'s expenses. One specially pleasant evening 
 I recall during this tour. Mr. George Edwardes came 
 down to Scarborough to meet his wife, and invited a 
 few of us to dinner at the Grand Hotel on Sunday 
 evening. Of course, we dined well, and afterwards that
 
 156 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 brilliant musician Alfred Collier sat at the piano and 
 entertained us most delightfully with all sorts of scraps 
 and memories and instances of musical plagiarisms for 
 hours. What a grand musician he was, and how many 
 big men, in music, whose names arc household words, 
 made use of his almost unequalled knowledge when they 
 found themselves " tied in a knot " in some difficult 
 matter of orchestration, etc. I remember this par- 
 ticular evening he spoke of the perfection and beauty 
 of Gray's " Elegy " as a poem, and said how much he 
 should like to set it to music, a thing he afterwards 
 did to the delight of thousands of musical connoisseurs. 
 The tour ended in December, and after a happy home 
 Christmas, cheered by the bright company of two 
 American friends, I soon " got into harness " again 
 and reappeared at the St. James's, still under the 
 management of Messrs. Hare and Kendal, on February 
 13, 1886, in a comedy-drama called Antoinette Rigaud, 
 adapted from a French play of the same name. In 
 this performance it was destined that " history should 
 repeat itself " ! As in my former engagement at this 
 theatre, I had a great scene with Mrs. Kendal, and again 
 with her splendidly artistic assistance, I made an un- 
 questionable success and met with the emphatic ap- 
 proval of Press and public. Some of the company had 
 seen the play in Paris. I was unable to do so, but I 
 was told that my part made little or no impression in 
 the French performance. I don't know what changes 
 were wrought in the progress of adaptation, but cer- 
 tainly in the St. James's production it worked out finely, 
 and I doubt if I ever did myself more good with one 
 class, viz. the dramatic authors of the day, than in this
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 157 
 
 particular character. One of the loudest in my praise 
 on the first night was A. W. Dubourg, part author of 
 New Men and Old Acres. The play was, however, not 
 an overwhelming success, and only ran until May 21. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Kendal and John Hare were in the cast, 
 and a charming young American actress whom I have 
 lost sight of entirely, Miss Linda Deitz. Hare, as in all 
 cases at the St. James's, produced the play with the 
 utmost care. 
 
 This may be a fitting point for me to place on record 
 my emphatic opinion that Mrs. Kendal is by all odds 
 the best actress that the English stage has produced in 
 my generation. As a playgoer and stage-dreamer, I 
 saw her make her first appearance in London as Miss 
 Madge Robertson in a melodrama at Drury Lane en- 
 titled The Great City, a version of Dickens's Great Ex- 
 pectations, by Andrew Halliday, in 1867. In the 'sixties 
 I saw her in all her performances with the fine old 
 Haymarket company (and what a company it was ! 
 with Buckstone, Compton, Howe, Chippendale, Mrs. 
 Chippendale, and others); in the old comedies, in sup- 
 port of E. A. Sothern ; in Gilbert's fairy comedies, The 
 Wicked World, Pygmalion and Galatea, etc., and I saw 
 her at the Gaiety and elsewhere; and I never saw her 
 play a part in which she failed to win my admiration. 
 I little dreamed in those days that it would ever be my 
 lot to play with her, and yet it has fallen out that I 
 have had the happiness of being associated with her in 
 many big plays and scenes, and happy indeed was the 
 man who had her invaluable aid. If he could not act 
 with her to help him he might well take himself to task 
 as to whether he was one of those who had mistaken a
 
 158 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 taste for a talent in the choice of his profession. Good 
 in everything, brilliant in most, she was a splendid 
 comedienne and absolutely unapproachable in parts 
 of strongly marked womanliness and gentle pathos, 
 and, like all the great artists, male and female, of my 
 experience, she went down for her finest effects — not up ; 
 and made her most certain and profound impressions by 
 apparently simple means. The English stage should 
 be proud of such an actress, and I doubt if the younger 
 members of the profession nowadays are able to realise 
 how superb she was. 
 
 During her later years the puny carpers tried in 
 vain to pick holes in her invulnerable armour of art 
 and womanhood. Both were unassailable, and in her 
 dignified retirement she stands to-day, reminding one 
 as much as anything of Tennyson's splendid description 
 of the lion and the dogs in his tragedy of The Cup.
 
 XVIII 
 
 Of W. H. Kendal almost as much may be said. I 
 saw him make his first appearance in London at the 
 Haymarket in the 'sixties in a farce. I saw him play 
 an eccentric light comedy part with the elder Sothern 
 in a play called A Wife Well Won, in which he gave an 
 inimitable performance, and made the star " put his 
 best foot foremost," indeed. He played and sang 
 delightfully in a burlesque entitled The Frightful Hair, 
 a travesty of a drama played at the Lyceum by Band- 
 mann, entitled The Rightful Heir. (He had a most 
 pleasing singing voice.) I saw him play all through 
 the Haymarket repertory of old comedies. He was 
 much the best Young Mario w I have ever seen. No 
 one carried himself better or looked more graceful in 
 the Georgian costume. His figure was so straight, and 
 he wore his clothes so well. I followed him through all 
 his career. As a light and eccentric comedian he has 
 had no rival, in my judgment, since Charles Mathews. 
 I suppose it would appear foolish when two great artists, 
 man and wife, have had a conspicuously successful 
 career and made a handsome fortune to suggest even 
 that any little thing was a mistake, but it is just possible 
 that in some of their very successful plays he occasion- 
 ally " side-stepped " into parts of deeper feeling, in 
 
 which he was not quite so convincing. But his per- 
 
 159
 
 160 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 formanccs in A Scrap of Paper, The Queen's Shilling, 
 She Stoops to Conquer, and a remarkably fine one in 
 Impulse, and, indeed, in every shade and phase of light 
 comedy, left nothing to be desired. 
 
 Happily, the deserved and pronounced appreciation 
 of the public of two hemispheres placed the Kendals 
 above any financial consideration whatever, and when 
 the time came for them to take their leave of the pro- 
 fession that they had adorned they did so, as they had 
 always worked in it, without charlatanism or ostenta- 
 tion. Long may they live to enjoy their well-earned 
 retirement, say I, with all my heart. 
 
 Of the third partner in the firm, Mr. Hare (now Sir 
 John), similar and equally emphatic eulogy may well 
 be written. An artist to the very roots of his hair, he 
 has done some perfectly splendid work in connection 
 with the modern stage, and his knighthood came as no 
 surprise but as a matter of great rejoicing to a very 
 wide circle of friends and admirers. It was always 
 perfectly satisfying, often astonishing, to watch his 
 cameo -like performances, especially of modern parts. 
 I hardly think he shone so brightly in his few attempts 
 at classic or conventional roles. His art was essentially 
 of the mimetic school, but most finished. If it were 
 possible to admire anything more than his acting of 
 the parts that he made his own, commend me to his 
 stage management. Just now several of the up-to-date 
 men are getting tremendous kudos for productions of 
 the very up-to-date plays. One would think when 
 reading the notices of the Press that the millennium 
 of stage management had arrived. Dear me ! London 
 soon forgets, and some of the gentlemen who assume
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE i61 
 
 to direct its judgment have very short memories. I 
 have worked with all sorts of stage managers, and I 
 say as forcibly as I can within the limits of taste that 
 no one alive could give John Hare an ounce as a stage 
 manager. To enumerate his successful productions 
 would mean a very long list indeed, but in atmosphere, 
 perfection of detail, good taste, and completeness he 
 could easily hold his own with any modern man that I 
 have seen. He was terribly in earnest in his work, and 
 this very earnestness made him at times fidgety and 
 even a little irritable, but he was always working for 
 the general good effect, as opposed to any individual 
 performance, and it was a lesson in artistic discipline 
 to see the way both Mr. and Mrs. Kendal deferred to his 
 ideas. Their association was in every way a worthy 
 one, and of the utmost value to the contemporary 
 stage. 
 
 After the St. James's engagement I played a part in 
 a drama entitled By Land and Sea, by J. L. Shine and 
 J. A. Campbell, at the Royal, Birmingham, for a trial. 
 It seemed to go very well, but has not, I think, been 
 played since. 
 
 On June 19, 1886, I took up Maurice Barrymore's 
 part of Louis Percival in Jim the Penman at the Hay- 
 market in the original run of the play, in which Lady 
 Monckton appeared. Barrymore had to return to 
 America. The season closed on July 30. 
 
 I was then engaged by Mrs. Conover to play Macbeth 
 (my mania) at the Olympic. We produced it by way 
 of rehearsal at Leicester on August 16 and came to 
 London on August 26. Mrs. Conover was a very 
 pleasant little lady of Danish extraction, who was the
 
 162 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 possessor of a considerable sum of money. She took 
 the Olympic as a speculation, and 1 fear it proved a 
 disastrous one for her in more ways than one. After 
 quite a liberal management, playing herself in modern 
 dramas, etc., she was fired with an ambition to tackle 
 Lady Macbeth, and it must be stated that the part was 
 quite beyond her. The whole production, though care- 
 fully done by Mr. T. Swinbourne, was dominated by 
 her comparative failure, and we were not successful 
 artistically or financially. I played Macbeth up to 
 Friday, September 17, and left after the performance 
 for Liverpool, whence I sailed on September 18 on the 
 s.s. Aurania to take up a good engagement that I had 
 settled some time previously to support Miss Fanny 
 Davenport in an extended tour of the United States in 
 a repertory which embraced Fedora, Much Ado, As You 
 Like It, London Assurance, Oliver Twist, Lady of Lyons, 
 and School for Scandal. Macbeth, Medea, and The 
 Hunchback were to have been included, but we found 
 the foregoing list enough. We opened at Union Square, 
 New York, October 11, 1886, in Much Ado. The tour 
 was under the management of Miss Davenport's husband 
 (Mr. E. H. Price), and we went over all the States east 
 of the Rockies. I think Miss Davenport was one of 
 the best all-round actresses that America has produced 
 in my time. She was a thoroughly conscientious artist, 
 good in everything and excellent in many parts. She 
 was a beautiful woman, tall and with a handsome face, 
 and a kindly, good-natured creature, but unfortunately 
 when I was with her she was not in the enjoyment of 
 good health. At the time she secured the American 
 rights of Fedora from Sardou, some two or three years
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 163 
 
 before, she had grown unduly stout, and before she 
 began to play the part she went through a rigorous 
 course of Banting somewhere in Europe, and it so com- 
 pletely undermined her health that she had become a 
 martyr to dyspepsia and could hardly digest a biscuit. 
 But it made little difference to her admirable work, 
 with which it was a pleasure to be associated. She 
 was a very fine Fedora. I think she got more out of 
 the strenuous first act than either Bernhardt or Mrs. 
 Beere, and I had seen them both before I saw her. She 
 was a good Rosalind, Lady Teazle, and Lady Gay 
 Spanker, a capital Nancy Sikes, and in many respects 
 the best Beatrice that I have ever seen. Much Ado is 
 a play I have been a great deal associated with and 
 have played in many hundred times altogether, and, in 
 my judgment, the play gains very much in effect if the 
 Benedick and Beatrice are a swashbuckler soldierly 
 man and a fine womanly woman. Once let these two 
 characters suggest, in ever so small a degree, aesthetic 
 temperaments, and the play loses much in the ultimate 
 comedy situations of their love-making. In this respect 
 Miss Davenport was ideal. She was so much the mistress 
 of herself and of her own mind, and seemed so unlikely 
 to fall in love. I did my best to back her up in this 
 view; and in many cities, notably New York, Boston, 
 and Philadelphia, our success was very emphatic, not 
 only for ourselves, but as proving we were successfully 
 interpreting the sense of the great master. It will ill 
 become me and would be diametrically opposed to the 
 intention that I announced in my opening chapter to 
 endeavour to convey an idea of the kind things said of 
 us, but they were very gratifying indeed. Miss Daven-
 
 164 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 port died in 1898. The company were good and well 
 balanced. They included Mr. Wilton Lackaye, then 
 playing smaller parts, but since become a successful 
 American star. Our usual Saturday night bill was 
 London Assurance and the short version of Oliver Twist, 
 in which E. H. Price (quite a good actor) played Bill 
 Sikes. I used to enjoy this programme. I made Dazzle 
 as well-groomed and dashing a part as I could, and 
 when I came on in the characteristically villainous 
 make-up as Fagin the audience usually gave me a good 
 round of applause for the complete and absolute dis- 
 guise. As showing the possibilities for investment of 
 capital in American cities, I recall that Miss Davenport 
 bought some lots on the outskirts of Chicago in the 
 January of 1887, and sold them in the following April 
 at a profit of 18,000 dollars, the completed deeds never 
 having been made out to her. We were in New Orleans 
 for Mardi Gras, which was a great event in those days, 
 and, I suppose, is still, but I was not greatly impressed 
 with the street procession. It seemed to me a sort of 
 poor Lord Mayor's Show, but the festivities and fancy 
 dress balls, etc., in the evenings were very gay and 
 amusing, and many of the Southern ladies with their 
 wonderful opaque complexions and dark eyes were very 
 beautiful. During this tour, too, I got my first sight 
 and impression of Florida, with its soft, languorous 
 climate, its orange groves, its semi-tropical foliage, and 
 its alligators. St. Augustine, partly old Spanish, was 
 most interesting. There were grand modern hotels 
 replete with every luxury, and also an old-time fort, in 
 which a large party of Indians were quartered when I 
 was there whilst some question of their rights was being
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 165 
 
 argued in Washington. One of these " noble red men," 
 with the absolutely most gruesome and cadaverous 
 face that I ever saw, was pointed out to me as being 
 one hundred years old, and as having captured one 
 hundred scalps. He was usually sitting in the sun on 
 a low wall, and even the little children of his tribe drew 
 away from him in fear as they passed him. All day he 
 sat muttering to himself, and he seemed particularly 
 vehement at sight of me. I don't know if my (then) 
 ample locks stimulated his craving for further deeds of 
 cruelty. Could he see them now that " the gentleman 
 with the hour-glass " has worked his will, he would be 
 less likely to notice them, I feel sure. Whilst playing a 
 return visit in New York I appeared with Miss Daven- 
 port in a big benefit organised by Joseph Jefferson at 
 Wallack's for Mr. Couldock, a fine old English actor 
 previously mentioned (May 1887), and during our visit 
 to Boston I met that great actor, William Warren, who 
 for so many years was attached to the Boston Museum 
 though constantly receiving tempting offers from New 
 York and elsewhere. He was a very great artist ; 
 indeed, I have rarely seen a better. His performances 
 of the old comedies and many other parts were quite 
 exceptional, and he was a delightful personality as well. 
 Many were the happy hours spent with him in dear old 
 Miss Fisher's house in Bullfinch Place, where he lived 
 all his days and where he used to preside at the table 
 and sometimes carve the English joint. Born in 1812, 
 he retired at seventy years of age in 1882, and died in 
 1888, beloved and respected by everybody. Boston 
 stood with bowed head at his funeral, and his memory 
 is very green until this day. One of his great jokes was
 
 166 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 about his cousin Joseph Jefferson's playing of Bob 
 Aercs in The Rivals, a performance which did not meet 
 with "Warren's approval. Asked what Jefferson • was 
 doing thai season, he replied : " He's playing Bob 
 Acres in The Rivals, and Sheridan forty miles away." 
 
 At the end of the foregoing interesting tour I sailed 
 for home on the N. G. Lloyd s.s. Fulda, and arrived on 
 May 30, 1887.
 
 XIX 
 
 In July, 1887, the Princess's Theatre was opened in 
 the name of a lady from America unknown in London 
 — Miss Grace Hawthorne. The business manager was 
 Mr. W. W. Kelly, whose home nickname was " Hustler " 
 Kelly. He soon proved that he had not acquired the 
 appellation without reason. I was engaged as leading 
 man, and we opened with a real, good, old-fashioned 
 melodrama, The Shadows of a Great City, which had 
 been a huge success in the United States. The English 
 rights had been acquired- by Mr. W. Calder, who had 
 toured with it in the provinces for some months 
 previously, and he was responsible for the production 
 at the Princess's on sharing terms. It was an excellent 
 play of its kind, and very soon proved a bona fide 
 success. Full of good parts which were well cast, it 
 first of all drew large pits and galleries, and finally the 
 more fashionable parts of the house began to follow 
 suit. In the cast were Miss Mary Rorke, Miss Cicely 
 Richards, who gave an admirable performance of a 
 fine character part just in her way, Harry Nicholls, 
 Harry Parker, the writer, and also W. L. Abingdon, 
 who here made his first appearance in London. When 
 Nicholls left for his engagement at Drury Lane, J. L. 
 Shine took his place. It ran until December, and I 
 believe would have gone longer but that Miss Hawthorne 
 
 167
 
 1C8 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 desired to act, and I do not think it was pushed very 
 much towards the end for more than one reason. I 
 remained under the same management for fourteen 
 months. We produced during that time Siberia, by 
 Bart ley Campbell, Uncle Tom's Cabin, Hume and Law's 
 Mystery of a Hansom Cab, and a revival of The Shadows 
 of a Great City, which took me up to September 11, 
 1888. It was a curious season, and although business 
 was not always what we could wish it was truly re- 
 markable how Mr. Kelly triumphed over difficulties as 
 they arose — and they did ! No artist ever knew him 
 fail to respect his obligations. The same business 
 acumen has since then made him a most successful 
 touring and provincial manager, and assuredly brought 
 grist to the mill in goodly quantities. 
 
 The Mystery of a Hansom Cab was founded on a 
 book by Fergus Hume which had made a great popular 
 success at that time, and much was hoped for from 
 the play. Unfortunately, it was found lacking in the 
 qualities that make for success, and indeed was a com- 
 parative failure ; so that extraordinary man, John 
 Coleman, was brought in to give it, if possible, the 
 necessary fillip. It then ran about three months, but 
 was only a moderate success after all. In speaking of 
 John Coleman as an extraordinary man I don't think 
 I am overstating the fact. A provincial manager of 
 considerable experience, quite a well -read man, he was 
 an actor of the most grandiloquent and (shall I say?) 
 magnificent methods. He had not even a nodding 
 acquaintance with any semblance of human nature, 
 and, moreover, he was without exception the most 
 case-hardened man in vanity I have ever encountered.
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 169 
 
 Nothing you could say in the way of fulsome flattery 
 that he would not accept as his just desert ; and his 
 belief in himself, his glorious egotism, and his delight 
 in the use of long words and grandiose sentences were 
 almost unbelievable. Unfortunately, the wonderful 
 stories of him must perforce lose much of their point 
 because one is not able to convey to the reader some 
 idea of his method of speaking; but his flights of 
 language were, nevertheless, often remarkable. To an 
 open-mouthed super he once said : " My dear sir, will 
 you endeavour to demonstrate to the denizens of the 
 auditorium that you are playing a character unlike 
 anything of the present day ? And when you ascend 
 the raking piece and leave the stage be good enough to 
 emit a greasy laugh of truculent defiance." To an 
 equally astonished waiter at a Lyceum Fund supper he 
 said : " Would it be infra dig. for me to ask for a little 
 more fish ? Heaven knows I am no gourmand, but 
 really these infinitesimal portions are positively annoy- 
 ing." I met him once when he was about to produce a 
 version that he had prepared of Pericles at Stratford - 
 on -Avon, and in the blandest manner he said to me in 
 speaking of it : " And I flatter myself that I, for once, 
 have improved on the Immortal Bard." On another 
 occasion I came across him when announcements had 
 appeared that Lewis Waller intended to produce 
 Henry V. (This was a part in which John greatly 
 fancied himself. I saw him play it, oh, my !) He 
 said to me : " My dear Barnes, have you seen it an- 
 nounced that Lewis Waller is about to enact Henry 
 V. ? " I replied : " I had." He stroked his full-blown 
 moustache and said : " Poor-r-r wor-r-r-m ! "
 
 170 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 He loved to address an audience at all times, and 
 would stop in a soliloquy to do so if there were a chance. 
 Once in Lincoln, in playing Claude Melnottc he came 
 to the point some lines before the end — " That voice ? 
 
 thou art ? " John Coleman, " Thy h-u-s-h-a-n-d ! " 
 
 A man walked out of the rather empty pit, with heavy 
 boots resounding. John advanced to the footlights, 
 and said : " My dear sir, this play has not yet con- 
 cluded." The man looked round, paused, and made 
 reply : " No ; I dare say not, John ; but I've seen as 
 much as I want," and pursued his way to the door, not 
 in the least nonplussed. 
 
 Coleman's intimate contemporaries well remember 
 two wonderful stories he used to tell of himself when in 
 a convivial mood. One was of some young sportsmen 
 in the Theatre Royal, Lincoln, and the other of an 
 undergraduate in a private box at Cambridge. Neither 
 would score much without a reproduction of his style. 
 To his dying day he never realised that his hearers were 
 laughing at him, and not with him, but that was his 
 peculiarity. His airy self-complacency was never irk- 
 some ; it was so splendidly amusing. 
 
 In the autumn of 1887 I was specially engaged to 
 create a part at a matinee at Drury Lane in a most 
 ambitious play entitled Nitocris, by Miss Clo. Graves. 
 This, I think, ought to have been a great event — it was 
 the work of a very clever woman's life, and was a really 
 fine effort, with which I think she had cruelly bad luck. 
 First, she could not get the artists whom she wanted 
 for many of the parts. Secondly, the principal one 
 was played by a great personal friend of the authoress, 
 who was quite unable to do it adequate justice. Lastly,
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 171 
 
 we rehearsed it on the stage at Drury Lane during the 
 production of two different pantomimes (one for the 
 home theatre and another for the Tyne Theatre, New- 
 castle), without the hammers ever ceasing to knock, 
 and it is a literal truth that the first time we ever heard 
 our own voices in the play was on the morning we 
 played it. My part, Phedaspes, was a fine one — longer 
 than Hamlet. The whole thing was rather a shame, 
 and I do not know how she bore it. If that play were 
 taken in hand by some brilliant producing manager at 
 a good theatre and her very fine ideas carried out, it 
 would not surprise me a bit if it were a great success 
 even now. (Mem. for Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree.) 
 
 On October 1, 1888, I rejoined Miss Mary Anderson 
 for her tour of the English provinces and the United 
 States, and, as it turned out, her last. It was par- 
 ticularly pleasant to be with her again, I was very 
 much gratified to hear of a kind expression made use 
 of by her mother (Mrs. Griffin) when she heard of my 
 engagement, which, not being said in my presence, or 
 where she could know it would reach me, was un- 
 doubtedly sincere. During the time I had been engaged 
 elsewhere, Miss Anderson had produced several plays 
 in London, The Hunchback, Romeo and Juliet, and The 
 Winter's Tale among them. In the last-named she 
 doubled the parts of Hermione and Perdita, and in 
 the latter character she executed a country dance in 
 one scene with an abandon and grace worthy of Pavlova. 
 To see this beautiful and dainty young lady throwing 
 herself with evident relish into such a revel was quite 
 irresistible to the public, and the piece was a huge 
 success for nearly a whole season at the London Lyceum,
 
 172 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 as it was wherever we played it. Forbes-Robertson 
 had been the Leontes in London. I succeeded him on 
 tour. We played four weeks in Great Britain up to 
 Dublin, where we finished on a Saturday night and 
 dropped down to Queenstown and sailed from there by 
 the s.s. Umbria on Sunday morning. I remember it 
 was one of the worst storms known for years. The sea 
 was running " hills high " in Queenstown Harbour, and 
 the Umbria was seven hours late coming down Channel 
 from Liverpool ; so the state of the Atlantic for our first 
 few days may be imagined. It was quite awful. Our 
 repertory included The Winter's Tale, Ingomar, The 
 Lady of Lyons, Pygmalion and Galatea, Comedy and 
 Tragedy, etc. Romeo and Juliet, As You Like It, 
 and The Cup were to have been played ; indeed, we 
 did the first of these three on the Saturday night in 
 Manchester, but through circumstances we did not do 
 it again, or either of the other two, nor were they 
 required. The tour was under the management of 
 Abbey, Schoeffel, and Grau. We opened at Wallack's, 
 New York, early in November. The Press notices were 
 fine and the business enormous. The company were 
 good, comprising Mrs. Billington, Mrs. Charles Calvert, 
 J. G. Taylor, John Maclean, Herbert Waring, George 
 Warde, G. M. Yorke, Arthur Lewis and his wife (Zeffie 
 Tilbury, daughter of Miss Lydia Thompson), myself, 
 and others. We stayed in New York four weeks before 
 proceeding on the road. During our time there I made 
 a pilgrimage, representing Miss Anderson, to the un- 
 veiling of the monument to dear old John McCullough 
 in Mount Moriah Cemetery in the outskirts of Phila- 
 delphia. The trip was arranged and piloted by poor
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 173 
 
 John's old manager, genial " Billy " Connor, then 
 manager of the St. James's Hotel, New York. We had 
 a special Pullman ; lunch was served on the way there, 
 and dinner on the return journey, which occupied in all 
 about seven hours. I got back only just in time for 
 the evening performance. It was a pleasure, if a sad 
 one, to pay a last tribute to the memory of so good a 
 fellow. One of the party on that occasion was William 
 Winter, of the New York Tribune, who read one of his 
 charming and characteristic appreciations of the dear 
 old comrade who rested there, which will be found now 
 amongst his published poems. 
 
 During our stay in New York an American actor 
 named Louis Aldrich started a somewhat wild move- 
 ment which aimed at passing an Act through Congress 
 to exclude all English actors from the American stage 
 or to put us on the same basis as skilled labour. He 
 was desperately in earnest in collecting signatures to 
 his petition, and particularly bitter in his denunciations 
 of Miss Anderson's company, who were all English at 
 the time. This was the more curious as he had spent 
 the previous summer in London, where every kind of 
 courtesy was shown him and he was almost feted. I 
 ventured to think it a fit subject for a joke, and, at the 
 instigation of some one in authority, I wrote a column 
 which appeared in the New York Herald, taking the 
 form of an old-time lampoon. It rather " touched the 
 spot" and secured for him some little ridicule, which 
 made him specially angry with me, personally, though 
 we had always been good " pals " previously. One day 
 before a lot of mutual acquaintances he lost his temper 
 badly, and, advancing very rudely and threateningly, he
 
 174 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 said : " And you, by gad, you ! can't set your foot on 
 our stage in two years from to-day." I replied without 
 temper : " My dear Louis, I have read of a lineal ancestor 
 of yours who commanded the sun to stand still ; but, 
 for Heaven's sake, don't imagine it runs in the family." 
 I am afraid this allusion to his ancestry was scarcely 
 kind, but I had received very considerable provocation. 
 The whole matter was eventually quashed completely 
 by the action of that fine artist and gentleman, Joseph 
 Jefferson, who denounced it roundly, and all the leading 
 actors of America, including Edwin Booth, followed 
 suit.
 
 XX 
 
 After leaving New York our progress through the 
 country was everywhere most successful. Business was 
 enormous, and we were as happy a band of comrades 
 as could be found. And yet our contentment was to 
 have a rude awakening. After twenty weeks (six 
 short of the minimum length of our contracts), Miss 
 Anderson was taken ill with a nervous break-down in 
 Washington, and was unable to continue her engage- 
 ment. I have never seen it stated exactly what hap- 
 pened, or the cause of it. Let me try and supply the 
 information as I observed it at the time. There was no 
 doubt she was greatly overworked. We had not a 
 properly efficient stage manager with us, and in her 
 earnest determination to please the public she was in 
 the habit of attending most of the rehearsals, a labour 
 which she ought to have been spared, and indeed kept 
 from. When we got to St. Louis, the agent-in-advance 
 had some misunderstanding with certain members of 
 the Press about the number of free admissions, and they 
 proceeded to " get back " at him through his star. 
 One of them, in a cowardly way, threw cold water on 
 her religion, and even went so far as to print sketches 
 of her at confessional. Now, no doubt could possibly 
 exist that Miss Anderson was a thoroughly devout 
 Catholic, and in her overwrought, overworked nervous 
 
 175
 
 170 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 condition this affected her very keenly. I remember 
 her saying to me, with great pathos in her tones and 
 almost tears in her eyes, " Barnsey " (which was her 
 own name for me), " I did think a woman could have 
 her religion to herself ! " 
 
 From St. Louis we went on to Louisville, Kentucky, 
 which was her home city. There I met that eccentric 
 politician, Henry Waterson, who was a great power 
 all through the Southern States, and in the Democratic 
 Party, and was once named as Vice-President of the 
 United States. From Louisville to Cincinnati and from 
 there to Washington, where we arrived on Sunday night, 
 March 3, 1889, the night before the inauguration of 
 President Harrison. To those who have never been in 
 Washington on these occasions, what happens must 
 sound like a fairy story or a " tar-i-diddle." Every 
 bed in every hotel is taken; the theatres, and some- 
 times even the churches and chapels are utilised, and 
 you are lucky if you get a bed at all. On this occasion 
 I was fortunate enough to get a truckle bed in a passage 
 in a fairly good hotel. The sight on Inauguration Day 
 is very striking. Few cities lend themselves to such a 
 display as Washington does. The place is so beautifully 
 laid out, and Pennsylvania Avenue, with its magnificent 
 width and sweep from the Capitol to the White House, 
 is an ideal street for a procession. On these occasions, 
 this procession extends for miles and takes hours in 
 passing. Numbers of United States Regiments of 
 soldiery, and all sorts of political and other societies are 
 drafted into the city to take part, and the sight is a 
 grand one. On the day that President Benjamin 
 Harrison was installed it poured with rain the livelong
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 177 
 
 day. It was a veritable deluge. Nothing daunted, 
 Miss Anderson took her place with friends at some 
 point of vantage, where seats had been secured, and 
 braved the elements for hours. She got wet through 
 and took a severe cold, which in her state of health and 
 nerves seemed to fly to her brain and render her work 
 impossible. She played on Monday fairly comfort- 
 ably; on Tuesday, with difficulty; on Wednesday, the 
 theatre was closed; on Thursday, she made another 
 attempt, but the more she tried to concentrate her 
 powers the more they seemed to desert her. On Friday 
 and Saturday no performance. Sunday we went on 
 to Baltimore, hoping to play on Monday. It was 
 impossible, and on Tuesday we left for New York, our 
 season being ended and Miss Mary Anderson's brilliant 
 professional career closed. She has never played since. 
 Arrived in New York, the management made equitable 
 terms with us for the balance of our contracts, and the 
 whole thing was over. A curious circumstance was 
 that I, too, was somewhat dangerously ill, and had Miss 
 Anderson played every night it is doubtful if I could 
 have done so, but I had no need to worry about it, as 
 no performances took place. A serious case of malaria 
 which I had contracted in Cincinnati laid me very low. 
 I lost weight at an alarming rate, and with two or three 
 days' growth of beard was almost unrecognisable at the 
 railway station on the Sunday. But for the kind 
 nursing and attention given me by a member of the 
 company, Mr. Rudolph de Cordova, now an active 
 worker on the London Press, I really do not know what 
 might have befallen me. When I got to New York my 
 doctor (an old Edinburgh friend) insisted that I must 
 
 N
 
 178 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 remain under his care at least a month, and I promised 
 to do so, but the s.s. New York was sailing on March 20, 
 and knowing all the officers on board, I took my health 
 in my own hands and sailed home, but I realised after- 
 wards that I had been very unwise. That illness, un- 
 cured, hung in my system for a long time, and years 
 afterwards asserted itself in an extremely well-defined 
 and serious manner. I reached Liverpool March 28, 
 1889. 
 
 Shortly after this Miss Anderson married Mr. Navarro, 
 of New York. She retired to a picturesque home at 
 Broadway, near the country of the Shakespeare she loved 
 so well, where she has lived, practically ever since, the 
 life that some of us are old-fashioned enough to think 
 the higher life for a woman — namely, that of loving wife 
 and devoted mother. One occasionally sees her in 
 London at the theatres, etc., looking the picture of 
 health and happiness, and if possible handsomer in her 
 maturity than when she was the " observed of all 
 observers." I can think of nothing more complimentary 
 to w r rite than that she is almost a counterpart of what 
 her mother was when I first saw her. Some three or 
 four years after her retirement I was passing through 
 New York on my way home from the West and I supped 
 at Delmonico's with Abbey and Schoeffel, and they 
 entrusted me with a commission — namely, if I could 
 persuade her to come to America for a farewell engage- 
 ment of thirty weeks they would give her £1,000 a week 
 for her own services and they would make me a present 
 of £1,000 the day that the contract was signed. On my 
 arrival in London I saw Mrs. Griffin (her mother), who 
 was disposed to think the offer ought to be accepted —
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 179 
 
 it was such a lot of money to earn — but on submitting 
 it to her daughter she was quite obdurate in her refusal, 
 and there the matter ended. The £1,000, added to 
 what I had, would have enabled me to buy a little home 
 at Teddington that I was much attached to, but it was 
 not to be, and the place went to a luckier man. 
 
 In August, 1889, I was engaged to play Pierre Lorance 
 in a revival of that fine play Proof at the Princess's 
 Theatre. This is one of the best-acting dramas in 
 existence, splendidly constructed and full of human 
 nature; but, in my judgment, the version as played 
 in England with the above title cannot compare with 
 that used at the Union Square Theatre, New York, 
 and called The Celebrated Case, which is a literal transla- 
 tion of the French name (La Cause CSlebre). The play 
 did not have a good " send off " in England. One of 
 the leading characters was unfortunately cast. 
 
 In the November of 1889 I had a unique experience. 
 Brandon Thomas had written a play called The Gold 
 Craze, also produced at the Princess's, and I was en- 
 gaged for a part called the Baron de Fleurville. At this 
 time there was a man well-known about the West End 
 of London who styled himself a Marquis, who was the 
 son of a Dublin carriage builder. What right he had 
 to his title was always a matter of mystery. It was said 
 he bought it of some Continental burgomaster. I did 
 not know him personally; in fact, I had studiously 
 avoided doing so, but nearly every mail brought me 
 information from strangers about him, when the 
 following incident became public. 
 
 Brandon Thomas knew him. I am unaware whether 
 he had him in view when he wrote the play; but he
 
 180 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 brought mc his photo — as I was informed at the man's 
 own request — and asked me to make up like him. This 
 I refused to do, but I did adopt, and had specially made, 
 an extremely outrt characteristic style of hat he wore, 
 which I thought would be effective in the part. Hear- 
 ing, I suppose, that the part was that of a scoundrelly 
 adventurer, and very much against the audience, he 
 arranged an organised opposition on the first night, and, 
 although I fear the play was not a good one intrinsically, 
 he and his friends effectually killed any possibility- it 
 had, and it was a pronounced failure. I was taken by 
 surprise, and I struggled through the dilemma as best I 
 could. The management of the theatre, a curious coterie 
 at the time (Kelly had retired), prosecuted him for con- 
 spiracy, and after eight hearings at Marlborough Street 
 Police Court he was committed for trial at the Old 
 Bailey. At the trial the prosecuting management, to 
 keep up their eccentric character, did not put in an ap- 
 pearance w r hen the case was called on, and, of course, it 
 fell through. After it had been dismissed one of these 
 gentlemen turned up, and appeared to be on terms of 
 great friendship with the defendant, which was, to say 
 the least of it, an unusual proceeding, from w r hich my 
 readers can draw any conclusion they choose. Although 
 only a witness, I had found it necessary to employ a 
 solicitor, who in turn engaged a barrister to hold a 
 watching brief in my behalf, and I had nothing to do 
 " but pay and look pleasant " ; altogether I was very 
 glad when this most unpleasant incident was closed. 
 
 In December, 1889, 1 was engaged by Robert Pateman 
 to play, at the same theatre, the part of Jim Burleigh 
 in a drama by G. R. Sims and Henry Pettitt called
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 181 
 
 Master and Man. It was a very strong, effective play, 
 and Pateraan himself gave one of his masterly per- 
 formances of a rugged character part called Humpy 
 Logan. Mrs. Pateman was also in the cast, as was 
 Charles Dalton, who made therein his first appearance 
 in London, and poor E. W. Gardiner (Miss Kate Rorke's 
 first husband), whose very sad end was a genuine grief 
 to their many friends. Charles Dalton is now a firmly 
 established favourite on the American stage. Master 
 and Man ran just three months. After some odd en- 
 gagements of not much moment, on September 1, 1890, 
 I joined Mr. and Mrs. Kendal for a tour of Great Britain 
 and the United States which extended to thirty-three 
 weeks. We played three weeks at home, and sailed 
 for New York on September 24 on the s.s. Germanic. 
 We opened at the Fifth Avenue Theatre in that city 
 on October 13. I have previously referred to the art 
 of our managers, so it only remains to say we had a 
 really good company and a repertory of fine plays. 
 We went practically all over the country east of the 
 Rockies. The Press were loud in our praises everywhere 
 and the business was splendid. In the company were 
 Miss Bennett, Miss Florence Cowell, Miss Violet Van- 
 brugh (Mrs. Arthur Bourchier), Miss Campbell, J. E. 
 Dodson, Joseph Carne, Seymour Hicks, Henry Nye 
 Chart, A. M. Dennison, myself, and others. Among 
 the plays were The Ironmaster, The Scrap of Paper, 
 The Squire, The Queen's Shilling, and a beautiful play 
 called The Weaker Sex, by Pinero. This play had not 
 been the success it deserved in London. I could never 
 think why. It was, perhaps, a little before its time. 
 I believe it would be worth some manager's revival.
 
 l.s-j FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 It is BO human, dramatic, and finely written. There 
 was only one discordant note in the tour. The business 
 manager was a gentleman who had been an officer in an 
 infantry regiment, and, whilst he was presumably loyal 
 
 to his trust, he had no kind of sympathy with our calling, 
 and was a positive adept at setting the company " by 
 the ears " and putting us in a false light with our 
 managers. He would, if allowed, treat the ladies and 
 gentlemen like a lot of indifferent militia men at their 
 annual training. This brought about many unpleasant 
 incidents which might well have been avoided. When 
 the time came for us to sail for home Mr. and Mrs. 
 Kendal took passage on the s.s. Teutonic, with one or 
 two of the company who chose to pay part of the 
 passage money themselves, but the rest of us, whose 
 contracts all called for " first-class " passages, were 
 shipped by the military gentleman on the s.s. City of 
 Richmond, which at that time was very much of a back 
 number. The accommodation was meagre, the pro- 
 visions poor; in short, a very "shoddy" journey in 
 every way. Three days out from New York, in a very 
 bad storm (logged by the captain " Strong gale from 
 the south-east," " Hurricane force "), a fire was dis- 
 covered in some bales of cotton in the hold. To any 
 one who knows the habit of sea captains in making light 
 of bad weather it will be patent that we were in the 
 gravest peril indeed. The recent burning and loss of 
 life in the case of the s.s. Vulturno brought vividly to 
 my mind our experiences. It was almost a replica of 
 our position, and our fate might easily have been the 
 same but for our great good luck. The fire was dis- 
 covered about two in the morning. My principal chum
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 183 
 
 in the company, who was also my room mate (A. M. 
 Dennison), and I dressed hurriedly and sought the 
 captain, who was directing operations. The cotton 
 was well alight, and the flames were quite fierce and 
 spreading. It was then discovered that the equipment 
 of the s.s. City of Richmond was as out of date as the 
 vessel herself. The fire hose would scarcely carry 
 water, the leakage therefrom rendered the deck ankle - 
 deep, and the only expedient was, perhaps, the 
 best in case of burning cotton — namely, to throw 
 volumes of steam into the bulkhead and hold where the 
 fire was raging. All this time a hurricane was blowing, 
 and it is the barest truth to say that there would not 
 have been a possibility of getting a lifeboat on to the 
 water within the succeeding twenty-four hours. I had 
 often wondered in my youth and early manhood what 
 sort of a man my big fearless father (described in my 
 first pages) had for a son, and what kind of courage I 
 would have in case of danger. Well, here was my 
 opportunity for a test, and I may say I came through 
 the ordeal to my own satisfaction. As we were dressing 
 Dennison said to me, " What are you going to do, 
 Jack? " I made the obvious reply, " What I am told 
 to do," with which he acquiesced. After we had been 
 shown the danger we asked the captain what he wished 
 from us. He said, " Keep the women quiet and get 
 some stuff into the lifeboats," and in a few minutes 
 " Denny " and I, dressed in tarpaulins and sou'-westers, 
 were handing provisions along the deck in the dark to 
 the boats as if we had been used to it all our lives. I 
 remember thinking once, and once only, that if the end 
 was coming it was perhaps as well that way as any
 
 184 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 other, and it was no good whining over it. It was 
 policing with rain when the morning broke over as 
 angry a sea as eould well be imagined, and as soon 
 a> any objects could be discerned a small freight steamer 
 was seen some miles off. We signalled to her our con- 
 dition, and she answered that " she would stand by us." 
 She turned out to be the s.s. Councillor (I think that was 
 the name), from New Orleans with cargo. It seemed a 
 sort of comfort, especially to the ladies, to be within 
 sight of other human beings, though it was not the 
 least real good. As I have said, any attempt to launch 
 a boat would have been futile and suicidal. And so 
 we passed our first day, the fire gaining ground per- 
 ceptibly. As the second day wore on towards three 
 o'clock, the sea having moderated considerably, the 
 Cunard s.s. Servia overhauled us, and in answer to our 
 signals also agreed to stand by us, and did so. On the 
 fourth day, as we came up from lunch, th'e smoke of 
 another steamer was seen away to the north-east, 
 steaming west, and our course was altered to meet her, 
 and she was signalled. As was expected, she turned 
 out to be the s.s. City of New York, of our own line. 
 Then occurred a rather novel and impressive sight. 
 The sea by this time was comparatively smooth, and 
 these three monster vessels drew up near to each other 
 in mid -ocean, whilst boats were lowered and the captains 
 went from one to the other consulting as to the best 
 course of action. As the City of New York was carrying 
 a large consignment of mails it was decided that it 
 would be better for her to proceed on her journey, and 
 the Servia undertook to see us to the Fastnet Lighthouse, 
 on the south coast of Ireland. By this time we had
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 185 
 
 become quite accustomed to the presence of the fire, 
 which was being kept in check by the steam ; and when 
 we got to Queenstown, where, of course, many passengers 
 went ashore, the captain having said it would do him a 
 little good with his proprietors to take as many of his 
 passengers as possible to Liverpool, Dennison and I at 
 once expressed our determination to go all the way with 
 him — the least we felt we could do for as brave a little 
 hero as ever lived. His name was Redford. 
 
 When we arrived at Liverpool the sides of the ship, 
 in the sections where the fire was, were thickly encrusted 
 with charred salt from the action of the sea water dashing 
 against the hot metal of her plates, and I was told that 
 when she was docked and opened up to the air a dense 
 volume of black smoke and dust rose to a great height, 
 and part of her deck caved in completely. That the 
 owners of the vessel held much the same opinion of her 
 as her passengers was rather proved by the fact that 
 she never sailed the Atlantic again. After some neces- 
 sary repairs she was engaged in conveying pleasure 
 parties for trips to the Norwegian Fjords, etc. In all 
 this calamity there were elements of humour to those 
 whose faculties were alive to them. Some considerable 
 amusement was caused by a fellow-actor named Arthur 
 Dacre, who was returning with his wife (Miss Amy 
 Roselle) after an unfortunate season in the United 
 States. Poor Dacre was a good chap but an ultra- 
 sentimentalist. He ought to have been a Frenchman. 
 Educated, and formerly practising as a doctor, he had, 
 presumably, learnt the use of drugs, and he had acquired 
 the habit pretty strongly. Such an experience as I 
 have described was not to be missed by one of his
 
 ISC, FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 temperament. He appeared to be "having the time 
 of his life." He spenl the night of the discovery of the 
 fire in a rather glaring suit of pyjamas. I don't think he 
 dressed normally for hours. It was he who woke Denni- 
 son and myself from sleep with the fine melodramatic 
 announcement, " Now, then ; now you have need of all 
 your courage ! " " What is it, Arthur ? " said we. And 
 he answered, in tones which would have been an effective 
 curtain to any act ever written, " Ah ! ha ! the ship's on 
 fire ! " Later on I saw him rush up to two young ladies 
 sitting at the top of the companion-way, and behaving 
 with perfectly stoical calmness, and say, " For God's 
 sake, be calm ! " One of them replied, " I don't know 
 if you are aware of it, Mr. Dacre, but my sister and 
 myself discovered this fire about an hour ago, and you 
 must admit we are not distressing any one very much 
 with our anxiety." When matters had settled down 
 and all were more self-possessed he spent the rest of the 
 voyage in reporting on the progress of the fire, and be- 
 moaning the fate which, to his mind, had singled him 
 out for special vindictiveness by following up his 
 professional ill-luck with a voyage on a burning ship. 
 
 Another amusing thing, though not pleasant, was 
 that we were bringing to England about 14,000 carcasses 
 of beef in a refrigerator bulkhead. It so happened that 
 this was situated near the fire, and the steam poured on 
 to the latter melted the ice in the refrigerator and we 
 came up the Irish Channel leaving an odour behind us 
 which was appalling. One of the ship's carpenters who 
 was engaged in remedying the ventilation was so nearly 
 asphyxiated that he was laid on the deck quite un- 
 conscious for nearly an hour.
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 187 
 
 Poor Dacre some years afterwards was found with 
 his wife, both dead, in their room in Australia, where 
 ill luck seemed to have pursued them, and there was 
 evidence beside them that they had agreed to die 
 together. They were both really nice people, and Miss 
 Roselle was quite especially clever in her profession. 
 Let us hope they found the rest and peace they sought 
 with such desperate earnestness. And my great chum 
 Dennison — a fine fellow, true as steel, and with the 
 best characteristics of an English gentleman, sought 
 oblivion, the following year, in the same dreadful way, 
 during that terrible period of delirium and depression 
 which appears to be always a part of convalescence from 
 typhoid fever. I was frightfully cut up when the news 
 reached me. 
 
 For further particulars of the City of Richmond 
 fire, a very full and circumstantial account will be 
 found in Seymour Hicks 's book of his life. There is 
 just this trifling difference between us that he was not 
 there and I was. Verb. sap. ! It is all very amusing 
 and interesting to look back on, but I shall always 
 feel we ought not to have been there at all, and should 
 not have been but for the martinet militarism of the 
 gentleman who was entrusted with the conduct of Mr. 
 Kendal's business. He was on the Teutonic himself !
 
 XXI 
 
 I arrived home in London June 13, 1891. 
 
 On September 16, 1891, I set sail from Liverpool by 
 the s.s. Britannic for New York, again, to fulfil one of 
 the most delightful engagements of my career, with 
 the Jefferson -Florence comedy company. At this time 
 there was a vogue in America for the grouping of names 
 such as the Booth-Barrett company, the Robson and 
 Crane company, and the one I joined. I don't think it 
 meant anything in our case. I believe the entire invest- 
 ment and profit were Jefferson's ; but " Billy " Florence, 
 having been a fairly successful star on his own account, 
 got a good thumping salary to give up his own touring 
 and throw in his lot with his older comrade. In addition 
 to these two names there were others almost equally 
 well known, and the company partook of the nature 
 known as an all-star one. Amongst others, Mrs. John 
 Drew, Miss Viola Allen, William E. Owen, George 
 Denham, Mrs. Rouse, and the writer, possessed good 
 credentials with the public, and all the smaller parts 
 were in good hands. We only did two plays, The Rivals 
 and The Heir-at-Law, in which I played Jack Absolute 
 and Dick Dowlas. The tour opened in Richmond, 
 Virginia, on October 5. In the larger cities we stayed in 
 hotels in the usual way, but when on the road we travelled 
 
 in our own car with two servants — a cook and waiter — 
 
 188
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 189 
 
 pulling up at the railway stations and going to the 
 theatres for our performances, returning to our car to 
 supper and sleep, and hitching on to an available train 
 bound for our next stopping place. The business was 
 enormous and the performances were much praised 
 everywhere. It will be quite unnecessary for me to 
 attempt to extol the art of Joseph Jefferson. Three 
 continents set the hall-mark on his work. His Rip van 
 Winkle, Caleb Plummer, Dr. Pangloss, Bob Acres, 
 Salem Scudder, Mr. Golightly, etc., were world-famous ; 
 and justly so. Perhaps his Bob Acres was not quite 
 the character that Sheridan intended him to be. He was 
 a more gentlemanly Bob Acres than is usually seen, 
 but it was a most polished performance, and he made it 
 very difficult for Jack Absolute to hold his accustomed 
 place in the play. Jefferson was a perfectly delightful 
 personality — gentle and kindly to all. Few men in 
 one's experience would have stood as severe a test as 
 Jefferson did. At twenty-six years of age he was told 
 he had one lung only, but he didn't whine about it. 
 He left America for Australia in 1861 in the search of 
 health, and, happily, found it, as well as fame ; came home 
 by way of England in 1865, where he consolidated his 
 reputation ; and at the time I write of, when he was well 
 over sixty, he was not only the most noted actor in the 
 United States, but also one of the most worthy and 
 beloved gentlemen. He had trained his mind to amuse- 
 ments that his health could compass ; he was a beautiful 
 painter, a reader of books, and his summers were spent 
 fishing at his home at Buzzard's Bay or on his Canadian 
 river reservation. He had great force of character and 
 a firm, strong will. Altogether a thoroughly fine man I
 
 1 90 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 Hilly Florence was qo! the equal of Jefferson as an 
 actor, though quite a good one, but was a genial, good- 
 natured comrade, who was popular wherever he went. 
 Unhappily we did not enjoy his cheery companionship 
 long. He was taken ill with what appeared to be a very 
 bad cold in Philadelphia. He braved it and played up 
 to Saturday, but on Sunday pneumonia set in, and he 
 became rapidly worse. Jefferson and I called to see 
 him at the Continental Hotel in the evening before 
 leaving for Buffalo, and I was shocked at his condition, 
 though Jefferson (always optimistic) did not seem to 
 think his case as serious as I did. We got wires two or 
 three times a day, all of graver and graver import, 
 and on the Thursday the poor fellow passed away, to 
 the great sorrow of all of us and a legion of other friends. 
 
 Louis James, another well-known actor, and semi-star 
 at the time, took his place. 
 
 Mrs. John Drew should have a chapter to herself if 
 art and humour ever deserved it. She was a veritable 
 tower of strength. It is a common theory amongst 
 actors and even the public that the first performer you 
 see of a great character always remains in your mind as 
 the best. I need not say that I have seen many Mrs. 
 Malaprops before her, including Mrs. Chippendale (at 
 the Haymarket), our great Mrs. Stirling, and others, 
 but Mrs. Drew will always stand out in my memory as 
 by far the best, and it would not be hard to convince 
 me that the character has never had a finer exponent. 
 A born humorist, and brimming over with human nature, 
 she was not only a great actress, but a wonderful com- 
 panion and friend, and the chats over the supper-table 
 on our car when we came in from the theatres are
 
 MRS. JOHN DREW AS MRS. MALAPROP 
 
 [To face page 190
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 191 
 
 amongst my most treasured remembrances. A delight- 
 ful little incident occurred at one of our rehearsals. 
 Mrs. Drew asked Jefferson's permission to introduce a 
 bit of stage business in one of her scenes which she had 
 done before and which had proved effective. As stage 
 director he requested her to show him what it was, and 
 she proceeded to do so with infinite art and charm. 
 When she had finished Jefferson said with great hearti- 
 ness : " By all means do it, Mrs. Drew ! I am sure 
 Sheridan would have liked you to." When I was with 
 Miss Neilson in 1874 at her own theatre in Philadelphia, 
 her son, the present popular John Drew, then quite a 
 young man, was playing Borachio in Much Ado About 
 Nothing with us. In one scene he has to say, " I tell 
 this tale vilely." The opportunity was too tempting 
 to his mother. Sitting at the prompt table, she said 
 in an undertone, " You do, my son, you do ! " 
 
 William E. Owen, our Sir Anthony Absolute and Lord 
 Duberly, was an admirable actor — very much better 
 than many with greater names. He had made a hit 
 as Sir Toby Belch in Twelfth Night, and his performances 
 with us were good enough for anything. Miss Viola 
 Allen, a delightful actress and charming young gentle- 
 woman, has since become a successful American star. 
 Joseph Warren was Jefferson's third son playing under 
 that name, and a worthy son of his worthy father. Our 
 business manager was Tom Jefferson (second son). He 
 was full of fun and humour. Altogether, we were like 
 a united happy family party. 
 
 Tom raised a great laugh at supper one night. It 
 was at Fort Worth, Texas, which, at that time, was 
 known to harbour many desperate law-breakers. We
 
 192 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 had played to an enormous house and presumably had 
 a considerable sum of money on the car. The conver- 
 sation turned on the chances of our being robbed as we 
 were standing outside the railway station. After several 
 remarks had passed of more or less fun or anxiety, our 
 business manager said : " Well, if any one holds me up 
 he'll get into debt." 
 
 We went literally over all the United States, travelling 
 27,000 miles, and we finished in Denver, Colorado, March 
 26, 1892. I came through to New York, March 30, 
 and sailed for home on the s.s. City of Paris, April 6, 
 arriving in London April 14, 1892. It is a great pleasure 
 to me to think I have remained on terms of intimate 
 friendship with all Jefferson's sons until to-day, and we 
 are the best of chums wherever we meet. 
 
 One incident well worth recording occurred about 
 this time. Pinero and I had always been good friends, 
 and more than once he had told me that he had in his 
 mind a part which he thought would work out strongly 
 for me when he had perfected the story. Anxious not 
 to miss such a promising chance (when I was going to 
 America to join Jefferson), I called on him at his house 
 in Hamilton Terrace to say " Good-bye " and incident- 
 ally to let him know where I could be found. In the 
 course of a pleasant chat he said : "I have just come 
 back from the country, where I have finished a play I 
 had to write. I could not get on with anything else 
 until it was out of the way. We are going to do it for 
 a matinee at the St. James's Theatre and I don't sup- 
 pose it will ever be heard of again. At all events, it is 
 quite impossible for it to draw money." That play was 
 The Second Mrs. Tanqueray.
 
 Photo] 
 
 EDWIN BOOTH 
 
 London Stereoscopic Co. 
 
 [To face page 193
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 193 
 
 During these last -mentioned engagements I saw a 
 great deal of Edwin Booth when I was in New York. 
 What a sweet, gentle, kindly nature his was ! I used 
 to have long chats with him in his room at the Players' 
 Club, which were most enjoyable. He had almost as 
 great an admiration for Phelps as I had, and never 
 wearied of talking of him ; so we were on common and 
 sympathetic ground. Edwin Booth was another artist 
 and gentleman whom it was a privilege as well as a great 
 pleasure to number amongst one's friends. He went 
 to his long rest in that same room, June 8, 1893. 
 
 When I got home from the Jefferson tour I took a 
 good holiday until December, when I appeared as 
 Captain Amber in a one -act play by Justin McCarthy 
 at the Palace Theatre in London. This was founded 
 on an incident in the Indian Mutiny and was called 
 The Round Tower. 
 
 It was a vividly dramatic episode, and was, I suppose, 
 almost the first of the now popular play-sketches 
 attempted in a music hall. I think that it was well 
 played, but it was perhaps a little before its time as 
 an experiment, and was only moderately successful, 
 running but five weeks. 
 
 In the early part of 1893 I made my first serious 
 attempt at journalism with an article descriptive of 
 my tour of the West, which appeared in the London 
 Topical Times. I had previously scribbled some odd 
 poems, etc., and it was pleasantly encouraging to find 
 my work accepted, paid for, and kindly received. 
 Amongst other scraps were " The Mission of Judas," 
 "The Far West," and "The Sun-Kissed Land," the 
 last two written in California and first published there.
 
 L94 FORTY YEARS ON THE STACK 
 
 They were impressions of the country 1 1 ravelled through. 
 
 The former appeared in the New York lit raid and the 
 Anglo-American Times, a paper started in London by 
 the Hon. Francis Lawley, who afterwards proved my 
 very good literary sponsor and friend, and helped me 
 not a little in finding an opening for my early efforts at 
 writing, for which, he was good enough to say, he 
 considered I had an aptitude. 
 
 On April S, 1893, I left Southampton by the s.s. New 
 York, and arrived in New York on April 15, to take part in 
 the first production in America of the Drury Lane drama, 
 The Prodigal Daughter, by Henry Pettitt and Sir Augustus 
 Harris. With this play the American Theatre, at the 
 corner of 42nd Street and 8th Avenue, was opened 
 on May 22, 1893, and it ran there right away through 
 the summer without intermission up to December 
 16 to very fine business, except in the very hottest 
 weather. It was quite an exceptional cast that was 
 engaged for this drama by Mr. T. Henry French, includ- 
 ing Leonard Boyne, Julius Knight, Charles Dalton, 
 Sidney Howard, Jefferson d'Angelis, the writer, W. 
 Winchell Smith, Miss Julia Arthur, Miss Charlotte 
 Tittell, Miss Helen Dauvray, and others. After a time 
 Miss Arthur and Miss Tittell left the company, and they 
 were succeeded by Miss Adelaide Prince and Miss 
 Maxine Elliott. Many of these names are well and 
 favourably known on both sides of the Atlantic, and 
 all did good work in the play in question. But, oh ! 
 the heat at times ! I remember one awful Saturday 
 when we played twice, and when (to quote the American 
 papers) " General Humidity was out with all his forces." 
 I used four shirts and ten collars in the course of the 

 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 195 
 
 day's work, and, even then, was hardly well-groomed. 
 But this summer demonstrated to me a fact which I 
 had often heard New Yorkers boast of, viz. that their 
 city is the best seaside place in the world. It is quite 
 wonderful what an innumerable lot of pleasant resorts 
 you can get to, from there, for a trifling fare such as 
 25 cents (Is.) or 50 cents (25.). I cultivated the habit 
 of getting up early every Sunday morning — no matter 
 how tired I was — and journeying to some different 
 pleasant place, where I remained until Monday after- 
 noon. Thus I explored any number of delightful spots 
 on Long Island, the New Jersey coast and Long Island 
 Sound, and got health and change at the same time. 
 Before leaving London I had settled with Mr. Frank 
 Lawley, at his request, to write a series of articles on 
 New York current events for his paper, the Anglo- 
 American Times, and he was most encouraging in his 
 opinion of my work, which appeared regularly, and when 
 unfortunately the paper died for lack of support, he 
 passed my work on to another London journal, by which 
 it was accepted and utilised for some time. One great 
 feature of our play was a stage reproduction of the race 
 for the Liverpool Grand National, with a good-sized 
 water jump, over which the horses used to leap in full 
 view of the audience, and a number of coaches, etc., 
 crowded with visitors, watching the sport. It became 
 a perfect craze with the best people in the city to form 
 a part of this crowd, and our super-master made a very 
 large addition to his income by the tips he got from many 
 of New York's biggest swells for the privilege of appear- 
 ing in the scene. Indeed, so much a mania was it that 
 I could not resist the temptation of scribbling a few verses
 
 L96 FORTY TEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 which 1 called " The Society Shim," and which, appear- 
 ing in the Rider and Driver (a New York weekly), caused 
 some little amusement. This I followed with another 
 scrap entitled, " The Paradox of Sport," and the Nezv 
 York Herald published " The Far West " and " The 
 Broken Melody." 
 
 During the summer of this year (1893) I saw a great 
 deal of horse-racing round New York, and in the autumn 
 my friend Frank Lawley wrote me that if I cared to 
 submit a short, comprehensive resume* of the American 
 racing season, he thought he could find a market for 
 it in England. This I did, and, to my great satisfaction, 
 it was published in the December number of Baily's 
 Magazine of that year. For my first real sporting 
 article to find its way into a publication of the class of 
 Baily^s was, I considered, a great feather in my cap, and 
 it was additionally pleasant to find the American papers, 
 when it reached New York, speaking of my contribution 
 in terms of praise, not only as able and correct, but as a 
 particularly fair and uninsular summary of the season's 
 sport. Even so distinguished a sporting writer and 
 authority as Francis Trevelyan (an Englishman settled 
 in New York) went out of his way to be most compli- 
 mentary. And here I should like to say a few words 
 of the great interest that I have always taken in racing 
 ever since I was grown up. Comic and fabulous stories 
 have reached me from time to time of my winnings and 
 losings, and how I have sacrificed my professional career 
 to my hobby. Let me be perfectly frank. I am of a 
 methodical turn of mind, and I have kept a fairly accurate 
 account of the cost of my favourite amusement. In 
 forty-five years or so, racing has cost me a little less than
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 197 
 
 £2,000, i. e. less than £50 a year. I have done little 
 or nothing at it for years now, but I could have spent 
 as much in the same time on bicycling, and much more 
 on golf. When I put against this account the out-of-door 
 healthy excitement and the thoroughly good times I 
 have had, I cannot honestly say that I regret a shilling 
 of the money, though of course the amount in question 
 is always handy, especially as one advances in life. The 
 old lady who was discovered kissing her cow explained 
 the unusual proceeding by saying, " There is no account- 
 ing for taste," and, although I have lost no jot of my 
 enthusiasm for a well -played good play, I must frankly 
 admit that I would rather have seen Ormonde, Minting, 
 and Bendigo fight out the Hardwicke Stakes at Ascot 
 (as I did) than most of the murderous assaults on a great 
 man's work which in recent years have been called 
 Shakespearean revivals, and I would much prefer to 
 have witnessed the battle royal between Le Blizon and 
 Sundridge at Hurst Park than a whole year's aggregation 
 of morbid, sordid problem plays such as are advocated 
 by some people nowadays, and which are merely nauseat- 
 ing to healthy-minded men and women, young and old, 
 and keep them away from the theatre. 
 
 Amongst prominent racing people that I have known 
 fairly intimately are : Owners — Robert Peck, Captain 
 Machell, Mr. Redfern, Lord Lonsdale, Arthur Cooper, 
 and C. E. Howard. Trainers — C. Jousiffe, Joseph 
 Cannon, Charles Morton. Jockeys — Archer, T. Cannon, 
 "Morny" Cannon, Fred Webb, C. Wood, S. Loates, 
 Tod Sloan ; and members of the Ring — Charles Head, 
 W. D. Foster, George Silke, R. H. Fry ; and, in America, 
 J. R. Keene, Foxhall Keene, Richard Croker, " Lucky "
 
 108 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 Baldwin, W. Easton, Charles Reed, James Rowe, W. 
 Lakeland, James McLaughlin, Fred Taral, Francis 
 Trevelyan, and many others. From one and all I have 
 received marks of friendship, and have spent many 
 happy hours with them. My carefully considered opinion 
 is that many racing men in all branches of the sport 
 compare favourably with any other class that I have 
 ever been brought in contact with. Before leaving this 
 subject, it may be of interest to some readers to mention 
 an incident which occurred during my stay in New York 
 — namely, the dramatic sale of St. Blaise. To many of 
 those who were at all " behind the scenes " this horse 
 was regarded as one of the luckiest winners of the English 
 Derby (1883). For some reason, which I have forgotten, 
 he was sent out to New York to be sold when he was 
 thirteen years old. Speculation was rife for weeks as 
 to what price he would bring, and many prominent 
 owners and breeders were mentioned as determined 
 to secure him. The sale took place at TattersalPs 
 of New York, one evening after dinner, and round the 
 sale ring were gathered many of the prominent sportsmen 
 of the country, in evening dress and otherwise, with 
 quite a number of ladies of the " Four Hundred " of 
 the city. W. Easton (" Billy "), the best horse auc- 
 tioneer I ever saw, courteous and well bred, mounted 
 the rostrum, and after the usual remarks and giving 
 the animal's pedigree, he said, " What price shall I say 
 for St. Blaise? " " Like a bolt from the blue " came 
 the voice of Charles Reed, the famous Kentucky breeder, 
 " One hundred thousand dollars ! " (£20,000). There 
 was no higher bid, and St. Blaise had become the property 
 of a new owner in less than two minutes ! The price
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 199 
 
 seemed a large one for a horse of his age, who might be 
 considered to have seen some of his best days, but Reed's 
 judgment soon received ample endorsement. St. Blaise 
 sired many notable winners, and many of his progeny 
 took high rank amongst the best-class racehorses of 
 the United States. 
 
 Harking back to The Prodigal Daughter, after the 
 great success in New York we naturally looked forward 
 to a very successful tour through the country — but, 
 strange to say, though the business was good, it was not 
 enormous, nor indeed as good as was expected. We 
 started in Harlem, followed by Brooklyn; and then 
 we were met with a " facer " by the burning of the 
 Globe, Boston, where we were due for the third week, 
 which caused us a three weeks' lay off. The Globe, 
 Boston, was managed by a gentleman named John B. 
 Stetson, quite one of the " characters " of that day. 
 Mr. Stetson had made a great deal of money as the 
 proprietor of many pawnshops. How and why he 
 entered the theatrical arena I know not, but he loomed 
 up quite large in dramatic matters, and had several 
 theatres as well as companies under his control. Some 
 of Gilbert and Sullivan's operas were first produced in 
 America by him. He had not had many of the advan- 
 tages of education, and some of his lapses were worthy of 
 Mrs. Malaprop herself. Once after a sea voyage, when 
 he had suffered a great deal, on setting foot on the New 
 York landing-stage he said, " Ah ! thank God ! once 
 more on terra cotta ! " But perhaps his finest effort 
 was at Booth's Theatre (then under his management). 
 A Passion Play was being rehearsed, and he sailed down 
 the parquette (the equivalent of our stalls) and said
 
 200 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 to the stage manager, li Who are llicm fellows on the 
 stage now?" Reply: "Those, Mr. Stetson, are the 
 
 Twelve Apostles ! " John B. S. : " The d 1 ! What's 
 
 the good of twelve on a stage this size ? Have fifty." 
 
 When our tour recommenced we went pretty nearly 
 everywhere, finishing up at Boston on April 28, 1894, and 
 I sailed for home on the s.s. New York on May 9, and 
 arrived at Southampton on May 16. 
 
 During the tour I wrote for Miss Kate Field's Washing- 
 ton, at her suggestion, an article on Samuel Phelps, which 
 was pretty extensively quoted in the Boston Transcript 
 and several papers elsewhere.
 
 XXII 
 
 When I got home I intended taking a long rest, but 
 almost as soon as I landed I received a cable from Joseph 
 Brooks, one of my old managers, offering me terms I 
 could not afford to refuse, for a summer season at 
 McVickar's, Chicago ; and after just seventeen days in 
 England I left Southampton by the s.s. Chester on June 
 3, arrived in New York June 13, left for Chicago June 
 23, and after rehearsals, began the engagement on July 
 2, 1894, in a play by Francis Reinau, entitled, An 
 American Heiress, which proved to be worthless. This 
 was followed on July 26 by a comedy by the brilliant 
 American dramatist Augustus Thomas, entitled, New 
 Blood. Although Mr. Thomas had (and has since) 
 written many admirable plays, this did not turn out 
 one of his best. It would be well described as slightly 
 " sketchy," and was only moderately successful. It 
 failed badly when subsequently tried in New York. 
 Both plays were splendidly cast and played. Looking 
 back on the names of the company engaged they read 
 almost like a list of stars. Many of them have since 
 become so. Couldock, E. M. Holland, Wilton Lackaye, 
 Maurice Barrymore, George Nash, J. F. Saville, J. H. 
 Barnes, Orris Johnson, Roy Fairchild, Ffolliott Paget, 
 Anne O'Neill, Gladys Wallis, Lilian Lawrence, Jennie 
 Eustace, and many others, constituted a company 
 
 201
 
 202 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 formidable and forceful enough for anything. But the 
 business was only fair, and the season ended on Septem- 
 ber 8. Several of my scraps of poems were published 
 in the Chicago papers during my stay there. Arriving 
 in New York, on my way home, on September 10, 1 
 was pounced on by Marcus Mayer, who insisted on engag- 
 ing me for Augustin Daly to support Miss Olga Nether- 
 sole in her first appearance in the United States. This 
 lady opened at Wallack's on October 15 in A. W. Gattie's 
 play The Transgressor, which proved disappointing. 
 On October 29 Miss Nethersole played Camille for the 
 first time. She gave an admirable performance of this 
 well-known part. Barrymore played Armand Duval 
 excellently, and I was extraordinarily fortunate as 
 Duval pere. All the parts were in strong hands, and 
 business improved materially. After New York we 
 went to Philadelphia, where we played Camille, The 
 Transgressor, and where Miss Nethersole played Juliet 
 for the first time to the Romeo of Maurice Barrymore. 
 In this production I played Friar Laurence. I am afraid 
 that I had been spoiled by the performances of some 
 former Juliets, and this one did not greatly impress me. 
 From Philadelphia we went to Pittsburgh, where we 
 played the same bills. By this time I was longing to 
 get home, and as I was not particularly happy in the 
 engagement, I gave in my resignation, and left the com- 
 pany on December 1, coming through to New York, 
 and sailing for home on the s.s. New York on December 
 12, arriving on December 20 in time for Christmas. 
 I am inclined to think that Miss Nethersole was then on 
 the road to positive greatness. I had seen her play 
 the Countess Zicka (Diplomacy) under the strong stage-
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 203 
 
 management of John Hare at the Garrick, and I con- 
 sider her much the best performer of the part that I have 
 seen up to this day, and her Camille was at first a splendid 
 portrayal. I shall have occasion to refer to her and 
 her art later on. 
 
 This engagement was the last time I played with 
 Barrymore, whom I had known, as previously stated, 
 under his own name of Blythe before, and at the time 
 of his first appearance on the stage. He was quite 
 an extraordinary character, a Bohemian of the most 
 pronounced type. As a young man he won the light- 
 weight, middle-weight, and heavy-weight boxing cham- 
 pionship of England (Queensberry Rules) in three con- 
 secutive years. He became quite a good actor, wrote 
 several capital plays, and had a ready wit of the first 
 order. During our engagement in Philadelphia, one 
 night at the Press Club a fellow-countryman of ours 
 who had " looked on the wine when it was red " was 
 boring and upsetting us by making silly and almost 
 offensive comparisons between the two countries, to the 
 annoyance of our kindly hosts. After having shown 
 him more than once that we were not inclined to agree 
 with him, he suddenly turned to " Barry " and said : 
 " Why, hang it, Barry, they can't spell in this country, 
 can they? They spell honour h-o-n-o-r, and labour 
 1-a-b-o-r, don't they?" In a flash "Barry" replied, 
 " Of course, old man, when they are talking about labour 
 and honour they leave you out of the question." During 
 one of his later visits to England he adapted a play from 
 the French, which was accepted and produced by John 
 Clayton at the old Court under the title of Honour. 
 When the cast was being discussed Clayton said to him,
 
 204 FORTY TEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 " My deai Barry, 1 should awfully like you to play the 
 
 pari of . bill you know, my dear fellow, with your 
 
 American accent it is quite impossible." Barry thought 
 
 for a moment and replied, " This is funny ! When I am 
 in America I am twitted with my English accent. Now 
 I'm in England my American accent is considered an 
 obstacle. Hang it all, I can't get my living reciting 
 on the Atlantic." A play of his called Nadjcska only 
 just missed being a great success at the Haymarkct. 
 His wife (" Georgic " Drew) played one of the principal 
 parts. One of the quips therein provoked a roar of 
 laughter on the first and every night. In a comedy 
 scene Mrs. Barrymore said to a gentleman who was 
 paying her marked attention, " Are your intentions 
 honourable? " He replied, " Am I to understand that 
 I have the choice? " 
 
 Nadjeska was the play that " Barry " always claimed 
 was the original of Sardou's La Tosca. A heated con- 
 troversy took place in a Parisian newspaper (if my 
 memory serves me, Le Figaro) between Sarah Bernhardt 
 and him at the time of the production of the latter play 
 as to the fact, and finally the great Sarah wrote denying 
 all knowledge of Barrymore or his play. In a reply of 
 biting sarcasm, such as he was master of, he stated that 
 he handed his MS. to her at the supper-table of, and in 
 the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Henry E. Abbey. I know 
 nothing of the merits of the case. I merely state what 
 came out in the correspondence. Undoubtedly, though, 
 there was a tremendous similarity in the story of the 
 two plays. About this time I placed some plays for 
 performance. I had previously brought a comedy 
 called Incog, from the U.S., which was produced by
 
 Photo] 
 
 {Turner and DrinkuxUer 
 
 .J. H, BARNES AS MICHAEL DENNIS 
 
 (" Her Advocate ") 
 
 ( To taee pane 205
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 205 
 
 Charles Hawtrey under the title of Tom, Dick, and Harry. 
 It did not make much money in London, but was a 
 success for years in the provinces, and was the basis 
 of the career and fortune of the present successful 
 manager, Frank Curzon. Miss Rose Coghlan produced 
 in New York a play called Nemesis, by the same authoress, 
 Mrs. Romualdo Pacheco, by my advice. It was com- 
 pletely spoiled by insufficient rehearsal, and failed 
 badly. Edward Terry accepted from me a comedy by 
 Walter S. Craven, entitled An Innocent Abroad, which 
 was successful, and remained in his repertory to the 
 end of his life. Another play by Craven, called A Cruel 
 Law, was secured by Henry Dana, and tried tentatively, 
 with success, though not proceeded with for outside 
 reasons. A farce-comedy by Barrymore, Blood Will Tell, 
 was retained by option by W. S. Penley, and afterwards 
 by Messrs. Greet and Engelbach, but never produced 
 up to now. Finally, I was the means of bringing Mrs. 
 Madeleine Lucette Ryley before the London public, 
 through the medium of the comedy Christopher, Junior, 
 which was secured by W. S. Penley, and afterwards 
 transferred to Fred Kerr, who produced it at Terry's, 
 under the title of Jedbury, Junior. Mrs. Ryley had 
 very considerable success with subsequent plays, includ- 
 ing Mice and Men, produced by Forbes Robertson. 
 
 After my return home I did nothing except a few odd 
 weeks until September 26, 1895, when I appeared in a 
 play called Her Advocate, by Walter Frith, at the Duke 
 of York's. In this I had my first chance as an Irishman 
 in London. It was only a small part, but a delightful 
 one, named Michael Dennis, a briefless barrister, who 
 described himself in the line " O'im the last o' the
 
 206 FORTY YEARS ON THE STACK 
 
 Juniors and O'im sixty in May.'" I was most fortunate 
 in pleasing the Press and the public and got some 
 ( Kcellenl notices, and even such a stickler for the brogue 
 as Lord Donoughmore was loud in my praises on that 
 score. The play, however, was not a great success, 
 though many good artists were in it, including Misses 
 Gertrude Kingston, Lena Ashwell, Henrietta Watson, 
 Mrssrs. Charles Cartwright, C. W. Somerset, F. Volpd, 
 A. llolmcs-Gorc, and others. In October, 1895, I went 
 round the corner and joined E. S. Willard at the Garrick 
 in a play by Jerome K. Jerome, entitled The Rise of Dick 
 Halliard, played by a very strong cast, including 
 AVillard, Marion Terry, H. V. Esmond, Annie Hughes, 
 etc., but, unfortunately, not successful, and in The 
 Professor's Love Story, by J. M. Barrie, revived in Novem- 
 ber, I played a full Scottish part, Henders. In both 
 these plays I got splendid notices, and it was curious 
 that I should have played an Irish and Scottish part 
 in London within two months of each other. Apropos 
 of this fact, my experience teaches me that the faculty 
 for brogues and dialects is a thing to be grateful for 
 and not egotistical about. I have played Irish parts in 
 Dublin, Scottish parts in Edinburgh, and Yorkshire 
 and Lancashire parts in the North of England, and all 
 without any special application, and I have known 
 artists of much greater standing than myself who could 
 never simulate any kind of dialect at all. It seems to 
 me that it is just the same as an ear for music. You have 
 it or you haven't — and if you have, a short sojourn 
 amongst people of a different district and the ear catches 
 the fall of the vowels and consonants, and you find 
 yourself speaking like those around you. In The Pro-
 
 Photo] 
 
 [Alfred Ellis 
 
 J. H. BARNES AS HENDERS 
 
 ("Professor's Love Story") 
 
 [To face page 205
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 207 
 
 jessofs Love Story appeared Willard, Annie Hughes, 
 Fred Tyler, Mrs. Canninge, and others. A curious fact 
 in connection with this play is that the three Scottish 
 parts which cause so much amusement — viz. Pete, 
 Renders, and Effie — are so far away from the main 
 story that with the alteration of one line they could 
 be taken out bodily without affecting the dramatic 
 interest of the play. A very Scottish custodian of a 
 library near the theatre offered to make a wager not 
 only that I was a Scot, but that he could tell the part 
 of Scotland I came from, and he named Arbroath. 
 This engagement carried me up to March 7, 1896, 
 and I was cast in the play which followed — the comedy 
 by Henry Arthur Jones, The Rogue's Comedy — but the 
 part was one I felt my personality entirely unsuited to. 
 Whilst I was hesitating I got an offer for something I 
 much preferred, and Willard generously released me 
 from my contract. The offer in question was to play 
 in that delightful comedy, Rosemary, by L. N. Parker 
 and Murray Carson, produced at the Criterion, May 16, 
 1896, which made a pronounced hit, and was declared 
 one of the most charming plays seen in London for many 
 years. The cast was a comparatively small one, and 
 practically every one of us scored a success, but what 
 was not generally known then, and is perhaps stated here 
 for the first time, is that four of those parts were played 
 by artists not originally chosen for their portrayal. 
 Thus, my old friend, Alfred Bishop, rehearsed Professor 
 Jogram and gave it up, finding a difficulty in reconciling 
 the two different characteristics of the part. Then it 
 fell to me. Bishop then rehearsed the post-boy Murine, 
 and Edward Righton, Captain Cruikshank. Righton
 
 JOS FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 was suffering from the acute asthma from which he 
 never really recovered, which increased so distressingly 
 
 that he was forced to retire from the cast, and Bishop 
 took his place. James Welch was engaged for Minifie. 
 A young lady whose name I have forgotten rehearsed 
 Priscilla, but was found unsuitable, and Miss Annie 
 Hughes stepped into her place. All four of these parts 
 became good features of a notable success. Charles 
 Wyndham (he was not Sir Charles in those days) played 
 splendidly as Sir Jasper Thorndyke, an easy, graceful, 
 humorous performance of the highest class. Perhaps 
 in the last act, which is a monologue where Sir Jasper 
 is supposed to be a nonagenarian, he was not quite 
 so effective, but that was as much due to the authors 
 as the artists. Many good judges considered that it 
 would have been better if some of the other characters 
 had lived to keep Sir Jasper company, and I rather agree 
 with them. Indeed, I have been told that if the play 
 is ever revived that will be found to have been done. 
 I have no means of knowing if this information is correct. 
 Miss Mary Moore has rarely played more daintily or 
 sweetly than as Dorothy Cruikshank. Kenneth Douglas 
 was quite admirable as William Westwood, the impulsive 
 and perky young lover; and there was only one word 
 for Miss Carlotta Addison as Mrs. Cruikshank — she was 
 perfect. Altogether it was a signally happy stage event. 
 The play ran till July 25, was suspended for the hot 
 weather, was revived on October 6, and ran until Boxing 
 Night, December 26 ; run again, suspended for Christmas 
 holidays, revived February 13, 1897, and went on 
 until March 20. It also made a great success in New 
 York. One amusing incident occurred to me. At that
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 209 
 
 time I had a very dear friend, manager of a branch bank. 
 He was a good theatre-goer, a great wit, and a loyal and 
 amusing companion. He was also a great Phelpsite, 
 having seen nearly all the grand old man's performances 
 for years. About the time Rosemary was nearing the 
 end of its run he came to see it, and we supped together 
 afterwards. Beyond a general appreciation of the play 
 and the acting, he did not say much, and I did not seek 
 his opinion, knowing that I should be sure to get it in 
 his own humorous way. Whilst smoking a cigar later 
 on he suddenly roused himself and said : " Jack ! I 
 shouldn't have thought one actor could recollect as 
 much of another as you do of the old man." And so it 
 was. Professor Jogram, in one scene, was as near as I 
 could make it a reproduction of one of my old patron's 
 great performances, and my friend was the only one of 
 all London to " spot " it. I suppose some men might 
 have been annoyed. I was delighted. I have always 
 held the theory that the great traditions of our difficult 
 art are always worth considering, as much as the works 
 of the Old Masters are considered a fitting study, 
 and an almost indispensable part of, the education of a 
 would-be painter.
 
 XXIII 
 
 During the summer break in the run of Rosemary 
 (September 1896), I was engaged to star conjointly 
 with Miss Bella Pateman for two weeks at the Elephant 
 and Castle, in Proof. We did capital business, and 
 apparently pleased our audiences immensely, but it was 
 rather disheartening on more than one occasion to find 
 ourselves playing second to a " harmless necessary cat." 
 It appeared the theatre was over-run with rats, and this 
 cat was kept with a view to their repression or exter- 
 mination. Twice during our engagement, as a re- 
 laxation from his own profession, he chose to take a 
 hand in ours. He advanced from the first entrance, 
 walked deliberately to the middle of the stage, at the 
 footlights, and there sat down and proceeded to wash 
 his face in the approved manner of his tribe. Of course, 
 no theatrical art could stand such opposition as this, 
 and we played a distinct " second fiddle." 
 
 Just before I joined the stage there were several 
 animal dramas extant. Dramas to exploit performing 
 lions, bears, and dogs, such as The Dog of Montargis, 
 The Forest of Bondy, etc. I suggested to the manager 
 of the theatre (Mr. D'Estarre) that he should have a 
 play written for and round this particular cat, who had 
 already solved one important phase of our art, viz. 
 perfect self-possession. Maurice Barrymore once de- 
 
 210
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 211 
 
 scribed a certain American artist as an actor " who be- 
 lieved in God and the centre of the stage." If my sug- 
 gestion had been followed I fear the Elephant and 
 Castle cat would have been known as a very " selfish 
 star." At the Christmas break in Rosemary we revived 
 at the Criterion the comedy Betsy, which had first been 
 produced at that theatre, with a strong cast, including 
 Alfred Bishop, James Welch, Aubrey Boucicault, 
 Kenneth Douglas, Miss Annie Hughes, Miss Carlotta 
 Addison, Miss Sybil Carlisle and others. It is a scream- 
 ing farcical comedy, which went with a roar of laughter 
 from end to end and played to good business. I 
 played another Irishman, Captain McManus. I re- 
 member in connection with this production we were 
 terribly upset one night by two disorderly men and two 
 ill-behaved ladies in a private box, who were talking 
 at the top of their voices and making such a noise that 
 it was almost impossible for us to play our scenes, and 
 the audience expressed annoyance more than once. 
 During the second act the ladies of the company became 
 quite disconcerted, and there was no alternative but to 
 try to stop it. Advancing to the box I markedly 
 addressed one of the gentlemen thus : " Excuse me, sir, 
 but I think at the present moment the audience would 
 rather hear me than you." There was a big round of 
 applause from the audience, and the nuisance ceased. 
 At the end of the act the principal offender and his 
 friends felt it convenient to leave the theatre, and, as John 
 Coleman once said, under similar circumstances, " we 
 thought ourselves well rid of a knave." 
 
 The year 1896, though successful and pleasant, pro- 
 fessionally, was, perhaps, the saddest in all my manhood.
 
 212 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 Through circumstances of almosl unparalleled treachery, 
 1 suffered a terrible domestic alllicliou. With my old 
 world view of life and its responsibilities, it might have 
 completely overwhelmed me, but that my trouble showed 
 me the number of good friends I had, who, by their 
 consideration and sympathy, helped me to bear and 
 finally recover from the blow that I had suffered. It 
 is true that this very grief brought in its train a great 
 deal of compensating happiness, but it also left in its 
 wake one deep scar, which will probably outlive me, 
 and that, in the case of those dear to us, is a tragedy 
 more dread even than losing them. But iron is hardened 
 and toughened by blow T s ; and the care of the afflicted, 
 like that of children, can become so humanising as to 
 amount to a tender charge, which we bear with forti- 
 tude if we have got the right sort of grit in our natures. 
 After two or three odd engagements, in the early 
 summer of 1897 I was retained by Mr. Beerbohm Tree 
 for a play which was abandoned after two or three re- 
 hearsals, and, in place of it, I played Taffy in Trilby and 
 Allan Villiers in The Red Lamp, in revivals of those 
 plays at Her Majesty's. I need not dwell on the 
 manager's great performances of Svengali and Deme- 
 trius. They have been fully recognised by the Press 
 and the public, and they were amongst those artistic 
 triumphs which helped him to the very front rank of 
 character actors. Amongst the strong company at 
 Her Majesty's were Mrs. (now Lady) Tree; that popular 
 comedian, Lionel Brough; the present successful 
 manager and actor Gerald du Maurier (son of the brilliant 
 Punch draughtsman, who also wrote the story of Trilby.) 
 These were Gerald's early appearances, and he, even
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 213 
 
 then, showed very clearly the qualities which have since 
 placed him in the van of living actors. Also Charles 
 Brookfield was in the cast, and as well Miss Rosina 
 Filippi, Miss Dorothea Baird (Mrs. H. B. Irving), 
 and Lewis Waller. It will be remembered that this was 
 the Diamond Jubilee year, and one very great event 
 occurred when Mr. Tree invited all the Colonial Premiers 
 then visiting England to the theatre and afterwards to 
 a reception and recherche supper on the stage. A very 
 notable and brilliant gathering. 
 
 After that, July 17, 1897, I played for four weeks in 
 a comedy at the Criterion, Four Little Girls, by Walter 
 S. Craven. I was responsible for the production of 
 this play. It appeared to greatly please the audi- 
 ences who saw it, but the weather was dreadfully hot, 
 and from that or other causes it was not attractive 
 enough to be kept in the bill. One recollection of this 
 play is still vivid in my mind. It was the last ap- 
 pearance of that extraordinarily funny actor William 
 Blakeley. Probably very few comedians have ever 
 pleased or got more laughter from a public than this 
 genial and eccentric old friend. He was irresistible. 
 Lines that appeared quite ordinary, not to say worthless, 
 he would get " screams " for, and if he had a good scene 
 to play he could easily hold his own with any kind of 
 comedian who might be pitted against him. The 
 stories told of him are amongst the most amusing of the 
 modern stage, but most of them depend absolutely on 
 his own mannerisms, and would appear quite pointless 
 in cold print. Within a few weeks of writing these 
 lines a gentleman in America, in talking of the early 
 visits to that country of Charles Wyndham and the
 
 2U FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 older Sothern, said to me: "Yes; but who was that 
 wonderfully funny old gentleman they had with them ? " 
 This was William Blakeley. His remark on his first 
 visit to New York has become a classic. Jolting in a 
 carriage, over a very badly-paved street on his way 
 from the dock to his hotel, he got exasperated, and said : 
 " Oh, hang it ! I knew I shouldn't like the beastly 
 country before I started." Once, seated behind a 
 gentleman at the club, who was playing poker (Blakeley 
 only knew the game of Napoleon), he blurted out : 
 " Three aces and two kings ! By gad ! I should go Nap ! " 
 The discomfiture of the holder of the hand, who was a 
 keen player, may be imagined by those who play cards 
 and know the games in question. On the occasion of 
 his last appearance he had great difficulty in remembering 
 his words. I was playing the opposite part and, with 
 the affection I had for him, I had covered up his dis- 
 crepancies from the audience by speaking much of 
 his part as well as my own, when, in the third act, to 
 my utter dismay, he suddenly exclaimed : "As I was 
 going to say when you interrupted me," etc. Poor old 
 "Bill." It was his last effort; and very soon after 
 the curtain fell finally on as funny an actor as 
 ever lived. We all mourned the loss of a genial old 
 friend, and the public that of one of their primest mirth- 
 pro vokers. We tried the play for a week in a suburban 
 theatre, but it did not succeed. 
 
 The autumn of 1897 was one of great interest and 
 importance to me. I played Polonius for the first time 
 in my life in support of Forbes-Robertson, who then 
 made his first appearance as Hamlet. The circumstance 
 of my doing so was a little amusing. Forbes and I had 

 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 215 
 
 both been proteges of Mr. Phelps, and our careers 
 had run on similar lines, though in different fields. I 
 mean we had both been leading men for many years, 
 and, although I had begun to drift into character parts, 
 I had not definitely taken up the line of business known 
 as old men. With that kindly consideration for others 
 denoting the true gentleman, which has been one of 
 his distinguishing characteristics all his life, he hesi- 
 tated about asking me to play Polonius to his Hamlet. 
 I well remember he called at my house, and, with more 
 than ordinary trepidation, broached the subject to 
 me, telling me how much he would like me to accept 
 the part, and begging me not to be angry, but to give 
 the matter my calm consideration. To his astonish- 
 ment I accepted at once quite gladly, with the one 
 reservation that I should be allowed to play the part 
 as I read it in the book. He replied that that was 
 just what he wanted, and the matter was settled there 
 and then. We opened on September 11, 1897. It 
 would be quite superfluous for me to add anything to 
 the encomiums which greeted his performance. From 
 then until to-day his has remained the Hamlet of our 
 time — graceful, feeling, pathetic, scholarly, lovable — 
 no Hamlet of our time has read the lines as beautifully 
 or brought out their meaning with such distinction and 
 such distinctness. Hamlets have been seen who ac- 
 centuated this or that point with greater emphasis or 
 greater elaboration. Hamlets have been seen for whom 
 it was claimed that they reached greater heights of 
 tragedy. Every actor finds something to suit his 
 temperament in some part of Hamlet, and every thinker 
 amongst the public has his pet theories as to what
 
 jk; forty years on the stage 
 
 Shakespeare meant in the various scenes of the play, 
 bul the great heart of tin- paying public on both sides 
 of the Atlantic for the last sixteen years has declared 
 with no uncertain voice for the Hamlet of Johnston 
 Forbes-Robertson. On this notable occasion, I am 
 very proud to say I was not found wanting. For years 
 and years I had seen Polonius played, as I thought, 
 quite " out of shape." Tradition is a splendid thing on 
 the Stage, and I firmly believe in it, but when it does 
 lead wrongly it leads very wrongly indeed. Numbers 
 of parts have got " out of gear " through exigencies 
 of cast at some time or other and various different causes, 
 and perhaps no one part had suffered more in the past 
 than Polonius. I have seen performances of it which 
 made me shudder. I determined to blot everything out 
 of my vision, and, as the elder Boucicault said (to w^hich 
 I have referred in my earlier notes), read what the author 
 said. I found him the acting Lord Chamberlain of the 
 court, a splendid father, with a keen eye for the main 
 chance, and a never-failing solicitude for the welfare 
 of his son and daughter; far too wise and prudent to 
 make an enemy of the prince whom he firmly believes 
 to be mad — or very nearly so — and, in short, ever 
 ready, when meeting this prince, w r ith what in modern 
 slang is known as " spoof." On these lines I played him ; 
 I venture to assert he was as amusing as he had ever been 
 without losing a particle of his dignity or his character. 
 It is my pleasure that the Press were unanimous in my 
 praise, and my friends, the public, showed me very un- 
 mistakably that I had pleased them. A compliment 
 which I greatly appreciated came from that fine 
 writer and Shakespearean student, Herman Meri-
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 217 
 
 vale. He had often spoken pleasantly of my work in 
 poetic plays. Just after the production of Hamlet, 
 I met him, coming out of the Garrick Club, and, grasping 
 my hand heartily, he said : " My dear Jack Barnes, 
 all I have to say about your Polonius is that no one dare 
 play it the old way as long as you are alive." What 
 could one desire more ? I was very happy over the 
 whole matter. The cast included Mrs. Patrick Camp- 
 bell, Miss Granville, Miss Sydney Crowe, Messrs. Cooper 
 Cliffe, Bernard Gould (Bernard Partridge of Punch), 
 Graham Browne, Franklyn Dyall, Martin Harvey, 
 Fisher White, James Hearn, Ian Robertson, and others. 
 The play ran until December 18, 1897. 
 
 This December is deeply graven on the minds of 
 many actors and others by the brutal murder of our 
 fellow-artist William Terriss. " Breezy Bill, " as his 
 associates loved to call him, was done to death by a 
 degenerate of the worst type, named Prince, and a thrill 
 of horror ran through the entire community at the 
 callous determination of the crime. No motive for it 
 could be established, beyond the fact that the criminal 
 had been a super in the theatre with Terriss, and whilst 
 the latter was a great success in life his slayer was a 
 hopeless failure. To me personally it was especially 
 horrible. Will Terriss and I had been great " pals " since 
 the year 1872, when we were almost boys together at 
 Drury Lane, and, on more than one occasion of late 
 rehearsals, etc., he had actually shared my bed. We 
 had more than once talked of joining forces in the pro- 
 duction of a play we both greatly believed in, but some- 
 thing always occurred to put an obstacle in the way. 
 He was killed as he was entering the private door of
 
 318 FORTY YEARS ON THE STACK 
 
 the AiUlphi to prepare for his evening performance. 
 
 No one would claim lor Terriss that lie was a great 
 actor, but he filled a niche in London theatricals which 
 was all his own. and which it is bare justice to say has 
 had no such efficient occupant since his death. If 
 anybody i s found to quibble at this statement I would 
 remind him of the sympathetic crowds that lined the 
 three miles of streets when we followed him from his 
 house in Chiswick to his last home in Brompton Ceme- 
 tery. Doubtless the terrible tragedy of his death had 
 created a special interest, but " Bill " Terriss was a 
 huge public favourite, and his name a household w r ord. 
 In some parts, such as Squire Thornhill (Olivia) and 
 Nemours (Louis XL) he w r as positively splendid, whilst 
 his Henry VIII. , with Irving at the Lyceum, was very 
 admirable, if falling a little short of greatness, but as 
 the hero of the dramas at the Adelphi, such as Henry 
 Kingsley (Harbour Lights), and indeed in the whole 
 series of the plays done about then at that theatre, 
 he was absolutely unapproachable, and up to now un- 
 approached. To his other fascinating qualities he 
 added a delightful impudence which was amazing. I 
 remember being present at the Haymarket to witness a 
 comedy called The Crisis. When the curtain went up 
 on the first act Will was discovered standing by the 
 fireplace with a needle and cotton calmly sewing a but- 
 ton on his w r aistcoat w r hilst taking part in the opening 
 dialogue. Perfectly natural, perhaps, but, let us say, 
 a little unusual ! 
 
 A good story was extant at the time which ran thus : 
 Frank Tyars and he were next-door neighbours at 
 Chiswick, and Tyars had a saddle-horse for sale. One
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 219 
 
 day Terriss, at work in his garden, saw a man come to 
 Tyars's door, accosted him, and learned that he had 
 come to look at the horse with a view to purchase. 
 Tyars was in London for the day. Terriss, without 
 a moment's hesitation, took the man round to the 
 livery stable where the animal stood, struck a bargain 
 for its sale, took the money, gave the man possession, 
 and, when he came up to the theatre (the Lyceum) in 
 the evening, said : " Well, Frank, I've sold the horse 
 and here's the money." All this without one word 
 of authority from Tyars, who thought he might have 
 got a little more, but was so thoroughly amused at the 
 whole thing that he accepted the situation. But stories 
 abounded of his amusing " cheek," and he left a very 
 great void behind him when so brutally taken from us. 
 His murderer, Prince, is, I believe, still living in com- 
 parative comfort at Broadmoor, " detained during his 
 Majesty's pleasure." I am afraid he came of rather 
 bad stock. It may be of some dramatic interest to 
 chronicle the fact that his sister (they were from Dundee) 
 was a well-known member of the half-world of London, 
 who had been one of the celebrated " Big Six " of Alex- 
 ander Henderson's first production of Les Cloches de 
 Corneville at the Charing Cross Theatre — a galaxy of 
 very fine women. She even developed dramatic as- 
 pirations, and a play, avowedly written by her, was 
 given for a matinee at the old Gaiety. It had a run of 
 one consecutive afternoon only. After this she was 
 mixed up in a well-known actor's divorce case, and she 
 was one of many mentioned in connection with a much- 
 execrated European monarch who died a few years ago. 
 Unrecognised by her married name she was found
 
 220 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 by B doctor, dead, in a house in London recently — a 
 faithful link* dog and a half-empty bottle of brandy by 
 her side— and without a human being near or within 
 sound. Truly an ill-starred brother and sister ! 
 
 In the beginning of 1898 I was engaged by Forbes- 
 Robertson for his trip to Germany, and we left by the 
 Quecnborough and Flushing route on February 22, 
 arriving in Berlin on February 23. We opened in Hamlet 
 at Kroll's Opera House in the Thicrgarten on March 3. 
 The German Press were most liberal to us, especially 
 to our star, and a very charming appreciation of him 
 and our work generally came from Josef Kainz, the 
 distinguished German actor, who was then playing in 
 Berlin, who afterwards became an immense favourite 
 in Vienna, and who died only a short time ago. In 
 addition to Hamlet we played The Second Mrs. Tan- 
 queray (March 7) for Mrs. Patrick Campbell, in which 
 she duplicated her great London success, but Forbes- 
 Robertson found poor scope for his powers in the some- 
 what negative part of Aubrey Tanqueray. On March 
 14 we produced Macbeth. This was Robertson's first 
 appearance in that part, and also Mrs. Campbell's 
 first effort as Lady Macbeth. I played Macduff. The 
 personnel of the company was very much the same as 
 in London. The whole experiment was immensely in- 
 teresting, although with our large expenses and the 
 prices of seats prevalent in Germany I fear our manager 
 did not make money, but the kudos of his success gave 
 him any amount of admirable advertisement for his 
 subsequent home tour. I must say Berlin itself palled 
 on me pretty quickly. It is all so terribly correct 
 and uniform that one almost pined for a little irregu-
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 221 
 
 larity, and most certainly the ever-present militarism 
 got on my nerves to the extent of boredom after awhile. 
 Wherever you turned nothing but soldiers with their 
 ostentatious salute of passing officers; all the statues 
 in the streets, most of the pictures in the museums 
 apparently designed to foster the fighting spirit. And 
 the crowds of students everywhere on the Sunday 
 afternoons, the majority of their faces slit and 
 cut about by duelling swords all pointing in the 
 same direction. A brilliant military officer whom I 
 sat next to at a luncheon given to Forbes-Robertson at 
 the Berliner Club (whose name must necessarily be 
 withheld) explained this to me in perfect English thus : 
 " You saw, Mr. Barnes, when you came to Berlin that 
 we have little or no frontier. We have made our 
 country by force of arms, and we have to keep it by the 
 same power. Rightly or wrongly, we are prepared to 
 fight an enemy on either or both sides, and every man 
 will be at his post and every pound of provisions to 
 feed him in twenty-four hours." This point is brought 
 forcibly under your notice by all the rolling stock of 
 all the railways bearing the Government mark of its 
 capacity for carrying men, horses, and provisions in 
 time of war. This officer's remarks give me the cue 
 for recording my opinion that Prussia (proper) is not 
 only a flat, grey country, but that I also found the 
 Prussians a flat, dull people as a whole. As one journeys 
 south in Germany and gets among the mountains and 
 the sunshine the whole character of the population 
 appears to change. I wonder if my readers will agree 
 with the statement which I make from my own obser- 
 vation, that nearly all art, music, and charm in life
 
 222 FORTY YEARS ON THE STACK 
 
 appeal l<> follow the sun and thrive more satisfactorily 
 among brighl and picturesque surroundings. 
 
 Probably the outstanding impression remaining in 
 my mind of my visit to Berlin is that of the Emperor. 
 At the time of which I am writing he was even more 
 in the public eye that he is to-day. All Europe was 
 regarding him with the keenest interest as well as 
 anxiety, and opinions were very varied as to his inten- 
 tions and his characteristics. Most assuredly one had 
 to go to Berlin to realise his tremendous hold on the 
 affection and admiration of his people, and the reason 
 of it. It would be quite impossible to overstate his 
 indefatigability. He was surely the hardest working 
 man in the whole of his dominions. Morning, noon, 
 and night, whatever affected the welfare of the citizens, 
 found him taking a personal interest in it. After his 
 usual ride up the Unter den Linden in the morning you 
 were liable to meet the Royal carriage half a dozen 
 times a day driving hither and thither with its Imperial 
 occupant inspecting for himself everything of public 
 consequence. A small evidence of his systematic self- 
 discipline was connected with us. He came to see 
 Forbes-Robertson play Hamlet, and sent for him to 
 offer him his gracious congratulations, but it put him 
 a little " out of his stride." It drove his plain supper 
 off to a later hour than he liked before retiring. He 
 came again to see us play Macbeth, and this time an 
 extra carriage in the retinue carried a chef and small 
 cooking apparatus, and his modest supper was served 
 in the retiring room at the back of his box after the 
 third act, so that he would not pay us the bad compli- 
 ment of leaving before the end of the play, but was then
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 223 
 
 able to retire immediately he reached the castle. A 
 small matter to record, perhaps, but all part of a big 
 man's earnestness. 
 
 From Berlin we went to Hanover (March 16), a dear 
 old-world city with its picturesque home of the ancient 
 Royal family and a perfectly magnificent Opera House, 
 where we played. From Hanover to Hamburg (March 
 23), with its busy river full of shipping and bustling 
 industry everywhere, and its beautiful ornamental 
 water (the Alster Basin) in the middle of the city ; and 
 from there to Amsterdam (March 28), which, tome, was 
 much the most charming of the four places we visited. 
 Everything was so different to all one's experiences. 
 To see the groceries delivered and the dust refuse col- 
 lected by boat; the old Dutch buildings overlooking 
 the canals, as well as the character of the people — all 
 was picturesque, novel, and delightful. Of course we 
 went to the Island of Marken, in the Zuyder Zee, where 
 Henry Labouchere (previously mentioned) was born, 
 and where the natives continue to wear their last cen- 
 tury costumes for business purposes and sell you souvenirs 
 and tokens, manufactured (I shrewdly suspect) in Bir- 
 mingham. I have always remembered Amsterdam 
 with the keenest pleasure, and one of its greatest 
 delights was a Rembrandt picture in the public gallery, 
 supposed to be the artist's finest example, " The Night 
 Watch." No work of art has ever fascinated me quite 
 so much as this. I found myself gazing on it at least 
 five out of the seven days I was there. We played the 
 same three plays in all the cities we visited. In Amster- 
 dam a most gratifying notice appeared in one of the 
 newspapers, coupling my name with that of our star
 
 224 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 :it all points, and expressing the hope that "Messrs. 
 Forbes-Robertson and Barnes would soon pay a return 
 visit to show the citizens what the English Shakespeare 
 meant by Hamlet and Polonius." We left Amsterdam 
 on April 3, and returned to London, as before, via 
 Qmrnborough and Flushing.
 
 XXIV 
 
 Back in England, we commenced a tour of the pro- 
 vincial towns, beginning at the Grand, Islington, where 
 we played Hamlet all the week. On the Saturday a 
 New York manager of my acquaintance, visiting London, 
 went with me to the theatre and made Robertson a 
 very fine offer to visit the United States with Hamlet 
 in the autumn of the year. The financial proposition 
 was most tempting and even extraordinary, but certain 
 outside conditions were unacceptable, and America 
 had to wait some years before seeing this fine perform- 
 ance. We visited Newcastle, Glasgow, Edinburgh, 
 Birmingham, Manchester and Liverpool. The Press 
 was most laudatory about Hamlet, but not so enthusiastic 
 about Macbeth. Business was fine everywhere. During 
 our week in Edinburgh (May 14), a luncheon was ten- 
 dered to Mr. Robertson and Mrs. Patrick Campbell by 
 the well-known artistic club, The Pen and Pencil, to 
 which I was invited, and after the principal guests had 
 been toasted the hon. secretary, Mr. W. W. Macfarlane, 
 proposed my health in glowing terms, alluding most 
 feelingly to my old association with the city. It was 
 received with the greatest favour, and I had a big lump 
 in my throat and a strongly palpitating heart as I rose 
 to respond. During this tour some of my poems 
 appeared in the Manchester Chronicle ; and the Admiralty 
 Q 225
 
 226 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 and Horse Guards' Gazette, of London, reprinted a whole 
 series of them in July, August and September of the 
 
 same year, 181)8, and a new one entitled, " Belief — a 
 Parallel," May 18, 1899. 
 
 On September 1, I re-appeared in London at Her 
 Majesty's in a play by L. N. Parker and Murray Carson, 
 called The Termagant. I am afraid it was not quite 
 a good play, but unfortunate dissensions arose at 
 rehearsals between the authors and the star, Miss Olga 
 Nethersole, causing certain changes in the cast, etc., 
 and it failed to " catch on," finishing its short career on 
 October 7. Hamlet was revived by Forbes -Robertson 
 at the Lyceum on November 7, for three weeks. Busi- 
 ness for the revival was not great. On December 6 I 
 played in a broadly farcical comedy at Terry's entitled 
 The Brixton Burglary, with a good cast, including James 
 Welch, Holmes-Gore, F. Gottschalk, Frank Curzon, 
 Maud Hobson, and Annie Hughes. It was well noticed, 
 but business was only moderate, and the run finished 
 January 21, 1899. The play afterwards made much 
 money in the provinces and America. 
 
 In February, 1899, 1 was engaged for a very interesting 
 experiment. The New Century Theatre Society pro- 
 duced at the Haymarket, for four matinees, February 
 7, 9, 10, 13, a play by H. V. Esmond, entitled Griersorfs 
 Way. It dealt with a somewhat gruesome subject, but 
 was a very fine piece of work. And in these days of 
 ultra-realism I can never understand why it has not 
 been revived. I feel sure it would be successful, 
 although it will have been gathered from my oft -ex- 
 pressed opinion it is not a class of play I am, personally, 
 in sympathy with. At the Haymarket it had the
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 227 
 
 advantage of an excellent company — the author him- 
 self, G. S. Titheradge, Fred Terry, myself, Miss Lena 
 Ashwell, and Miss Ingram. Esmond rehearsed us 
 most carefully and considerately, and gave a splendidly 
 vivid performance of a strangely dramatic character 
 himself — a cripple whose nature and temperament were 
 warped by his misfortune and who worked the evil of 
 the story. I doubt if Miss Lena Ashwell ever played 
 better than in this play, though perhaps she won't thank 
 me for saying so. I have seen and admired much of her 
 work on the stage. Of course, she has played many 
 parts in pieces that ran for a long time and therefore 
 made a greater impression on the public, such as in 
 Mrs. Bane's Defence and many others, but with the 
 advantage of the author's ideas, and in consultation 
 with him, I think she never reached a higher plane 
 in her art than in Grierson's Way. The play did not 
 prove attractive, but the business improved steadily 
 for each of the four matine'es, and it was beginning to be 
 talked about a great deal when the last was reached. 
 
 I am afraid that about this time I struck an unlucky 
 streak. On April 28, 1899, I played in another play by 
 L. N. Parker and Murray Carson at the Garrick, entitled 
 Change Alley, founded on the dramatic episode in history 
 of the South Sea Bubble. Much had been hoped for 
 from this comedy drama, and it seemed to contain the 
 elements of success during rehearsals. It partook of 
 the nature of plays known as old comedies, was full 
 of seemingly good parts, and a splendid company of 
 London favourites were engaged for its representation ; 
 but, alas ! it fell hopelessly flat in performance, was 
 condemned by the Press unanimously, and only ran
 
 228 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 eleven nights. I don't think the fault lay with the 
 
 actors. On June 8, 1899, an article of mine appeared 
 in The Stage on the subject of Stage Traditions, in which 
 I pointed out the advantage of at least considering the 
 effects produced by our predecessors, and called attention 
 to several noteworthy examples of the great moments 
 that had pleased and interested our fathers and mothers, 
 in every case referring to the author's text to prove their 
 truth and value. 
 
 On July 11, 1899, a great supper was given by the 
 Eccentric Club to the American visitors then in London, 
 at which the American Ambassador (Mr. Joseph II. 
 Choate) responded for the guests most eloquently. 
 Amongst the well-known Americans present were David 
 Belasco, John Drew, De Wolf Hopper, T. Henry French, 
 Charles Klein, Nat Goodwin, McKee Rankin, and Burr 
 Mcintosh. What extraordinarily fine orators the 
 Americans are as a rule ! I have known many good 
 after-dinner speakers in my time — the late Charles 
 Dickens, jun., J. Comyns Carr, and several others — but 
 the four very best I ever heard in their order were James 
 Russell Lowell, Robert Ingersoll, Chauncey Depew, 
 and Joseph H. Choate. 
 
 On July 21, 1899, Rosemary was played with nearly all 
 the original cast for Charles Wyndham's last appearance 
 at the Criterion " after twenty-three years of continuous 
 management." I don't quite know why, for he has often 
 acted there since, but probably it was not his intention 
 to do so at the time I write of. In 1899, four big benefits 
 took place. The recipients were all loved and respected 
 by the profession as well as the public. The former, 
 including the writer, gladly joined in making up monster
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 229 
 
 programmes, and the latter responded by their attend- 
 ance and subscriptions, so that liberal results were 
 obtained in each case. The first was that of Miss Lydia 
 Thompson, held at the Lyceum, May 2. Miss Thompson 
 was in her day the most dashing, shapely, pretty, 
 and fascinating of burlesque boys, the wife of Alexander 
 Henderson, and mother of that charming actress, Miss 
 Zeffie Tilbury, who has found a successful field for her 
 work for many years in America. As a young woman, 
 Miss Thompson got a large amount of notoriety and 
 advertisement by horse-whipping a man on the Press 
 in Chicago, who had incurred her anger by some insulting 
 remarks about her. On September 21, 1899, Charles 
 Morton was given a birthday testimonial at the Palace 
 with an immense programme of stars drawn from both 
 theatre and music hall. Morton was the pioneer of the 
 improved variety theatre of London and was often 
 written of as the "father of the modern music hall." 
 He had also some experience of theatres proper, having 
 been the manager of the Philharmonic, Islington, when 
 the immensely successful opera bouffe Genevieve de 
 Brabantwas produced with Miss Emily Soldene as Drogan, 
 on November 11, 1871. For hundreds of nights this 
 tuneful opera drew all London to this somewhat out- 
 lying theatre and made a large sum of money. After 
 its run there, and, I think, one succeeding musical play, 
 Mr. Morton became Miss Soldene's manager, and con- 
 ducted her tours through Great Britain and the United 
 States for some years, finally returning to his first 
 love, the music hall, and becoming manager, in 
 turn, of the Alhambra and the Palace, etc. At the 
 latter he finished his career and his hard-working
 
 230 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 life, and was greatly respected and regretted. The 
 Philharmonic Theatre afterwards became the Grand, 
 and is now given over to variety as the Islington Empire. 
 Miss Soldenc (whom I had once heard sing as Miss 
 Fitzhenry at the old Oxford Music Hall) held a foremost 
 place amongst comic opera singers for many years. She 
 had a splendid voice and presence and was a thorough 
 artist. She has written a book of her recollections, 
 which is full of interest and amusing matter. The third 
 of these benefits was tendered to Mrs. Billington at 
 the Lyceum, November 28, 1899. A bumper programme 
 and attendance ! Few actresses were more respected. 
 For years and years at the old Adelphi Theatre she had 
 played all sorts of parts, and all of them faultlessly. I 
 did not see her Gretchen in Jefferson's original perform- 
 ance of Rip Van Winkle, 1865, but he assured me in 
 later years that she was the best he had ever played 
 with. I did see her do an ideal piece of work in No 
 Thorough] are in 1867, when that play was first produced 
 with an enormous cast, including Fechter, Ben Webster, 
 Henry Neville, George Belmore, John Billington, Miss 
 Carlotta Leclerq, Mrs. Alfred Mellon, and others. If 
 I remember, she had only one scene — in the first act or 
 prologue — but it stands out in my recollection as a 
 very gem. Her Margery (Rough Diamond), Daphne 
 (Pygmalion and Galatea), and the Widow Melnotte with 
 me were splendid performances. Indeed, she touched 
 nothing she did not adorn, and her list of successful 
 impersonations would take a column to themselves. 
 WTien it is added that she was a good-natured, humorous, 
 whole-souled comrade, thoroughly womanly and sincere, 
 it may be gathered that " Auntie B.," as her intimates
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 231 
 
 delighted to call her, was everybody's friend, and every- 
 body vied in doing her honour. I am glad to say she is 
 still with us. The last of the four benefits was John 
 Hollingshead's at the Empire. On this occasion I 
 acted as a steward, as well as appearing in the programme. 
 I have alluded so fully to J. H.'s sterling qualities 
 earlier in these recollections that I need only add that 
 his friends rallied round him in goodly numbers and the 
 occasion was an unqualified success. On December 5, 
 1899, a grand military concert promoted by Miss Ellaline 
 Terriss and Mr. C. P. Little took place at the Albert Hall, 
 for the benefit of the wives and families of the soldiers 
 serving in the South African War, as well as their 
 widows and orphans. It was, indeed, a monster affair. 
 The immense building was thronged in every part. 
 The programme lasted for more than five hours, and 
 the whole was an overwhelming triumph, yielding a 
 very large sum of money. I worked on the committee 
 and as a steward, as well as helping on the stage. 
 
 In the autumn of 1899 I was engaged by Wilson 
 Barrett for a play written by him and L. N. Parker, 
 named Man and His Makers. He had the highest 
 hopes of it, and produced it splendidly at the Lyceum 
 with an excellent cast on October, 7, but it failed com- 
 pletely, and was received by Press and public with such 
 lukewarm interest that it made way for the ever-popular 
 The Sign of the Cross on October 19. We played some 
 matinSes of Hamlet, in which I acted the Ghost, and 
 the season closed December 16, 1899. 
 
 A few references to Barrett may be of interest here. 
 His career was a most varied one. A good sound actor 
 of experience and skill, he married a very charming
 
 282 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 lady, Miss Heath. She was spoken of as "reader to 
 the Queen " (Victoria). I never quite understood what 
 that position implied, or its functions, but she was a 
 thorough artist, and a most amiable gentlewoman who 
 had been reared under the tutorage of Charles Kean, in 
 his days of glamour, success, and royal patronage at 
 the Old Princess's. I played Captain Levison with her 
 in a revival of East Lynne at the Olympic, 1879. With 
 his wife, Barrett travelled the provinces, making good 
 money, and eventually became manager of theatres 
 in Hull and Leeds. Then he came to London and took 
 the Court, where he produced several plays, including 
 Borneo and Juliet, with Madame Modjeska as Juliet, 
 himself as Mercutio. From the Court he migrated to 
 the rebuilt Princess's, and here he held sway for many 
 seasons w r ith a series of very successful melodramas, 
 such as The Lights o' London, Hoodman Blind, and last, 
 but by no means least, that admirable play, The Silver 
 King (1882), by Henry Arthur Jones and Henry Herman. 
 This sterling acting play ran for many months, and made 
 Barrett a rich man, as, besides its success at the London 
 theatre, numerous provincial companies were profitably 
 employed in playing it. Then Barrett got " a bee in 
 his bonnet," that he wanted to play higher class work, 
 and produced such plays as Claudian, Clito, and later 
 on, Hamlet. That his public did not want him in this 
 kind of work was amply demonstrated. He not only 
 lost money in London, but he cut the ground from under 
 his many successful country companies, and in a short 
 time he had not only squandered his comfortable fortune 
 but was quite heavily in debt, and in the hands of harpies 
 who kept him toiling for their rapacious greed. But
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 233 
 
 Wilson Barrett was an indefatigable worker, and never 
 knew when he was beaten, and fortune turned her smiling 
 face on him once more when he wrote and produced that 
 almost world- beating and attractively-named success, 
 The Sign of the Cross. It was not a great play surely, 
 though full of theatrical effect, and its " fate hung in the 
 balance " for a time, but it possessed an element which 
 appealed to the religious section of the public which 
 gave it its first " send off." About every decade one 
 of these plays does seem to crop up and assert itself. But 
 whatever the reason, The Sign of the Cross soon became 
 the absolute rage of playgoers in every part of the English- 
 speaking world, was being played everywhere, and Wilson 
 Barrett was a well-off man again. From what I know 
 it would not surprise me to hear that this play had made 
 money and earned royalties enough to establish a 
 positive " record " up to date. And every one who 
 knew " Will " Barrett was delighted ! He had not an 
 enemy ! He was quite a good writer, his name is con- 
 nected with the authorship of many well-known and 
 successful plays. Above all he was a kindly, charitable, 
 good fellow, with a great love of and feeling for his 
 fellow artists. I have been assured that at the time of 
 his greatly regretted death, July 23, 1904, he had on his 
 salary list something like £40 a week for old pensioners 
 who had " fallen by the way," and whom he employed 
 for small and " walk on " parts at a salary on which 
 they could live, whereas ordinary supers at one-third 
 of the sum would have done the work as well. His 
 kindly acts were many and frequent, and all done without 
 ostentation and " under the rose," where no advertise- 
 ment could be intended or expected. He used to tell
 
 J.'H FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 one or two amusing stories. One was of his dresser, 
 a very cockney young man indeed. Barrett decided 
 to have his somewhat straight hair curled for one of his 
 parts (I think it was Claudian). At the dress rehearsal 
 he sent this dresser round to the front to report on 
 the effect. When he came back to Will's dressing room, 
 in answer to questions he replied : — " Upon my soul, 
 Governor, you looks all 'ead." On another occasion 
 he was leaving rehearsal, and hailing a hansom cab he 
 was about to enter it, and stood with one foot on the 
 step abstractedly thinking of some engrossing business 
 matter, when the cab-driver said, impatiently : " Now, 
 then, Wilson, get in ! I knows where you wants to go 
 to if you don't ! " 
 
 When Barrett struck his ill-fortune he gave up the 
 Princess's and became a wanderer. His subsequent 
 appearances in London were at the Princess's (return), 
 the Lyric (twice), the Lyceum (twice) and the Olympic. 
 He also made tours of Australia and the United States. 
 The Sign of the Cross was produced first at St. Louis, 
 U.S.A. Its first performance in England was at the 
 Grand, Leeds, August 26, 1895, and its initial appearance 
 in London was at the Lyric, January 4, 1896. It had 
 numerous revivals, including the one I played in. 
 Wilson Barrett, in addition to being a prolific author, 
 was a great stage director and an admirable actor. 
 Amongst his best characters were his Claudian, Wilfred 
 Denver (Silver King), Marcus Superbus (Sign of the 
 Cross), etc., but perhaps the very greatest and most 
 unqualified artistic success of his later life was Pete in a 
 dramatic version of Hall Caine's story, The Manxman. 
 In this he was most convincing and admirable. A few
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 235 
 
 paragraphs back I wrote of my streak of ill-luck which I 
 encountered. Perhaps the greatest instance of it 
 occurred at the end of 1899. On the Saturday on which 
 Man and His Makers was produced I received an offer 
 from Charles Hawtrey to play the Messenger in A Message 
 from Mars on its first production. I waited till the 
 Monday, when the lukewarm reception of the former 
 play by Press and public made it tolerably certain 
 that it was no good, and then I asked Barrett to release 
 me from my contract. Plucky and optimistic as he was, 
 he replied that " he was sure it would work into a big 
 success and he intended to make it do so," and he reluc- 
 tantly declined to accede to my request. I am quite sure 
 that when he spoke he believed what he said. He was 
 far too considerate and generous to have stood in a 
 fellow-actor's light without good reason ; but, as I have 
 shown, the play ran two weeks and his whole season 
 about nine, and A Message from Mars ran 550 nights 
 off the reel and has been revived again and again.
 
 XXV 
 
 The whole story of the production of A Message from 
 
 Mars, for which I was directly responsible, is so dramatic 
 
 as to amount to a perfect " Romance of the Stage." 
 
 The circumstances are as follows : Written by Mr. 
 
 Richard Ganthony — an Englishman who had been in 
 
 the United States for years — it had been offered to and 
 
 declined by nearly every manager in that country. 
 
 Indeed, I have been told, within a year of the time I 
 
 am penning these notes, by Mr. Jay Witmark, the music 
 
 publisher of New York, who sometimes dabbles in 
 
 plays, that the author for whom he was acting at the 
 
 time, requiring some money for a private purpose, 
 
 instructed him to sell it outright for five hundred dollars 
 
 (about £100), and that without success. Read by the 
 
 light of subsequent events, this may seem incredible, 
 
 but if any mistake has been made, it is not mine. I 
 
 give my authority for the statement. Then the author 
 
 came to England, and still could not find an opening 
 
 for the play. About to return to New York, he sought 
 
 me out and asked me to interest myself in the matter. 
 
 Before sailing he came to my house and read the play 
 
 to me. I don't think he did himself justice. At all 
 
 events, I was not greatly struck with it, but still certain 
 
 points did, undoubtedly, arrest my attention, and it 
 
 was arranged that he should leave it with me to do my 
 
 236
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 237 
 
 best with it, and he sailed away. After he had been 
 gone about two weeks, I took the play from my desk 
 and read it myself one evening, with the result that I 
 found myself unusually interested. A large lump in 
 my throat, tears in my eyes, and the blood coursing 
 quickly through my veins — all not unmixed with genuine 
 amusement — convinced me I had found something out 
 of the ordinary. But, thinking that I might be in a 
 peculiarly emotional or hysterical frame of mind that 
 night, I put it away for another space of two or three 
 weeks, when I read it again with the same result in an in- 
 creased degree, if possible. I then made up my mind as 
 to its value, and that I would never rest until I got it pro- 
 duced. I saw Hawtrey at once on the subject, and after 
 talking it over with him, I sent it to him to read. He did 
 not agree with me about it, and returned it as of no use. 
 I tried Charles Wyndham. He returned it, telling me it 
 was only a hash up of Dickens's Scrooge ! I pointed 
 out to him that Scrooge was an old miser, who could 
 not be expected to get sympathy from an audience, 
 but the leading man of A Message from Mars was humor- 
 ous and human, and never ought to lose the sympathy 
 if properly played. No good; he would not entertain 
 it. Then I tried Forbes-Robertson and Herbert War- 
 ing, who was about to start a management, which turned 
 out disastrously, at the Imperial. No luck in either 
 case. Then I approached Hawtrey again, with in- 
 creased earnestness and stronger recommendation. 
 He consented to read it carefully again. Did so, and 
 again returned it as worthless. Finally, when all hope 
 seemed gone, he and I met one night at the Green Room 
 Club. He was in sore trouble, and badly in want of a
 
 888 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 play. I once more broached the subject, and after 
 some exchange of views, it was arranged that I should 
 
 join him at breakfast at his flat the next morning and 
 go into the mat In- more fully. This I did, and read to 
 him two short scenes from the play on which I thought 
 its BUCCess seemed to turn. He became convinced I 
 was right, at last, and said, " By Jove ! I see it now ! 
 If I can have a few changes made in it to make it more 
 suited to my purpose I will do it, and do it next." I 
 consented to this, and the production was arranged. 
 Even then only he and I were strong in our belief. 
 At the dress rehearsal a dear friend of his appeared in 
 despair, and apparently regarded me with feelings far 
 removed from those of kindliness, and a mutual chum 
 (that good fellow, Walter Pallant, long since gone to his 
 rest) voiced his opinion thus : " Jack ! What have 
 you let our pal, Charlie, in for ? " I replied : " It 
 will run a year, Walter ! " He answered : " My dear 
 chap ! It will never finish 1 " The eventful night 
 came — November 22, 1899. I finished my performance 
 early at the Lyceum and got down to the Avenue in 
 time to see the last act from the pit and meet the audience 
 when they came out. Never have I heard such general 
 praise for a new play ! Hardened Press men were 
 raving about it, and the paying public, wiping the honest 
 tears from their eyes, were shaking each other's hands 
 hysterically, and (in one case) looking for beggars to 
 be charitable to on the spot. Its success was un- 
 equivocal and emphatic. Had it not been so it could 
 not have stood the " set back " still in store for it. 
 Hawtrey sprained his shoulder falling in the second 
 act, and the next performance took place on the Monday
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 239 
 
 week — the theatre being closed in the interim. Think 
 what that meant to a new production ! It ran for a 
 year and a half ! and it has been playing somewhere 
 ever since. Of course, the aggregated profits represent 
 a very large sum of money to all concerned, however 
 they may have been divided. Now I do not wish to 
 claim any extraordinary credit in this matter, but I 
 do claim this for actors who, like myself, have worked 
 conscientiously for a great number of years in our 
 calling. Few plays that can be brought before us are 
 very original. Every one, and nearly every scene, is 
 reminiscent of something we have met before. I could 
 make out a very long list of plays with their originals 
 opposite to them. Why, even Shakespeare is credited 
 with annexing the plots of others ! An actor would 
 be a fool who said he could surely judge the value of a 
 play from reading it, and still more of a fool if that 
 play depended for its success on its cleverness. Such 
 plays may go wrong from a hundred different causes. 
 But there are certain notes of humanity running through 
 some plays which the experienced actor recognises as 
 never failing in their power to move and interest an 
 audience ; and these are the notes in which it is toler- 
 ably safe to invest capital. Such a note I found in A 
 Message from Mars unmistakably. I had achieved 
 some of my most important successes as an actor in 
 similar scenes, and I felt very confident I was on the 
 right track in this case. The result spoke for itself. 
 A good deal was said about the changes made in the 
 play by Hawtrey's brother, under his direction, and 
 these changes were the subject of an action by the 
 author against a London newspaper, in which I was a
 
 240 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 witness, and 1 venture to think my evidence had some- 
 thing to do with t he result of the trial, which was won 
 by Mr. Ganthony with substantial damages. I was 
 able to testify on oath that the changes made most 
 certainly improved the play as a vehicle for Charles 
 Hawtrey's charming light comedy method, and in 
 this respect only; that wherever the construction was 
 changed, it was not for the better, and that had an 
 actor with a stronger method produced the play, it 
 would have succeeded as it stood. That is my deliberate 
 opinion to-day. If Forbes-Robertson had produced 
 A Message from Mars exactly as it stood, in my judg- 
 ment it would have brought him just as big a success, 
 as he afterwards found in The Passing of the Third 
 Floor Back, with which, I think, it compared very 
 favourably. Only the fortune would have come to 
 him some years earlier. Having said so much, I should 
 not like to leave the subject without expressing my 
 appreciation of the delightful, even great, performances 
 in the play. Charles Hawtrey himself was absolutely 
 brilliant as Horace ; humorous, refined, and, withal, 
 instinct with feeling, he delighted everybody. Arthur 
 Williams, as the tramp, was no whit behind him — 
 funny, human, and pathetic; his performance was a 
 masterpiece. G. S. Titheradge (now returned to his 
 countless friends in Australia and his beloved gardening 
 and bulb-growing) was sound and effective as the 
 Messenger. Poor Mrs. Pateman (whose great physical 
 sufferings ended in her sad death some years ago) was 
 a model Auntie; and Miss Jessie Bateman won all 
 hearts by her sweet enactment of the ingenue. All 
 the small parts were well played, and one and all aided
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 241 
 
 in a wonderful artistic and financial success. For me, 
 the conduct of the business presented many points of 
 recurring anxiety, and I was heartily glad when the 
 ship " was safely steered into harbour." 
 
 February 22, 1900, found me playing in a comedy 
 at the Vaudeville by Miss Clo. Graves, entitled The 
 Bishop's Eye. Amongst my comrades were Yorke 
 Stephens, Ernest Hendrie, Miss Carlotta Addison, 
 Miss Granville, and a curiously named young lady, 
 Miss Ellas Dee. The play was not successful, and ran 
 only nine nights. The season was nominally under 
 the management of Yorke Stephens, but the real " man 
 behind the gun " was a person well known in another 
 walk of life, of whom, I am afraid it must be said, in 
 the terms applied by Charles Brookfield to another 
 man, considerably in the public eye — that he zvas not 
 quite a gentleman. 
 
 On May 5, 1900, I appeared at the Adelphi as Petro- 
 nius in Stanislaus Strange's dramatisation of the Polish 
 author, Henry Sienkiewicz's, great book Quo Vadis? 
 The play was produced in London by an American 
 manager, Mr. Fred Whitney, who had travelled it 
 with great success for a long time in the United States. 
 It was a most sumptuous and artistic production, with 
 a fine cast, including Robert Tabor, G. W. Anson, 
 Edward Sass, Robert Pateman, A. G. Poulton, myself, 
 Miss Wallis, Miss Lena Ashwell, Edmund Gurney, 
 Franklyn Dyall, and a long list of names in smaller 
 parts. On the first night it appeared an unqualified 
 success, and, indeed, every one who saw it liked it, but 
 it had distinctly bad luck. At this particular time 
 England, and especially London, was staggering under
 
 242 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 the severe blow of the reverses in l lie South African 
 War. and although "an Englishman with his back to 
 the Mall " is a difficult man to heat, and no one really 
 doubted I he final outcome of the struggle, at this junc- 
 ture every one appeared in a sullen frame of mind and 
 with teeth firmly set doggedly refused to be amused or 
 to consider amusement. I candidly believe that at a 
 more propitious time this production would have been 
 a great attraction. As it was, it only ran four weeks to 
 June 1 . It was pleasant to find oneself in a Roman toga 
 again — always one of my very favourite costumes to 
 act in — and the public appeared to be pleased with my 
 work, if applause was any testimony. This was one 
 of the last appearances of that extremely good actor 
 and charming gentleman, Robert Tabor. He was an 
 American who had made his home in England for some 
 time and had gained troops of friends. Poor " Bob " 
 died shortly after this of acute tuberculosis, to the grief 
 of all who knew him. On July 23, 1900, I played one 
 week at the Coronet in conjunction with Courtice 
 Pounds and Holbrook Blinn, this time an Indian chief, 
 one Lonely Tree, chief of the Apaches, in a playlet by 
 Basil Hood called The Great Silence. I had seen quite 
 a little of Indians in my various trips to America, and 
 I tried to give a good study of the part. I also played 
 Old Heinrik in the two first periods of Basil Hood's 
 version of the Danish play lb and Little Christma. This 
 was a very old man indeed (in the second period a 
 nonagenarian) and gave me some amount of anxiety, 
 but I hope, and was assured by my managers, all turned 
 out well.
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 243 
 
 On October G, 1900, William Mollison, who had made 
 a good reputation in the provinces and had also played 
 several successful engagements in London, took the 
 Lyceum for a season, and opened with a drama based 
 on the Boer War written by Seymour Hicks and F. G. 
 Latham. It was called For Auld Lang Syne, and a 
 capital company was engaged in it representation, in- 
 cluding Mollison, Leonard Boyne, W. L. Abingdon, 
 myself, Bassett Roe, Wilfred Draycott, W. Devereux, 
 Misses Fanny Brough, Irene Rooke, and Lily Hanbury 
 in a rather long cast. It was, however, received very 
 coldly by Press and public, and was a failure, finishing 
 its run on October 31. This led up to a very interesting 
 revival of Henry V. on December 22, 1900, under the 
 joint management of Mollison and Lewis Waller, which 
 was quite a success, and but for the lamented death 
 of our great Queen Victoria, causing the closing of the 
 theatre for about two weeks, would have been still 
 more so. It was doing finely when the sad event oc- 
 curred. As it was, it ran seventy-nine nights up to 
 March 16, 1901. It was not particularly well noticed by 
 the Press, but the public liked it, and turned out for 
 it in goodly numbers. Lewis Waller gave a dashing 
 performance of the name-part, especially in the elo- 
 cutionary and declamatory passages. In the more 
 inspired portions he was not quite so satisfactory. He 
 seemed to lack the higher poetic note that carries 
 Henry into the realms of ecstasy at certain moments 
 of the play. Mollison was an admirable Pistol, humor- 
 ous and unctuous, and his fine rolling voice was of 
 great assistance to him in his excellent delineation.
 
 244 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 E. M. Robson was a quainl and really good Fluellen; 
 Miss Sarah Brooke a dainty and piquant Princess 
 Katherine; and thai beautiful and sweet-dispositioned 
 
 woman, Lily I Ian bury (cul off, alas, in her glorious young 
 womanhood), looked an absolute Goddess in the robes 
 of Chorus, and declaimed her speeches most tellingly. 
 I played Williams, the bluff soldier. Other parts were 
 ably, most of them finely, sustained by Norman McKcn- 
 nel, George Warde, Arthur Lewis, Tom Heslewood, 
 Charles Rock, C. Goodhart, Gerald Lawrence, W. 
 Devereux, Frank Dyall, Miss Zeffie Tilbury, and Miss 
 Kate Phillips. 
 
 February 12, 1901, was a red-letter day for me. On 
 that day I was installed Master of Drury Lane Lodge of 
 Freemasons. I had joined the Masonic Craft as far back 
 as my stock days in Edinburgh, 1873, but after going 
 a little way only in the study I let it drop for a number of 
 years. About 1888 or 1889 I was induced,- by my good 
 friend Harry Nicholls, principally, to become a member 
 of Drury Lane Lodge, and, with more time to think 
 about it, I soon became bitten with the dignity and far- 
 reaching good of the craft. I became a regular attendant 
 at Lodge and a punctual student at the Logic Club of 
 instruction, and by the time my turn came to take 
 office in the Lodge I was fairly proficient. After work- 
 ing through the offices, beginning about 1896, 1 reached 
 the Chair of the Lodge in 1901, and I hope I did my work 
 efficiently. At this time, it will be remembered, Eng- 
 lish Masons were in rather an unsettled state. Our 
 Queen was dead, and her son, our then King, had 
 resigned the office of Grand Master, as he was bound to
 
 J. H. BARNES AS W.M., DRURY LANE LODGE, 
 NO. 2127, F.A.M. 
 
 [To face page 244
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 245 
 
 do (creating for himself a new dignity, that of Grand 
 Protector of the Craft), and his successor, the Duke of 
 Connaught, had not been elected. Rising to propose 
 the first toast at the banquet following the ceremony, 
 I said I found myself in rather a dilemma. I did not 
 suppose the company would expect me to pass over 
 current events without some reference to the memory 
 of the great monarch who had been taken from us, but 
 that not trusting myself to do justice to that memory 
 in spoken words I had put my thoughts into a few lines 
 which I asked to be allowed to read. This was a poem, 
 " Victoria, 1837-1901," in which I had summarised, in 
 a simple manner, her grand life under the heading of 
 the four seasons, Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter. 
 This proved very much to the taste of all present. 
 The Editor of The People, being present, asked me for 
 a copy, which I gave him, and it was published in that 
 paper on March 3, 1901, and the next thing I knew was 
 a letter of thanks from his Majesty King Edward VII. 
 for the verses. Who sent them to the King I do not 
 know, but I plead guilty to sending them to the Duke 
 of Connaught after the receipt of the first letter, and I 
 got a most gracious reply from him also. This is the 
 first time that this fact has been publicly announced 
 in England. Later on I wrote another scrap, entitled 
 " Crowned," in commemoration of our popular King 
 Edward's deferred coronation. I confess sending a 
 copy to the King, the Prince of Wales (now King George 
 V.), and the Duke of Fife, and from each of them I got 
 a charming letter of acknowledgment and thanks. I 
 endeavoured to discharge my Masonic duties conscien-
 
 246 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 tiously, ami it was a great disappointment to me that 
 my professional engagements took me to America in 
 tin- autumn, and I was unable to install my successor, 
 my old friend Luigi Lablache. During my Masonic 
 career, extending over twenty years, apart from my 
 constant attendance at my own lodge, at which I wit- 
 nessed eleven Installations, I had the pleasure of visiting 
 t he Asaph, the Athelstan, the Green Room, and the 
 Richard Eve. These were all Installation meetings, 
 whilst I was present at the Consecration of the Yorick 
 and the Hogarth Lodges. Amongst other events of 
 note was a luncheon given by Drury Lane Lodge to 
 Lord Kitchener, one of its founders, December 1, 1898, 
 on his return from Egypt ; a visit by the Logic Club 
 to the Jubilee Masters' Lodge, at w r hich we gave a 
 most successful exposition of our working, January 5, 
 1901 ; and the Installation of H.R.H. the Duke of 
 Connaught, as Grand Master of English Freemasons, 
 at the Albert Hall, July 17, 1901. This latter was a 
 highly impressive event. The vast building rilled in 
 every corner with fully-clad Masons made a sight to 
 be remembered, w r hilst the effect of certain details in 
 the ceremonial was positively electrical. During my 
 year as Master I initiated at Drury Lane the late intrepid 
 hero, Captain Scott, into Masonry, and in 1902 I took 
 the chair at an important function at the Logic Club. 
 Though I have abated no jot of my admiration for the 
 tenets, the ritual, and the noble charities of the Masonic 
 craft, I have withdrawn a great deal from its cere- 
 monials in recent years for other and weighty reasons. 
 About the year 1900 I conceived the notion of
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 247 
 
 utilising my experiences as a public reader (in the days 
 before I adopted the regular stage as a profession), and 
 from that time down to the present have done quite 
 a good deal of reciting — sometimes for charity, some- 
 times in the hope of amusing my friends, sometimes 
 for benefits, and many times under engagement. For 
 Charity I have recited for the Referee Children's Dinner 
 Fund (twice), St. Mathias Church, Earl's Court, Restora- 
 tion Fund, Eustace Miles's Starving Poor on the Em- 
 bankment Fund (twice), Heme Bay Curate's Fund, 
 Theatrical Garden Party, Playgoers' Club Ladies' 
 Concert, Duchess of Portland's Hospital Fund at Not- 
 tingham. For amusement many times at Masonic 
 gatherings, and such meetings as the Eccentric Club 
 ladies' afternoon, the Beaufort Club (twice), the Bons 
 Freres Club, etc. For benefits, the matinee given to 
 Edward Swanborough (son of my old manageress, at 
 the Strand in 1873, previously mentioned), at the 
 Pavilion, June 1906, a matinee organised by Miss 
 Ellaline Terriss at the Queen's in aid of the Royal Free 
 Hospital, December 1907, and another matinee at the 
 Ardwick Empire (whilst in Manchester, January, 1909) 
 for the funds of the infirmary and Ardwick Empire Cot. 
 In the way of engagements for a fee I have appeared at 
 the Old Acquaintance Musical Society's concerts (twice). 
 Brighton Palace Pier concerts (Sunday afternoon and 
 evening), Stationers' Old Boys' Society (four times), 
 Vaudeville Dramatic Club, and at the National Sunday 
 League concerts (eighty-nine times). 
 
 This latter movement is one in which I take a very 
 keen interest, and I firmly believe it is doing good work.
 
 248 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 Outside the question of money earned, it is a matter 
 of considerable self -gratification to find oneself taking 
 part in a programme that appears to afford such genuine 
 enjoyment to a large number of people who are being 
 uplifted by fine music and other intellectual items, 
 and who, but for these concerts, would be far less pro- 
 fitably employed, as was the case before this movement 
 was inaugurated. I have given myself a considerable 
 amount of work to please these various audiences in 
 and all about London. I have also had happy ex- 
 periences (three times) at the Beckenham Pleasant 
 Sunday Afternoon Society at the invitation of my old 
 and valued friend Albert Neville. He is the son of 
 that fine actor and good fellow the late Henry Neville. 
 As a boy he was very anxious to follow in his father's 
 footsteps and join the theatrical profession, but that 
 father, who had realised the precarious nature of the 
 calling, persuaded him to become " a man of business," 
 and it is a matter of rejoicing to an enormous circle of 
 friends, who love him, that he followed that sound 
 advice with the best result. Albert is a successful 
 and well-off man. In Freemasonry he found the 
 outlet for his gifts of memory and elocution, which he 
 had felt as a boy, and he is, perhaps, a little the best 
 exponent of the Masonic Ritual I have ever heard. A 
 kind, good fellow, he is in complete sympathy with the 
 sentiments he has to utter, and he delivers them with 
 unusual charm and impressiveness. I can never forget 
 being present on an occasion when his father heard him 
 for the first time take a prominent part in a ceremony 
 of which he, the father, was only a good (not a great)
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 249 
 
 exponent. It was a most human and pathetic moment, 
 in which he realised not only his son's great proficiency, 
 but also the possibilities of distinction in the walk of 
 life that he had himself adorned, which had animated 
 and slumbered in his boy's mind from youth upwards. 
 On the occasion of Albert's installation as Master of 
 Drury Lane Lodge it fell to my lot to propose Henry 
 Neville's health amongst others, and I ventured to 
 suggest the happiness the occasion must, perforce, 
 afford him. In his reply he acknowledged that happiness 
 in most felicitous terms, and added : " My son has never 
 given me a moment's uneasiness since he was born." 
 If it is true that the Recording Angel is ever present, 
 that statement ought to mean a good big mark in Albert's 
 favour (as Mephistopheles says in Faust) " by and by." 
 
 The late awful death of Richard Green reminds me 
 that on April 15, 1901, I recited two items of my own 
 writing at a matinSe benefit concert for him at Stein - 
 way Hall, and for the first time to a musical accompani- 
 ment. Mr. Stanley Hawley, well known as a London 
 organist and composer, had asked permission to set 
 my poem, " The Mission of Judas," to music. I cheer- 
 fully consented, and we tried it together for the first 
 time on this occasion, he playing his own composition. 
 The effect seemed satisfactory, but it was a strange and 
 not easy thing to do. " The Far West " was my other 
 contribution. Poor Dick Green ! He had been in 
 trouble and hard luck for years, but who would have 
 thought he would take his own life in the way he did ? 
 I am not a musician, though very fond of music ; but 
 a great authority, a friend of his and mine, told me
 
 250 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 recently that Dick's troubles were inevitable, for the 
 reason t hat his voice and talents were never quite good 
 enough for the position to which he aspired, and in 
 which he for a time considered he was firmly estab- 
 lished.
 
 XXVI 
 
 That April 15 was an eventful day for me, as in the 
 evening I appeared for the first time in the part of 
 Menenius Agrippa in Sir Henry Irving's production 
 of Coriolanus at the Lyceum, and made one of my best 
 successes in London. It cannot be said that Irving's 
 performance of the name part was one of his strongest 
 impersonations. His expression of biting sarcasm and 
 withering contempt for his foes was magnificent; and 
 a thing to be remembered ; but he lacked the physique 
 for the warrior scenes of the part, and altogether failed 
 to convey that side of the character. Neither was 
 Miss Ellen Terry happy in Volumnia. Though her old 
 charm was in evidence at every turn, her feeling, as 
 expressed, was rather that of a sweetheart than the love 
 of a Roman mother for a Spartan son, and many of the 
 scenes were unconvincing. The Press were divided 
 in their opinions, but on the whole lukewarm, and no 
 one held his own or fared better in their judgments than 
 Menenius. I enjoyed playing the part immensely; 
 humorous, straightforward, and intensely human, he 
 is a splendid foil to the somewhat gloomy principals, 
 and is always welcome to the audience in scenes that 
 are amongst the most natural of the play. Good per- 
 formances came from Miss Maud Milton, James Hearn, 
 
 Laurence Irving, and others, but the production was not 
 
 251
 
 252 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 a brilliant success, and gave way to the repertory of the 
 Lyceum Theatre in about two months. I played Lefe- 
 bvre (Sans-Gene) June 10; Marquis of Huntley (King 
 Charles I.) June 21; Coitier (Louis XI.) July 1, and 
 Mcncnius for the last night of the season, July 20. Imme- 
 diately on my success in Coriolanus I had been engaged 
 for the rest of the London season and the autumn tour 
 in England and the United States for the parts mentioned. 
 I had been in treaty with Mr. R. Flanagan, of the 
 Queen's, Manchester, to play Falstaff in a revival of 
 The Merry Wives of Windsor at his theatre at Christmas, 
 but nothing had been settled, and I fear Mr. Flanagan 
 was a little angry at the time that I chose to take the 
 longer and better engagement, though we have been 
 quite good friends since. He was also considerably 
 astonished when I told him that Falstaff in The Merry 
 Wives of Windsor is not a great " catch " to play and is 
 not a very good part ; but I had the authority of some 
 one who knew much more about it than either he or I 
 for saying so. It may be taken as an axiom that plays 
 written to order are rarely good ones, and nearly always 
 show the mechanism pretty strongly, and it is recorded 
 that The Merry Wives of Windsor was written by Shake- 
 speare at the special request of Queen Elizabeth, who 
 desired to see the Fat Knight brought under female 
 influence — in other words, in love scenes. Assuredly, 
 the play bears out this idea — it cannot be called a good 
 one, and Falstaff is most certainly secondary to the Wives 
 if not to other parts, in this instance. Of course, if 
 an artist has played the real great Falstaff in Henry IV., 
 Part I, and his name is associated with it, he can well 
 afford to play that in The Merry Wives of Windsor, and
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 253 
 
 the audience will receive him with acclamation therein. 
 Otherwise he is liable to be disappointed in a part which 
 does not present the chances it is supposed to. 
 
 The tour of the Lyceum company began on September 
 2, and we visited Manchester, Glasgow, Leeds, and 
 Birmingham, and in each of these places the same story 
 had to be told about Coriolanus — poor notices in the 
 Press generally and individually, except for Menenius, 
 and poor business, and finally it was determined to cut 
 the play out of the repertory and not take it to America 
 at all. No one could blame the management. It meant 
 a great deal of extra expense, and it was not a paying 
 investment. Nevertheless, it was a genuine disappoint- 
 ment to me. Coriolanus had not been seen for many 
 years, and Menenius meant for me as much as a good 
 original part in which I had hoped to please my American 
 friends, but it was not to be, and it was no good worrying 
 over it. Of course, in the princely arrangements of 
 Sir Henry Irving it made no difference to my engage- 
 ment, and we sailed from Tilbury on the s.s. Minnehaha 
 (Captain Robinson) on October 5, 1901. The voyage 
 was an exceptionally pleasant one. As will be gathered 
 from my earliest notes, I had known a great many 
 mutual friends of Sir Henry's in my salad days. Natur- 
 ally, when he achieved his big position in life our ways 
 lay a good deal asunder, but on this trip the gap seemed 
 to be closed up again. He invited me constantly to 
 dine with him in his private room, and, in company with 
 his friend Joe Parkinson (who was also a great Masonic 
 friend of mine), and who made the trip both ways with 
 us, we had some delightful hours, chatting over old times 
 and old associations, and no man on earth could have
 
 254 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 been kinder or more positively brotherly than he 
 
 was. 
 
 We opened in New York at the Knickerbocker 
 Theatre October 21, and after four -weeks there started 
 on a full tour of the country east of the Rockies. We 
 went to Philadelphia after New York, and whilst there 
 the thirtieth anniversary occurred of Irving's first night 
 of The Bells in London and of my first appearance on 
 the stage as his " double." This was on November 25. I 
 thought it a fitting occasion to write him a little note of 
 remembrance and good wishes. To it I received the 
 following pretty and sympathetic reply — 
 
 " The Bellevue, 
 
 " Broad and Walnut Streets, 
 " Philadelphia. 
 
 " My dear Barnes, 
 
 " I thank you for your kind wishes, which I wish 
 back with all my heart. Thirty years ! Friends are 
 fewer, and kind words are precious, and again I thank 
 you for a remembrance which has touched my heart. 
 God bless you, old friend. 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 " Henry Irving. 
 
 " November 25, 1901." 
 
 A great man, my masters ! Great in big things and 
 great in little things as well. We finished our tour 
 at Harlem, March 17, 1902, and sailed from New York by 
 the s.s. Minneapolis (Captain F. F. Gates) on March 22. 
 Sir Henry Irving greatly affected The Atlantic Transport 
 line of steamers and, as in other matters, his good 
 judgment was proverbial.
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 255 
 
 On the voyage out to America (October 1901) a 
 gentleman connected with journalism in the State of 
 Connecticut was pleasantly impressed with some of my 
 poems and asked me for copies of them, and a series 
 was reprinted in newspapers in Manchester, Conn., 
 and Hartford, Conn. I had one amusing experience 
 with Irving during the tour. As was well known, he 
 had a remarkable faculty for putting an enormous 
 amount of meaning into the shortest possible sentences, 
 and many instances are remembered of the smart things 
 he said— cynical, satirical, and amusing — in a word or 
 two, only. Once at the Green Room Club he was being 
 bored by a schoolfellow and fellow-actor, who was very 
 much of a pensioner of his, with a story of meeting a 
 mutual schoolfellow in a picture gallery in Paris. All 
 we heard was this : " And you know, Harry, he came 
 up to me and said : ' Surely your name is Fletcher? ' " 
 Irving replied, " And was it? " What more could be 
 said ? His quip with me was as follows : — We had 
 played a week of two-night stands— Indianapolis, 
 Columbus, O., and Toledo, O. It so fell out that I was 
 not concerned in the programme all the week, and although 
 journeying with the company in the ordinary way I 
 had not appeared, or met him, from the one Saturday 
 night to the next. The play was Louis XI. I had 
 played my first scene as Coitier, and was waiting to go 
 on with him for his first entrance. Coming from his 
 dressing-room with his usual formidable array of retainers 
 he looked at me with a suggestive sly twinkle in his 
 eye and said, inquiringly: "All right?" I replied, 
 " Yes, thanks, very well indeed." A moment's pause 
 and he said, " Ah, tired ? "
 
 XXVII 
 
 Having now arrived at the year 1902, 1 do not suppose 
 my readers will expect me to deal as exhaustively with 
 events which come within the memory of many ; so for 
 this and other reasons I propose to pass many of them 
 more cursorily than in my preceding pages. On 
 April 28, 1902, Mr. Beerbohm Tree celebrated the fifth 
 anniversary of his management of Her Majesty's 
 Theatre, 1897-1902. The play was Ulysses, by Stephen 
 Phillips, but a special souvenir programme was given 
 away containing photographs of all the important 
 artists who had appeared there during those years. 
 Looking back on it now it seems a pretty comprehensive 
 gallery of all the leading lights of the London stage. 
 May 1, 1902, saw the production at the Adelphi by Miss 
 Olga Nethersole of the play of Sayho by Clyde Fitch. 
 The French book, by Alphonse Daudet, was a rather 
 lurid affair, and the play done from it was rather lurid 
 too, and I fear our star's performance of the leading 
 role did not do much to tone down its luridness. It 
 was fairly noticed, and the business was quite good for 
 eleven weeks, finishing July 11. I played Dechelette, 
 and others in the cast were Frank Mills, Eric Lewis, 
 Holbrook Blinn, W. H. Day, Misses Olga Nethersole, 
 Rosina Fillipi, Gladys Homfray. I have previously 
 stated how much I admired Miss Nethersole's acting 
 
 256
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 257 
 
 on former occasions. I fear she had not improved in 
 the interim. I suppose the desire to become a star and 
 one's own master or mistress and make big money is 
 a natural one, but it is not always conducive to good art, 
 and I don't wish to be ungallant to Miss N., for whom 
 I have a very genuine regard, when I say that it appeared 
 as if the " reaching out " to capture and impress all 
 sorts of indiscriminate audiences in all manner of sized 
 theatres had brought into her work an amount of elabora- 
 tion which obscured her own innate and clever ideals, 
 and much of her old charm was submerged beneath a 
 vortex of detail which often blurred and delayed the 
 dramatic action. It is an immense advantage to us all 
 to have some one whose judgment we can rely on, not 
 only to tell us what to do, but also what not to do. And 
 this brings me to a reflection, absolutely impersonal, 
 which occurs to me as bearing on our calling in the 
 broadest general way. My observation teaches me 
 that there are three distinctly marked periods apparent 
 in the careers of every artist of front rank whose work 
 I have followed. First, when they can do little or 
 nothing; second, when they do far too much; and, 
 third, when they settle down to what may be called 
 repose and art. Many never get beyond the first mark. 
 Hundreds stop at the second, and those who reach the 
 third are usually famous and honoured alike by the 
 public and their fellow-artists. The misleading danger 
 of the stage as a calling is its kindness to mediocrity. 
 Any young man of fair appearance, with credit at his 
 tailor's, and a little influence, can go on the stage and get 
 three, four, or even five pounds a week to start with, 
 whereas if you advertise a post, say, of a clerkship or
 
 258 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 secretaryship at a similar income (£200 a year) you will 
 receive hundreds of applications from men of university 
 education who can write 13. A. or M.A. after their names, 
 and whose capacity is undoubted. When I was a boy 
 it used to be said that the Church was the outlet for all 
 the younger and least talented sons of the county 
 families, etc., and certainly the rural districts did present 
 some curious specimens, here and there, of gentlemen, 
 who had bought or been presented with " livings " 
 or advowsons. That is all changed now, and the stage 
 has become the dumping ground of the failures and 
 " ne'er-do-wells " of every class of society and social 
 grade. The influx has been, and is to-day, absolutely 
 appalling. And once brought within the lure of the 
 footlights, they rarely leave it. Mistaking a taste for a 
 talent, they think they would like to be actors, and that 
 that fact makes them so. It is most tragic. With 
 no aptitude for the stage, and not much aptitude 
 for anything else, they have never read the poets 
 of the language and know nothing of its litera- 
 ture. They spend their youth in idleness and mild 
 indifference, their middle-age in carping at and criticising 
 their harder-working and more successful brethren, 
 and their old age as the recipients of the theatrical 
 charities. Ask any of the committee of these charities 
 if I am right, especially those w r hose duties include 
 the dispensing of funds, and they will tell you, as I do, 
 that not once a month do they receive an application 
 from any one whose name they ever heard in connection 
 with the actor's art, though applicants abound in hun- 
 dreds, and I have known cases where respected artists,
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 259 
 
 having a bad time, and too proud to apply to a Fund, 
 have been asked by a committee to accept a temporary 
 loan to tide them over a chasm till the clouds rolled away 
 and a better time asserted itself. All this is, to me, quite 
 the most pitiful phase of the theatrical profession of 
 the present day, and I make no apology for my digression 
 in order to call attention to it. 
 
 On May 27, 1902, a matinee of Rosemary, with nearly 
 all the original cast, was given at Wyndham's under the 
 patronage of the Queen and a numerous committee of 
 the aristocracy and others, in aid of the fund for provid- 
 ing a new open-air sanatorium for the City of London 
 Hospital for Diseases of the Chest, at Victoria Park. 
 
 July 14, 15, 16, I played Coitier in Louis XL, for three 
 nights at the Lyceum, a special engagement. 
 
 On August 9, 1 witnessed, with my wife, the procession 
 of the deferred coronation of our great King Edward 
 VII. from the window of a relative, who was a highly- 
 placed official at the old War Office in Pall Mall. The 
 military display was most brilliant, and it was altogether 
 a noble and impressive sight. 
 
 September 20 found me at the Apollo playing in a 
 comedy by Gilbert Dayle, entitled What Would a Gentle- 
 man Do ? Amongst my comrades were Frank Mills, 
 Dennis Eadie, Fred Emney, Louis Bradfield, Misses 
 Nina Boucicault, Beatrice Ferrar, Marie Illington, and 
 Enid Spencer-Brunton. It was a bright little play, but 
 it did not succeed, and only ran about four weeks, 
 till October 18. On the first night one comedy point 
 evoked a most prolonged round of applause. The strong- 
 willed woman (played by Miss Illington), with the usual
 
 260 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 d heart, and managing everybody's business in the 
 play, decided to refund to the light comedian some money 
 he had lent, with a motive, to her ne'er-do-well nephew. 
 He said comedian objected to take it. Seating herself 
 at a writing-desk, she drew out a cheque-book, wrote a 
 cheque hurriedly, and handed it to him, without looking, 
 saying, " Whatever else I am, at least I'm a business 
 woman ! " He glanced at the cheque without taking it, 
 and said quietly, " Well, you might sign it ! " I am 
 not quite certain that this play was cast to the best 
 advantage in one or two parts. Some time afterwards 
 I negotiated it for Nat Goodwin to play in the U.S. He 
 appeared very enthusiastic about it when he secured 
 the option, but, from some cause, he weakened before 
 the time came to do it, and its first night in New York 
 was a poor production, spoilt by lack of earnestness on 
 his own part and that of others, and it failed again. I 
 honestly think Mr. Dayle and his play deserved better 
 luck. 
 
 November 17, 1902, 1 went with Sir Charles Wyndham 
 to Brighton for a week. The plays were David Garrick 
 and Rosemary, but I only played in the latter. Business 
 enormous. At this time I was engaged by my old friend 
 George Edwardes to play a character part in a musical 
 comedy, but the part turned out really no good at all, 
 and I transferred my allegiance to Sir Charles Wyndham, 
 who paid me a retaining salary to hold myself for the 
 opening of the New, then nearing completion. The 
 New opened March 19, 1903, with Rosemary, and nearly 
 all the original cast. We also played the same enter- 
 tainment for one matinee at Brighton for the opening
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 261 
 
 of the New West Pier theatre. I don't know if the revival 
 was too soon after the original run of the play, but the 
 business was only fair, and the run finished on April 18. 
 The Press notices, general and personal, were as good 
 as ever. From April 20 to 25 we did a week of " flying 
 visits " to Swansea, Bristol, Plymouth, Exeter, Bourne- 
 mouth (Boscombe), and had crammed houses everywhere. 
 Plays, David Garrick and Rosemary ; again I only played 
 in the latter. After this two weeks of Rosemary, at 
 Wyndham's, April 25. The usual good notices but 
 business moderate only. The Eccentric Club gave a 
 supper (and dance) in honour of Sir Charles Wyndham, 
 April 16, at which he took the chair and made a most 
 eloquent and witty speech. As the fore-mentioned 
 engagements are the last times I played with Charles 
 Wyndham, except in the case of a benefit or two, I take 
 it for granted I shall be expected to say something about 
 him, and yet what more is there to be said than my 
 readers and the public know ? He has done such brilliant 
 work on the stage of the last many years, and his name 
 is so associated with much of what is best dramatically, 
 that an appreciation from me must appear more or less 
 fulsome. And yet my memory of him extends such a 
 distance back that a few notes may be interesting. 
 His father was connected with the medical profession, 
 and he himself was trained for a doctor; indeed, he 
 practised as one in the American Civil War, but forsook 
 that profession for the stage at the close of hostilities 
 or thereabouts. I saw him at the old Queen's in the 
 late sixties, playing Captain Hawkesley in Still Waters 
 Run Deep, to the John Mildmay of Alfred Wigan (the
 
 262 FORTY TEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 original), and in the big casts, at the same theatre, 
 which played Dearer than Life and The Lancashire Lass, 
 and which included Irving, Toole, B rough, Sam Emery 
 (a fine actor), Miss Hodson, pretty and sweet, Nelly 
 Moore, and many others whose names were household 
 Avoids. I remember him at the St. James's in a curious 
 play from the French of Sardou (Daniel Rochat). Then 
 when Messrs. Spiers and Pond had grown tired of trying, 
 in vain, to make the Criterion a success he became the 
 lessee, and has remained so to this day, I think, without 
 intermission. At the Criterion in its early days he 
 started a series of brilliant farcical comedies, some of 
 them, like The Pink Dominos, a little risky, but all great 
 moneymakers in London and the provinces, with numer- 
 ous companies. From these he gradually developed a 
 better standard of play and acted many of the well- 
 known works, in turn, such as London Assurance, School 
 for Scandal, Still Waters Run Deep (himself as Mildmay, 
 (1890), Rosemary, etc., etc., and so on by degrees his 
 art maturing and growing till be became, and has 
 remained, an idol of the London public and a consum- 
 mate artist in every and the best sense of the word. 
 His Mildmay did not make us forget Wigan, and his 
 David Garrick did not efface that of the elder Sothern, 
 but they were both admirable performances. Perhaps 
 he made a mistake to tackle Cyrano de Bergerac, but it 
 did not count much against him. He was too firmly 
 placed in the affections of the people, and it is a great 
 characteristic of London audiences that they are more 
 loyal than any other public in the world to the favourites 
 they have learned to love. Such was, and is, Wyndham's
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 263 
 
 position to-day, firmly fixed in the public regard. He 
 also carried the banner of English art abroad, playing, 
 if I remember rightly, in Paris, Brussels, Berlin, and St. 
 Petersburg, and, I think, other Continental cities. 
 Long may he live to enjoy his well-earned rest, his com- 
 fortable fortune, and the esteem of all classes of the public 
 as well as the knighthood with which his King honoured 
 him. 
 
 As well as being still lessee of the Criterion, he built 
 and is proprietor of Wyndham's and the New. His 
 leading lady, Miss Mary Moore, made her first appearance 
 at the old Gaiety theatre at the time I was there in 
 the late seventies — a pretty, timid, little gentlewoman, 
 anxious to earn her living. She soon became the wife 
 of that very clever dramatist, James Albery, before- 
 mentioned. Associated with a brilliant actor and 
 admirable stage-director like Charles Wyndham, she 
 steadily progressed in her art, and in recent years has 
 made several marked successes, such as, for instance, 
 in Mrs. Gorringe's Necklace. Report has it that in 
 pecuniary matters she has been even more successful, 
 and, as a partner in many of Sir Charles's business 
 projects, is quite well off. If so, it would be but a just 
 reward for one great feature of her life — her intense 
 love of, and care, in bringing up and educating her sons, 
 in which respect she has ever shown the very highest 
 qualities of motherhood. 
 
 The last performance at the old Gaiety took place 
 July 4, 1903, when many old comrades and associates 
 gathered to bid good-bye to a place endeared to all of 
 us by memories of happy times. It then closed its
 
 264 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 doors for ever, to make way for its present palatial, 
 if somewhat gloomy-looking successor, and, incidentally, 
 for a new MH-tion of London itself. One rubs one's eyes 
 in wonder when one looks at what is in that neighbour- 
 hood and remembers what w r as.
 
 XXVIII 
 
 On July 14, 1903, a benefit matinSe took place at 
 Drury Lane Theatre for that progressive institution, 
 the Actors' Association. The Merchant of Venice was 
 the play, with Irving, Miss Ellen Terry, and all the 
 prominent actors of the London stage playing the parts, 
 down to the very smallest. Those for whom no speak- 
 ing parts could be found walked on and were grouped 
 in the Casket scene. I played the Duke of Venice. 
 A feature of the entertainment was the presentation 
 of a souvenir programme to every one in the audience, 
 containing a reproduction of the autographs of every 
 artist connected with the performance. This was the 
 last time I played with Sir Henry Irving. 
 
 The autumn of 1903, September 17, saw produced 
 
 at Drury Lane a drama by Henry Hamilton and Cecil 
 
 Raleigh called The Flood Tide. It ran the usual course 
 
 at that theatre up to December 1, when it made way 
 
 for the preparations for the pantomine. A strong 
 
 company played it, Messrs. Weedon Grossmith, C. W. 
 
 Somerset, myself, R. Minster, J. Tresahar, N. McKinnel, 
 
 Miss Margaret Halstan, Miss Daisy Thimm, Mrs. Beer- 
 
 bohm Tree, and a very clever soubrette named Miss 
 
 Claire Romaine. It was not one of the best of the 
 
 Drury Lane plays and the business was not colossal, 
 
 265
 
 266 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 but I was told, on excellent authority, that it was ex- 
 ceptionally successful afterwards in the London suburbs 
 and the provincial towns. 
 
 On October C, a testimonial matinte was given at 
 the I Ia\ market Theatre to that excellent actor and 
 popular typical Englishman John Billington (husband of 
 the Mrs. Billington previously alluded to). It was an 
 event in which everybody joined with all possible good- 
 will. A splendid committee was formed of leading 
 actors, joined by a long list of names famous in other 
 art>, science, and commerce. That brilliant artist Tom 
 Browne designed the programme. Selections were 
 given from popular plays, The Last of the Dandies, Mrs. 
 Gorringe's Necklace, Waterloo, The Monkey's Paw, etc., 
 with Tree, Wyndham, Miss Moore, Irving, Cyril Maude, 
 Sydney Valentine, Miss Lena Ashwell, the Grossmiths, 
 and their many associates, and the whole affair was a 
 signal success. John Billington made a most feeling 
 and pathetic little speech at the end, and a good many 
 old friends found themselves greatly sympathising with 
 the passing of such a good fellow. For many years he 
 had been a member of the great company engaged by 
 Ben Webster at the Adelphi, where his wife w r as also 
 engaged. When that company dispersed he travelled 
 the provinces with Mrs. Billington for some years in 
 different plays of which they held the rights. In their 
 company was their niece, Miss Ellen Meyrick, an excel- 
 lent actress, who afterwards became Mrs. Fred Burgess, 
 her husband being part-proprietor of the Moore and 
 Burgess Minstrels. After that John settled down as 
 stage manager, and playing many parts, with his old 
 friend J. L. Toole, at Toole's and went with him on
 
 Photo] 
 
 " The Play Pictorial " 
 
 J. H. BARNES AS JOHN PEEKYKINCLE 
 
 ("The Cricket on the Hearth") 
 
 [To /ace page 267
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 267 
 
 his numerous tours until Toole retired, as before stated, 
 from ill-health. Billington was a very excellent actor 
 indeed, with a breezy, natural method that was most 
 captivating. In parts of good rugged manhood, such 
 as in Rough and Ready by Paul Merritt, he had few 
 equals, no superiors. He was a splendid raconteur, 
 and some of his Yorkshire stories, of which county he 
 was a native, were humorous and droll in the extreme. 
 Altogether a downright good comrade, socially and pro- 
 fessionally. 
 
 I had left Drury Lane three days before the run of 
 The Flood Tide finished, November 28, by courtesy of 
 Mr. Arthur Collins, having been offered an engagement 
 by Mr. Arthur Bourchier to play John Peerybingle in 
 a revival of The Cricket on the Hearth at the Garrick. 
 This production took place December 1, 1903, and ran 
 till February 13, 1904. It turned out very luckily for 
 me. In the version we did, John was an unusually 
 good part. He had a dream scene with the little dancing 
 fairies not generally included, and I thoroughly en- 
 joyed playing him. I appeared to please my audiences 
 very much as well. I am afraid Mr. Bourchier 's phy- 
 sique was not suited to the part of Caleb Plummer. 
 Mrs. Bourchier gave a vivid and pathetic rendering of 
 Blind Bertha. Jerrold Robertshaw was the best Tackle- 
 torn I have ever seen He seemed to have walked out 
 of the pages of Dickens. Jessie Bateman was a most 
 sweet, pretty, and lovable Dot ; Lizzie Webster a 
 thoroughly droll and natural Tilly Slowboy. Other 
 parts were well played by Frank Mills (Ned Plummer) 
 and Elfrida Clement (May Fielding). Dorothy Grim- 
 ston and Madge Titheradge were the leading fairies,
 
 868 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 and the latter, who has since become a distinguished 
 actress, looked a "dream" and danced delightfully. 
 The play was received with qualified favour by the Press 
 — though I had no cause to complain — and the business 
 was only moderately good. An amusing little incident 
 occurred on the first night. When the curtain fell on 
 the spirited dancing of Sir Roger de Coverley, etc., it 
 was rung up on the full company assembled on the 
 stage again and again. There were plenty obvious 
 calls of the name of the performer of John Peerybingle, 
 and after some eight or nine repetitions of this, Mr. 
 Bourchier took me by the hand and led me down to 
 the footlights and presented me to the audience, which 
 was very considerate of him ! 
 
 March 31, 1904, I played in a slight comedy by 
 Frank Stay ton, called A Maid from School, at Terry's. It 
 was not successful, and the public stayed away in large 
 numbers. Miss Kitty Loftus was the manageress, and 
 played the leading part. 
 
 April 25, 1904, was signalised by the first meeting 
 at His Majesty's (the name having been changed to 
 that) in connection with the Academy of Dramatic 
 Art which has since become such a flourishing and potent 
 institution. I was engaged as one of the instructors 
 for the first two terms, and entered very heartily into 
 the work, which I enjoyed. I am bound to say that 
 my view r s changed very materially as time went on. I 
 had firmty thought, at first, that it w r as a good thing 
 that the aspirant should have a place where he could 
 get good, sound instruction in the first steps of his pro- 
 fession, but when I became intimately associated with 
 it and saw its other bearing, in the direction I have
 
 
 Photo] 
 
 [" The Play Pictorial " 
 J. II. BARNES IN "THE FINISHING school" 
 
 [To face pmje 269
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 269 
 
 recently called attention to — i. e. of flooding the stage 
 with amateurs, to the exclusion of those who had " borne 
 the heat and burden of the day " — I was honestly glad 
 when rearrangements at the Academy itself and my 
 own professional work terminated my connection with 
 it. I should like to emphasise the fact that this was 
 a case of honest change of opinion, and I still regard 
 the question from my later point of view. Among the 
 pupils who received their first lessons in my class during 
 my short connection with the school were Mr. Reginald 
 Owen and Miss Maud Cressall, who have both succeeded 
 well in the profession in England, and Miss Maud Leslie, 
 firmly established in America. 
 
 June 16, 1904, I commenced an engagement with 
 Frank Curzon in a play at Wyndham's by that charming 
 writer, Max Pemberton, called The Finishing School. 
 Lots of good names figured in the cast : Ben Webster, 
 Frank Cooper, myself, George Bellamy, Miss Ethel 
 Mathews, Mrs. E. H. Brooke, and Miss Annie Hughes 
 (who played the leading or star part), and a very long list 
 in minor characters. The notices were fair, some very 
 good, but the weather was dreadfully hot at the time. 
 Theatres were out of the question, and the run ter- 
 minated on July 16. Miss Hughes gave a delightful 
 performance as Dorothy Melville, and looked perfectly 
 bewitching when she went into her male costume. 
 During the intense heat of that time the annual fete 
 took place in the Botanical Gardens, Regent's Park, for 
 the Actors' Orphanage Fund, when all who could find 
 a part, joined Cyril Maude in a blood-curdling melo- 
 drama by poor Captain Robert Marshall, entitled The 
 Track of Blood. I shall never forget the heat. I think
 
 270 FORTY YEARS ON THE STACK 
 
 we played the drama five times during the afternoon. 
 To enumerate the cast is unnecessary. They were all 
 the prominent nanus of London. A parboiled com- 
 pany ! and a melting audience! I think, as the day 
 progressed, The Track of Perspiration would have been 
 a more fitting title, but no one grumbled. All was 
 good humour and heartiness. The gardens were thronged. 
 Thousands of the public got good value for their money. 
 The charity benefited to a large amount, and all ended 
 happily except that poor Brandon Thomas lost his 
 voice shouting as the outside showman. Oh, how he 
 shouted, as long as he could ! In works of charity we 
 actors do, undoubtedly, " hold our own." I remember 
 reading years ago a story of the mother of the Gracchi, 
 who was one day visited by a neighbour, a very vain 
 woman, and the owner of very beautiful jewels, of which 
 she was duly proud. In the course of conversation she 
 said to her hostess, " But where are your jewels ? You 
 are wearing none." At this moment three splendid 
 sons of the noble matron entered the room, and point- 
 ing to them with a mother's pride, she said, " These 
 are my jewels." So I would claim for my calling this 
 one sure characteristic. Whatever else we are, or what- 
 ever our foibles may be, once sound the tocsin " charity," 
 and we are never " weary in well doing," and, I am bound 
 to add, for many years the public have recognised 
 the fact, and responded most nobly to any appeal we 
 have made for our own charitable institutions. 
 
 Late in the year 1904 I had settled to play in a re- 
 vival of Bernard Shaw's Candida, at the Court, besides 
 which I had some weeks to run of my second term as 
 one of the instructors at the Academy of Dramatic Art,
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 271 
 
 but Mr. Pinero (before he was Sir Arthur) settled with 
 Mr. Frohman's manager that he would like me to go 
 out to New York to produce, and play in, his play, A 
 Wife Without a Smile. After some little parleying, 
 I was kindly released from both my other engagements, 
 and I sailed from Liverpool by the s.s. Etruria (Captain 
 Warr), November 26, 1904. Arrived in New York, I 
 found a perfect storm raging in the Press anent the play. 
 It will be remembered that there was one effect in it 
 to which some people took exception ; indeed, there was 
 a statement going round that a certain Royal personage 
 had expressed the opinion that it would be better cut 
 out. It is not my province to discuss it. I merely 
 chronicle the fact. The New York Press had taken 
 up the matter so warmly that Mr. Frohman thought 
 it advisable to remove the objectionable feature, and 
 the play was produced without it at the Criterion on 
 December 19, 1904. The play may have been risky 
 with it. It was meaningless without it, and failed 
 completely, despite a strong cast including Ernest Law- 
 ford, Frank Worthing, Frank Atherley, myself, Misses 
 Margaret Illington, Esther Tittell, Elsie de Wolf, and 
 others. The notices were not bad; some good. Mr. 
 Dan Frohman told me in conversation, afterwards, that 
 they were bound by contract to do the play, but with 
 the storm raised against it in the Press, there was nothing 
 to do " but to kill it and get it off," which seemed hardly 
 fair to Pinero, and not very satisfactory to me, as it 
 only ran about a fortnight, but, fortunately, I had a 
 limited guarantee. When the play failed so badly I 
 was asked by the management to play a part in a new 
 play about to be produced by my old friend Augustus
 
 272 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 Thomas, one of America's foremost dramatists, to which 
 I cheerfully consented. It \\ :ts called Mrs. Letfing- 
 -A'rll's Boots, and first saw the light at the Savoy on 
 January 1C, 1905. It was an unequivocal success. 
 Again the company was very strong, John Saville, E. 
 Lawford, William Courtenay, Louis Payne, Vincent 
 Serrano, myself, Jay Wilson, Misses Dorothy Hammond, 
 Jessie Busley, Margaret Illington, Fay Davis, and 
 Mrs. A. A. Adams (mother of Miss Maude Adams). 
 The general notices were excellent, as were mine, per- 
 sonally, though I had by no means a good part. The 
 business was enormous. I confess to a considerable 
 disappointment in the matter. My engagement for 
 Pinero's play had been for the run of the play with a 
 six w r eeks' minimum guarantee, and naturally I con- 
 cluded I was transferring my services to Mr. Thomas's 
 on the same terms, and it was with no little dismay that 
 I received the information from one of Mr. Frohman's 
 henchmen, after the great hit made by the latter play, 
 that I was only filling out my six weeks' minimum, for 
 the reason that the management had so many people 
 on their hands for whom they were bound to find em- 
 ployment first. I felt annoyed about it, but I had no 
 one to blame but myself, and there was no remedy. 
 As a matter of fact, I believe Mr. Guy Standing took 
 my place, and the play ran well into the summer 
 months. Without comment, I sailed for home on the 
 s.s. Minneapolis with my friend Captain T. F. Gates, 
 February 4, and arrived February 14, 1905.
 
 XXIX 
 
 Shortly after I reached home a young lady of great 
 amateur experience, well-connected, and with a host 
 of friends, essayed the part of Portia for two matinees 
 at Terry's, March 9 and 11, 1905. She engaged me to 
 play Antonio, and asked me also to stage-manage and 
 produce the play. It was not an easy thing to get 
 The Merchant of Venice on to a stage of the size of Terry's 
 at all, but I thought it out, and with a little re -arrange- 
 ment and abridgment prepared a version which solved 
 the difficulty. Miss Constance Stuart, the lady in 
 question, was more than intelligent as Portia; Norman 
 Forbes quite as good as Shylock; Henry Ainley an 
 admirable Bassanio ; poor Loring Fernie bright and 
 amusing as Gratiano, and Miss Madge Fabian a delightful 
 Jessica. Of course the performances were of little 
 general public interest, but the Press were quite favour- 
 able. Then Miss Tita Brand (daughter of the brilliant 
 singer and dramatic actress, Miss Marie Brema) took 
 the Shaftesbury and produced Othello, April 8. Mr. 
 Herbert Jarman was the stage manager, and did his 
 work excellently. The notices were very mixed, though, 
 personally, I had no cause to complain, but the business 
 was poor. And yet I venture to say that many worse 
 performances of Othello have been highly praised and 
 
 successful. Hubert Carter was full of power and 
 t 273
 
 274 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 pathos as Othello; Henry AJnley about the best Cassio 
 I have ever seen. His drunken scene was fine, without. 
 descending to the inane tricks si) often associated with 
 the part. Miss Granville excellent as Emilia; Miss 
 Brand quite good as Dcsdcmona. I played Iago; 
 K. A. Anson, a really good Brabantio. On May 24 it 
 was supplanted by Renaissance, a play which had a 
 tremendous vogue on the German stage at the time. 
 Much the same company played as in Othello, with the 
 addition of Marie Brcma herself, who gave a splendid 
 performance. I played a monk called Father Benta- 
 voglio ; quite a good part. An increased orchestra 
 played some most beautiful incidental music. Press 
 indifferent. Business improving. 
 
 On June 4, 1905, a complimentary dinner was given 
 at the Savoy Hotel, by the theatrical profession, gener- 
 ally, to Mr. Joseph Knight, the doyen of the dramatic 
 critics of London, with Sir Henry Irving presiding, at 
 which both ladies and gentlemen were present, and I 
 had the pleasure of being joined by Mrs. Barnes, who, 
 not being a member of our calling, enjoyed the 
 (to her) novel experience immensely. Joseph Knight 
 had been a true friend of the actors, though not 
 a fulsome one. A fine specimen of manhood, a 
 thorough Bohemian, but a brilliant well-read scholar 
 with a kindly nature, he had been the critic of 
 the Globe for years; also of the Sunday Times and 
 the Aihen&um on occasion. Erudite and thoughtful, 
 he had held the balance fairly between praise and blame, 
 and had earned and greatly enjoyed the love of all. 
 That was the note struck in Irving's admirable speech 
 in proposing his health, and it is needless to say it was
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 275 
 
 received with acclamation. This was the very last time 
 I met Irving. On October 13, 1905, after dying on 
 the stage as Becket, he passed away, finally, in the 
 vestibule of his hotel at Bradford, dying, as I believe 
 he would have wished to, literally " in harness." It 
 was a tremendous grief to me when I learned it. Of 
 course it was only a sentiment, but, having started with 
 him, my own career seemed linked with his in some 
 small way. His body was brought to London, and lay 
 in the Baroness Burdett Coutts's house, in Piccadilly, 
 for one or two days, where thousands passed it in solemn 
 reverence, testifying their affection and appreciation 
 of him and his life's work. After a time his ashes were 
 laid in Westminster Abbey among the many illustrious 
 Englishmen who have benefited their country. A 
 fitting tribute to an artist of lofty ideals and a truly 
 gentle man. One great characteristic of his, which 
 cannot be too much insisted upon by his fellow actors, 
 was this : Whatever position he achieved, whatever 
 dignities or honours came to him (his knighthood in 
 1895, his LL.D., Dublin, 1892, and Glasgow, 1898, etc., 
 etc.), he invariably went hand-in-hand with his calling. 
 Believing in its possible nobility, if regarded from a high 
 standpoint, he was the actor first in all things, shedding 
 an endless lustre on the art he loved better than anything 
 else in life. 
 
 I want to " hark back " slightly to Joseph Knight 
 for the purpose of recalling a memory which should be 
 of interest. He was one of a coterie of remarkable men 
 who belonged to the Arundel Club in my early professional 
 days. This club occupied the last house in Salisbury 
 Street, Strand, overlooking the River Thames. Street
 
 276 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 and club were swepl away in the building of the Hotel 
 Cecil, of which they would represent about the site 
 of its wis lorn wall. Here some of the brightest minds 
 of London used lo foregather and sit until broad daylight 
 very often. It was a veritable company of "night- 
 owls." One of them was "Joe" Knight himself; 
 another, Richard Lee, dramatist, critic, and poet, who 
 wrote Ordeal by Touch for Mrs. Scott Siddons (previously 
 alluded to) ; and a really wonderful man named Horace 
 Green, a great journalist. He w r as the model from whom 
 Tom Robertson drew his character of Tom Styles in 
 Society. His tremendous capacity may be imagined 
 when I say that I have seen him sit at the general table 
 at the Arundel Club practically chatting with and listen- 
 ing to any members around him, and at the same time 
 writing a leading article for a newspaper, with a boy 
 waiting downstairs to take it to the printers for next 
 morning's issue. I believe I am right in saying that the 
 paper was the Times. It is so long ago that I can't be 
 quite sure, but I vouch for the main fact. One other 
 extraordinary member of this circle was the actor 
 William Belford. He was an " old-timer," had been 
 a light comedian with Phelps at Sadler's Wells, and, 
 in his later life, was a member of the company at the 
 old Strand Theatre under Mrs. Swanborough. A 
 capital actor with a fund of humour. His habits were 
 out of the ordinary certainly. He would get up about 
 two o'clock in the day, take his breakfast at three, get to 
 the theatre in time for performance, have his principal 
 meal at the Arundel after his work, and sit up until 
 daylight, when he would go home to his bed. And when 
 not put " out of his stride " by work he followed this
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 277 
 
 routine for years. Just in his latest days he announced 
 with great ostentation that he had turned over a new 
 leaf, and that he would not sit up later than when the 
 time came to walk up Gower Street and catch the first 
 workman's train to Bays water, where he lived. A funny 
 story once arose out of his habit. He had a rehearsal 
 at the Strand Theatre on a certain day, and before 
 leaving home, the day before, he told his landlady to 
 call him at ten o'clock on the following morning. He 
 pursued his usual course that evening, and the next 
 day when called he inquired the time. His landlady 
 replied " it was two o'clock." Jumping out of bed, 
 " Bill " said : " What do you mean ? I told you to call 
 me at ten ! I had a rehearsal at the Strand at twelve." 
 The landlady replied meekly, " I didn't think it necessary 
 to call you, sir. I came to your sitting-room door and 
 saw you having your breakfast." Perfectly furious, 
 though amused, " Bill " thundered out, " Breakfast 
 be hanged. That was my supper ! " 
 
 To retrace my steps a little. On May 2, 1905, I made 
 my first appearance under the management of Messrs. 
 Vedrenne and Barker at the Court. It is within the 
 recollection of nearly every one that these gentlemen 
 made a great and honourable record as managers and 
 received a quite unusual amount of praise from the 
 London Press. I honestly think they deserved it, 
 and if I was never able to yield to the hysteria that pos- 
 sessed most people at the time it was not because I did 
 not appreciate their methods and their ability, but 
 simply because I had met a good many clever people 
 in my life previously, and I was not quite prepared to 
 blot from my memory all that had gone before. I am
 
 278 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 quite prepared to admit that Mr. Vedrenne was a model 
 business manager, punctual, courteous, and considerate, 
 and Mr. Granville Barker an admirable stage manager 
 a\ it hin certain limits, but so were others I could name. 
 Indeed, I have done so in these notes. Judged by what 
 is going on around us nowadays, I frankly admit his 
 great excellence. I opened with them as Finch McComas 
 in You Never Can Tell, by Bernard Shaw, and it was 
 my first part in one of this amusing and clever author's 
 plays ; and after a short summer holiday I rejoined them 
 in the autumn and played with them up to July 7, 1906. 
 Other parts which fell to my lot were Father Dempsey 
 (John Ball's Other Island), Roebuck Ramsden (Man and 
 Superman), Sir Howard Hallam (Captain BrassbounaV s 
 Conversion), all by Shaw; Samuel Jackson (The Return 
 of the Prodigal, by St. John Hankin), an old man (Electra, 
 Professor Gilbert Murray's translation of Euripides), 
 Dr. Delfinos Tron (The Youngest of the Angels, by Maurice 
 Hewlett). The usual system adopted at the theatre in 
 those days was to play a new production for six matinees 
 first and put it into the evening bill later. This was 
 successful in many cases, especially with Mr. Shaw's 
 plays, but some of the others, though highly praised 
 and successful on their first appearance did not prove 
 attractive to the general public when submitted to the 
 stronger test. The company were always specially 
 selected for the parts as far as possible, and included 
 many of the best artists in London, and it was altogether 
 a thoroughly cheery, artistic, and enjoyable engagement. 
 Business was, generally speaking, fine, and the audiences 
 were of the most refined class of playgoer. The last 
 of the productions I played in was Captain Brassbound 's
 
 Photo] 
 
 [Alfred Ellis and Watery 
 
 . BARNES AS FATHER DEMPSEY 
 ("John Bull's Other Island") 
 
 [To face page 278
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 279 
 
 Conversion, which after the six matinees went into the 
 evening bill and ran for twelve weeks from April 16 
 to July 7, 1906. In this Miss Ellen Terry played the 
 leading female part (Lady Cicely Waynflete). I am 
 not quite certain all the leading parts were cast with the 
 management's customary excellent judgment. The 
 notices were fair, and I had no cause to complain. 
 Business good but not great. During the run, April 
 28, 1906, the fiftieth anniversary occurred of Miss Terry's 
 first appearance on the stage (as a child), and a special 
 souvenir programme was given away containing an 
 autograph letter from her, and the autographs of all 
 the company appended. One element of considerable 
 anxiety arose from Miss Terry's treacherous memory. 
 Never very good, her " study " had become apparently 
 most indifferent about this time, and was often a source 
 of amusement or concern to the audience and of dismay 
 to her fellow-players. Those having scenes with her 
 had to be constantly on the alert to reply to what she 
 might say, and as my part was chiefly with her I 
 passed twelve weeks with a modicum of what actors 
 know as " first-night nervousness." At one rehearsal, I 
 remember, Bernard Shaw demurred to her version of 
 his lines by quaintly observing, " Well, that's not what 
 I wrote, but I dare say it's a great deal better." But the 
 complete explanation came later. It must be forty 
 years since I played in or saw Tom Robertson's comedy, 
 Society, but, if my memory serves me correctly, a speech 
 therein runs something like this : — Tom Stylus speaks 
 to Sidney Daryl, who is abstractedly thinking of his 
 sweetheart, and gets no reply, and says (aside) : " Cupid's 
 carriage stops the way again. Confound that nasty,
 
 280 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 naughty, naked little boy ! I wonder if he'd do less 
 mischief if they put him into knickerbockers." How 
 could wc possibly tell that Cupid was playing havoc 
 with Miss Terry's memory and causing all of us so much 
 distress ? Yet so it was. It was in this play she met 
 Mr. James Carew, who became her leading man the next 
 season, and led her to the altar a short time after that ! 
 
 On June 12, 1906, occurred Miss Terry's benefit at 
 Drury Lane, which was one of the monster affairs in the 
 records of the British stage. Everybody did everything 
 they could. We all joined the committee; we all acted 
 anything (or " walked on " in anything) we were asked 
 to. An enormous committee was formed inside and 
 outside the profession, a splendid list of subscriptions 
 was secured, an enormous programme lasting five hours 
 arranged, the big theatre was packed to the doors. 
 Caruso sang, Signora Duse (the distinguished Italian 
 actress) joined Miss Terry on the stage at the final 
 reception, and altogether it was a veritable gala in the 
 fullest sense. The full receipts aggregated a magnificent 
 sum. The three big benefits of my time on the stage 
 were Mr. Compton's, Nellie Farren's and Miss Terry's. 
 I am unable to remember which resulted in the largest 
 sum, but I know they were all well over £5,000, but Mr. 
 Compton's was supplemented by a similar compliment 
 in Manchester following his London testimonial. Miss 
 Terry must have been a proud and happy woman on 
 that great day for her in 1906, which proved the enor- 
 mous " hold " she had on the public as well as her own 
 calling. 
 
 I had almost forgotten that in February 1906, being 
 only engaged in the matinees at the Court, I played for
 
 * 
 
 Photo] 
 
 [Alfred Ellis and Watery 
 
 3. H. BARNES AS ROEBUCK RAMSDEN 
 
 ('Man and Superman") 
 (See page 278) 
 
 [To face page 280
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 281 
 
 two weeks only with Nat Goodwin at the Shaftesbury, 
 in a play called The Gilded Fool. It was not successful. 
 The notices were poor all round, and the public did not 
 come in any number. It is a matter of regret and some 
 surprise to me that, in his two or three attempts to win 
 the favour of the London public, this fine actor has 
 signally failed. I have seen him do great work on the 
 American stage and demonstrate something very like 
 genius at times, but possibly the parts he has selected 
 to appear in in England have not provided scope for 
 his undeniably great ability. 
 
 July 9, 1906, You Never Can Tell was very success- 
 fully revived at the Court, and I resumed my old part of 
 McComas for a few nights up to July 26, when I termi- 
 nated my engagement and left for New York July 28, by 
 the s.s. Philadelphia (Captain Mills), having been selected 
 by Mr. Henry Arthur Jones, and engaged by Mr. Charles 
 Frohman to create an important part in the former's 
 play of The Hypocrites. Of course, we had the usual 
 concert on board for the different seamen's charities, 
 and arrived August 4. 
 
 The Hypocrites was produced at the Hudson, New York, 
 August 30, 1906, and was an enormous success from the 
 first line to the last. The notices were really magnificent 
 generally and personally. A good company interpreted 
 the play, including Leslie Faber, Richard Bennett, John 
 Glendinning, myself, Arthur Lewis, Misses Jessie Mil- 
 ward, Viva Birkett, Helen Tracey, Doris Keane, and 
 others. The business was excellent, and we ran along 
 merrily till February 23, 1907. After the New York 
 run we had a week of " one-night stands " in New 
 England, a week at Baltimore, two weeks at Philadelphia,
 
 282 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 a week in northern New York, one week at Washington, 
 and one week's return to New York (City) at the Grand 
 Opera House. Then home again by the s.s. Teutonic 
 (Captain Smith, R.N.R.), sailing May 1, arriving May 9, 
 1007. Again a eonccrt on board, at which I assisted. 
 
 A complimentary dinner was given to Messrs. Vedrennc 
 and Barker at the Criterion Restaurant on July 7, 1007, 
 the Right Hon. the Earl of Lytton in the chair, and again 
 I had the pleasure of being accompanied by Mrs. Barnes. 
 I cannot say I was greatly impressed with the pro- 
 ceedings, which were, however, cut short through some 
 one's oversight in not arranging for an extension of the 
 licence of the establishment. As far as we got the 
 speeches were dull to boredom and quite early resolved 
 themselves into the category known as " mutual admira- 
 tion society." Really the British Stage, according to 
 the speakers, had no past history at all. All the great 
 authors, all the great actors and actresses who had 
 adorned it through the ages were apparently purely 
 mythical, and the British Drama had begun about a.d. 
 1000. Lord Lytton succeeded in proving how little he 
 knew about the subject. Vedrenne spoke briefly and 
 modestly and to the point. Granville Barker cut loose 
 and fairly let himself go. Neither Tree nor Bernard 
 Shaw was at anything like his best, and when the arrange- 
 ments (before mentioned) brought about an earlier 
 departure than had been planned, no one seemed loath 
 to leave. The further proceedings, as arranged, were 
 printed and supplied in the form of a pamphlet. I 
 remember an early play of Sir Arthur Pinero's in which 
 the curtain was brought down very effectively on one 
 act by a character rushing in and shouting : " They
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 283 
 
 have cut off the gas ! " I was reminded of it. I am 
 doing myself a great injustice if my remarks on this 
 event should appear, in any way, inimical to Vedrenne 
 and Barker. For both of them I feel a personal regard 
 amounting to affection and for their work profound 
 respect and admiration, but with my reverence for many 
 big artists and plays that have gone before, I do feel 
 that enthusiasm for what is becomes of even greater 
 worth if reasonably tempered with honour for what 
 has been. 
 
 August 27, 1907, The Hypocrites was produced in 
 London at the Hicks (now called the Globe) with several 
 of the New York cast, Leslie Faber, myself, Arthur 
 Lewis, Miss Doris Keane (who has since become a very 
 successful American star), and Miss Viva Birkett, the 
 new names embracing those of Misses Marion Terry, 
 Henrietta Watson, Mrs. Leslie Faber, Vernon Steel, 
 Charles V. France, Alfred Bishop, Fred Grove, and others. 
 The play did not go as well in England, and I venture 
 to think that in some points the author's ideas were not 
 as faithfully reproduced, which caused the pathetic 
 nature of the story, in some of the scenes, to appear 
 too grimly painful. It only ran six weeks, till October 
 11. At the time I received a beautifully-bound copy 
 of the play from Mr. Jones with a most complimentary 
 and gratifying appreciation of my work therein over his 
 own autograph. 
 
 November 6, 1907, by a letter to the Daily Telegraph 
 on the subject of censorship of plays I joined in the 
 lively controversy then raging in the London Press 
 on the subject. In the late part of 1907 I had a most 
 pleasant literary success. Current events on the stage
 
 284 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 hnd inspired me with the notion that the time had come 
 for some one who had expert knowledge to endeavour 
 to counteract some of the errors which had crept — 
 and were creeping — into the actor's calling in many 
 directions, and I conceived the idea of three articles on 
 Acting, Play-writing, and the Dramatic Press to illustrate 
 what I wanted to sa}^, and what I honestly believed ought 
 to be said. I wrote the first of these articles, and sent 
 it to an important daily paper. It came back, set up 
 in type, as slightly proving to me its value, but with 
 certain suggestions for alterations and other conditions 
 which I could not accept, and I asked for its return. I 
 then sent it (under advice) to Sir James Knowles (Editor 
 of the Nineteenth Century and After), whom I did not 
 know and never met, and, to my great delight, I got a 
 letter in a few days accepting the contribution, and it 
 appeared in that magazine within two months (February 
 1908). In due course I received a most useful cheque 
 in payment, accompanied by a request that I would 
 submit to the Editor any other article I might write 
 on similar subjects. The article appeared under the 
 title of " The Drama of To-Day and the Public's Attitude 
 Thereto," and in September 1908, the second of the 
 series came out in the same magazine, entitled " An 
 Actor's Views on Plays and Play- writing." The third 
 and last of the articles, called " The Drama and Dramatic 
 Press," was duly finished, but, alas ! my friend Sir James 
 Knowles had died (without my having even made his 
 acquaintance), and the editorship of the magazine had 
 fallen into other hands. Whether my third effort was 
 inferior to the other two (I don't think it proved so) 
 or whether the question of the Press was too dangerous
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 285 
 
 a ground for a young or new editor to venture on I know 
 not, but it was refused, and afterwards published in a 
 professional weekly paper, October 16 and 30, 1909. 
 These articles were freely quoted, discussed, and com- 
 mented on in London, all over England, and even in 
 some Continental papers, and the then manager of the 
 paper in question suggested that it would be a good 
 thing for the profession at large to collect the three and 
 re-issue them as a pamphlet. To this I cheerfully 
 assented, and having obtained the consent of the editor 
 of the Nineteenth Century and After, the brochure duly 
 appeared. I cannot say its reception was flattering. 
 Its sale was most limited. 
 
 February 27, 1908, witnessed the first production at 
 the Comedy of a play called Lady Barbarity, adapted 
 from J. C. Snaith's novel of the same name by R. C. 
 Carton, and in which Miss Marie Tempest played the 
 title-part delightfully, and such as Allan Aynesworth, 
 Graham Browne, myself, W. H. Day, Misses Lena 
 Halliday, and Dora Barton supported her. Notices 
 poor. Business indifferent. Run finished April 11, 
 1908. 
 
 May 19 I played Dr. Delaney in Siveet Lavender at a 
 matinee at the Playhouse for the Veterans' Relief Fund, 
 and received through Lieut.-Col. Marshall-West the 
 thanks of that distinguished soldier, Lord Roberts. 
 
 From May 25 to June 20, 1908, I was on a " flying 
 matinee " tour with Mr. Seymour Hicks, playing the 
 Reverend Mr. Floyd {Sweet and Twenty) and the Ghost 
 of Jacob Marley (Scrooge). We went all over the country 
 playing, in most places, to very fine business indeed. 
 
 August 31, 1908, I made my first appearance at the
 
 
 286 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 London Hippodrome in The Sands of Dee, a sketch, by 
 Alicia Ramsay and Rudolph de Cordova, with a tre- 
 mendous water effect of an incoming wave, invented 
 and produced by Frank Parker. It was a curious experi- 
 ence to find myself playing with the audience practically 
 all round me. This sketch was done in the centre arena 
 before the alterations in the building, and it terminated 
 by the sinking of the floor and the flooding of the centre 
 tank to a depth of 5 ft. I got used to it quickly though, 
 and liked the work. The sketch was a huge success, 
 and ran fifteen weeks in London, and then went to the 
 Manchester Hippodrome for five weeks, December 21, 
 1908, and Liverpool (Olympia) for five weeks, February 
 1, 1909. Mr. Norman Trevor, Mr. Lawson Butt, and 
 Miss Ruth Maitland were my comrades. How the latter 
 managed to endure six months of complete immersions 
 up to her neck in water practically twice a day, I shall 
 never cease to wonder. During my engagement in 
 Liverpool I witnessed my first " Waterloo Cup." Three 
 splendid days' sport.
 
 XXX 
 
 In November, 1908, very many in the dramatic 
 profession were greatly pleased to read of the special 
 honour bestowed upon Sir Anderson Critchett by King 
 Edward. Known to the general public as the King's 
 oculist, his baronetcy had not any very special meaning, 
 but to many artists in our calling it meant a great deal, 
 being a brother of one of the most popular dramatic 
 authors (Mr. R. C. Carton), and to every one with whom 
 he was brought in contact, the kindest and most consider- 
 ate of men. For myself, I had known his good father 
 (from whom he inherited his kindly disposition), his 
 uncle and his father-in-law (Mr. C. Dunphie, the distin- 
 guished dramatic critic of the Morning Post), whilst 
 his brother and I have been firm friends for many years. 
 I could not let the event pass without a few lines of 
 sincere congratulation, to which I received the most 
 charming reply November 18, 1908. On the occasion of a 
 memorial matinee to Ristori at His Majesty's I was asked 
 to write a few lines of tribute to her for a daily paper, 
 which I did November 28. And I also wrote in The Stage, 
 November 26, 1908, a reply to some remarks of Miss 
 Ellen Terry's about myself, in the book of her life, pub- 
 lished about that time. This reply was largely quoted 
 and commented on. After my engagement with The 
 Sands of Dee terminated in Liverpool I made an entirely 
 
 287
 
 288 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 new departure by accepting an offer of a regular music- 
 hall engagement to give some recitations at the Palace, 
 Manchester, March 8, 1909, and the Metropolitan, 
 Edgware Road, April 12, 1909. At both places the 
 audiences were demonstrative in my favour, and I was 
 assured by both managers and agents that I was dis- 
 tinctly successful, but I could not get anything like 
 continuous dates as bookings, except in the dim dis- 
 tance, so I gave up the project with some regret, as it 
 was work I was always fond of. 
 
 May 7, 1909, I appeared for the Daily Mail Cab- 
 men's Fund in a benefit promoted by Mr. Seymour 
 Hicks under the patronage of the Duke of Rutland, 
 Lords Rosebery, Shrewsbury, and Cork, and Mr. Alfred 
 de Rothschild, at the Aldwych. It was a good pro- 
 gramme, and a very full house. My part of the enter- 
 tainment consisted of studying and reciting some five 
 or six stanzas of verse, entitled "Toa London Cabby," 
 by " Touchstone," a writer on the staff of the Daily 
 Mail. This I did, surrounded by a bevy of London cab- 
 men, some of their children, and an amiable bull-dog. 
 I enjoyed doing it thoroughly, and have often been 
 astonished since, when walking the streets of London, 
 to receive a greeting or salute from one or other of the 
 good, cheery fellows who were in that group, and who 
 never seem to forget the little service I rendered. Poor 
 chaps ! I am afraid their case has gone " from bad 
 to worse " since then, and the all-conquering " taxi " 
 has very nearly rendered their calling a thing of the 
 past. 
 
 September 1, 1909, saw the production at the Globe 
 of the adaptation from the French of the play Madame
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 289 
 
 X, which had been such an enormous success in New 
 York. It was stage-managed by Mr. Dion Boucicault 
 with great care, and a fine array of names appeared in 
 the cast : Sydney Valentine, Arthur Wontner, G. W. 
 Anson, O. P. Heggie, C. M. Hallard, Frank Cooper, 
 Herbert Ross, Edmund Gwenn, myself, Alfred Brydone, 
 Cyril Harcourt, Lena Ashwell, Elsie Chester, and others. 
 The Press notices were fair, as was the business for 
 the run, which was nine weeks only. Miss Ashwell 
 played the leading part finely. Arthur Wontner en- 
 hanced his position on the London stage very much 
 by his performance as the son delivering the great speech 
 in the trial scene with admirable effect. I played the 
 judge (in that scene only). Frank Cooper (and, after 
 he left, C. M. Hallard in his part), Sydney Valentine, 
 Edmund Gwenn, Alfred Brydone, Miss Elsie Chester, 
 all scored successes. I left one week before the run 
 terminated to go to the Adelphi to play in Charles 
 Rann Kennedy's powerful play entitled The Servant 
 in the House, which had also been a huge success in 
 America. It was a play of a similar nature to The 
 Passing of the Third Floor Back, but of much stronger 
 and coarser fibre. Its first night was October 25. Some 
 of the scenes and dialogue were even slangy in their 
 strength, but I honestly thought (as many others did) 
 that it was a great play if not a work of genius. How- 
 ever, it did not prove very successful and only ran four 
 weeks. I dare say its socialistic theories were against 
 it, and indeed they did not appeal to me. But that 
 was a point which I did not consider in forming my 
 opinion of it as a play. It was a small but specially 
 selected cast : Guy Standing, Sydney Valentine, Ben
 
 290 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 Field, myself, and the favourite and excellent American 
 actor, Henry Miller, Miss Edith Wynne Matthison, and 
 
 Miss Gladys Wynne. The general notices were mixed 
 for the play, excellent for the actors, but the parts 
 were all good and gave the company fine opportunities. 
 I think the author made a considerable mistake in 
 making a very confident and self-assertive speech on 
 the first night. The play had apparently gone so well 
 that he was tempted into this extravagance, a pro- 
 ceeding which, in my judgment, is much to be depre- 
 cated. It may savour of fogydom if I state that in 
 my early days on the stage a very absolute rule existed 
 in every properly conducted theatre forbidding any one 
 to address the audience under penalty of immediate 
 dismissal. Our predecessors had found out the error 
 of it and established a custom which nowadays is " more 
 honoured in the breach than the observance." During 
 the run we were visited by a large number of prominent 
 socialists, including Lady Warwick; and the Labour 
 members of Parliament (to whom the story strongly 
 appealed) were much in evidence. Amongst them Mr. 
 Keir Hardie, who introduced himself to me one night, 
 in talking about the play, and was quite astonished to 
 learn from me that I held views diametrically opposed 
 to his. 
 
 February 10, 1910, I played Father Joseph (Richelieu) 
 with a gentleman named Robert Hilton at the re-named 
 Strand Theatre, and had one of the most unpleasant 
 experiences of my whole career. According to this 
 person's story, he had been promised good financial 
 assistance, but promises did not justify him in taking 
 a theatre and engaging a large company without the
 
 Photo] 
 
 [Alfred Ellis and Watery 
 
 J. H. BARNES AS FATHER JOSEPH 
 
 ("Richelieu") 
 
 [To face page 290
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 291 
 
 money in hand, and, after playing three nights and a 
 matinee, it transpired there were no funds to pay the 
 treasury on Saturday. Scenes of great distress occurred 
 and even violence was threatened. I was able to help 
 one or two bad cases a trifle, but I could not make myself 
 responsible for much, and the theatre closed summarily. 
 I certainly got my salary for the time we played, after 
 waiting some weeks, but, as I had rehearsed a fortnight 
 and shown the person in question nearly all he knew 
 about Richelieu and, relying on his promises of a three 
 months' engagement, I had given up negotiations in 
 another direction, which would have given me ten 
 weeks' income, payment for four performances was not 
 a very good equivalent. The man declared himself 
 a bankrupt shortly afterwards, and most of the company, 
 including its most needy members, did not get a penny. 
 The Press were not kind to him or his acting, and the 
 public were not enticed to witness it in any number. 
 
 In Sir Herbert Tree's (he had received his knighthood 
 by now) Shakespearean Festival at His Majesty's, one 
 performance was given by Lewis Waller and his company 
 of Henry V., and I resumed my old part of Williams, 
 April 21, 1910. 
 
 May 2, 1910, at the Shakespeare, Liverpool, was pro- 
 duced an American play called The Dawn of a To- 
 Morrow, in which Miss Gertrude Elliott played the 
 leading part surrounded by a good company. I had 
 a very small part. The notices were fine all round, 
 and the business excellent up to the Friday. On 
 Saturday morning all England was mourning the death 
 of our good King Edward VII. No business could be 
 thought of. The theatre was closed — when two fine
 
 292 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 houses wire assured — and we returned to London, May 
 7. The play opened at tin.- Garrick, London, May 13, 
 and was quite fairly noticed by the Press, and the busi- 
 ness was moderately good. Of course, the theatre 
 closed May 20, the date of the King's funeral. From 
 the Garrick it was removed to the Duke of York's, and 
 ran on for some weeks. The People, May 15, 1910, 
 contained a scrap of mine, the theme of which was " The 
 King is dead ! ! God save the King ! ! ! " 
 
 For some time a very decided movement has been 
 in the air, having for its object the establishment of 
 a Shakespeare Memorial National Theatre. My scep- 
 ticism as to its fulfilment has led to considerable 
 misapprehension as regards my views. No one would 
 rejoice more than myself to see such a scheme brought 
 to a successful issue, but I doubt, firstly, if the 
 money required can be raised ; and, secondly, the 
 possible character of its directorate? To perpetuate 
 some of the crying evils at present extant would be 
 a very positive national disgrace. I shall explain my 
 meaning a little later. On June 7, 1910, I attended 
 a special meeting of the Kensington Committee of the 
 movement held at the house of Mr. and Mrs. Godfrey 
 Baring, 195, Queen's Gate, S.W. Sir John Hare 
 presided, and the principal speaker in favour of the 
 scheme was Forbes-Robertson. He was most fervent 
 and eloquent, and I stated that I was only too ready 
 to agree with him if his views could be carried out. 
 It was rather a coincidence that in a letter I had 
 written to the Press some days prior to this meeting 
 I had suggested that the one name to place at the head 
 of a National Theatre to commemorate the name of
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 293 
 
 Shakespeare was that of Johnston Forbes-Robertson. 
 With his announced retirement I suppose that is now 
 impossible. More's the pity for the scheme, if it ever 
 goes through. 
 
 September 27, 1910, I commenced an engagement 
 with Mr. George Alexander at the St. James's in a play 
 called WArcy of the Guards, a very pretty story of the 
 American War of Independence, with scenes laid in 
 and around Philadelphia. It had been a great success 
 in America and was brought to London, and arrange- 
 ments made for its production by Mr. Henry Miller, 
 the previous year. In it Mr. Alexander played (I 
 think) his first Irish part, an officer in the Foot Guards. 
 All the men were soldiers. I played the pleasant part 
 of the Regimental Doctor. Miss Evelyn D'Alroy looked 
 divine in her powdered wig, which became her to ad- 
 miration. She played charmingly, as did Miss Margery 
 Maude as an ingenue. There were several performances 
 in the play above the average. The notices were from 
 fair to very good, but there was a weakness somewhere, 
 and it was only mildly successful, finishing its run 
 November 12. 
 
 It was followed, November 19, by a light comedy 
 called Eccentric Lord Comber dene, by R. C. Carton. 
 George Alexander played the title part in his best 
 manner. Miss Compton was, as she always is, excellent 
 in one of those parts her husband (the author) so cleverly 
 fits her with, and a lot of good artists lent efficient 
 help, such as A. Royston, Athol Stewart, Fred Lewis, 
 Lyton Lyle, myself, T. Weguelin, Vivian Reynolds, 
 Gerald Ames, Misses Rita Jolivet, Ruth Maitland, and 
 Margerie Waterlow. The play was full of the delicate
 
 294 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 humour and charm for which the author is famous, but 
 for some inscrutable reason it just missed success, and 
 in spite of praise from the Press, a beautiful production 
 and every possible chance, it fell somewhat flat, and 
 ended its run January 21, 1911. At a very full after- 
 noon's entertainment given by that most admirable 
 charity, the Theatrical Ladies' Guild, at Kensington 
 Town Hall, February 21, 1911, I recited at one of the 
 concerts and acted as Bell-man in making announce- 
 ments in the Large Hall. 
 
 March 20, appeared at the London Hippodrome as 
 President of the Hampton Club in Seymour Hicks's 
 adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson's novel; a 
 terribly weird and grim story of a coterie of men who 
 decide by cards which of their number shall commit 
 suicide — a play of the nature brought into prominence 
 by the Grande Guignol in Paris. In this play Seymour 
 Hicks, himself, gave a most vivid and (as I think) a 
 great performance. 
 
 April 20. Went to Steinway Hall to a concert given 
 by Hay den Coffin and Maurice Farkoa, when the former 
 sang a song entitled " Kent." Music by Colon McAlpin : 
 Lyric by the writer.
 
 XXXI 
 
 On April 20, 1911, a comedy called Better Not Enquire 
 was produced at the Prince of Wales's by Charles Haw- 
 trey, who engaged me for a capital part of a gay old 
 Frenchman. The play was an adaptation from the 
 French by Gladys Unger. The notices were not good 
 and the business was only fair, but we were a cheery 
 company. Good nature and good humour radiated 
 from our " star," who is one of the most delightful 
 men to work with, as well as one of the very best actors 
 in the world, when he has a part worthy of his powers. 
 Our run was about thirteen weeks, to July 20. Besides 
 Hawtrey and the writer, the company consisted of 
 Hoi man Clark, Gerald Ames, T. Weguelin, Hubert 
 Druce, C. B. Vaughan, Misses Marie Lohr, Vane Feather- 
 ston, Hilda Moore, and a pretty little actress named 
 Enid Leslie, who seems to have dropped out of sight, I 
 am told, through ill-health. 
 
 It was during this engagement that the never-to- 
 be-forgotten Command Performance took place at 
 Drury Lane in honour of the German Emperor and 
 Empress, May 17. Their Imperial Majesties being in 
 London for the occasion of the unveiling of the statue 
 to Queen Victoria in front of Buckingham Palace, our 
 King arranged for this entertainment as part of the 
 
 festivities ; and the Emperor having expressed a wish 
 
 295
 
 296 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 to sec one of the standard plays of the language, Lord 
 Lytton's Money was chosen and presented with a cast 
 embracing all the very best names of the London Stage, 
 and those for whom parts could not be found walked 
 on as supers in the club scene, etc. I was fortunate 
 enough to get a few lines as one of the tradesmen in 
 Evelyn's house — one Tabouret, an upholsterer. It was 
 a marvellous night and a sight of bewildering magnifi- 
 cence from the stage. The grand old theatre, specially 
 and handsomely decorated, and the brilliant uniforms 
 of the foreign and British officers as well as the con- 
 course of society men and women — the latter in their 
 handsomest gowns and ablaze with jewels — made up 
 a setting for the Imperial and Royal party the like of 
 which I had never seen and never expected to again, 
 and yet it was destined that within a few weeks I was 
 to see another almost, if not quite, as remarkable. 
 The event described above reflected the highest possible 
 credit on Mr. Arthur Collins and all those who worked 
 with him to bring about such a superb consummation ; 
 and then came Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree's turn. 
 Our Gracious King George V. had signified his intention 
 to do honour to that section of his subjects, the ever 
 loyal actors, by a command performance at His Majesty's 
 and Sir Herbert threw himself heart and soul into the 
 scheme. The theatre was splendidly decorated under 
 the artistic direction of Mr. Percy Macquoid. A mon- 
 ster programme was arranged this time of various items, 
 which included Act II of Sheridan's The Critic, in which 
 I played the Beefeater. Again all the profession found 
 some niche for their services — great or small, it did not 
 matter. A special poetic masque was one of the enter-
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 297 
 
 tainments, and again the theatre was a sight of the utmost 
 splendour as seen from the stage. There were not so 
 many foreign uniforms visible, though a good number, 
 worn by the military attaches of the various Embassies, 
 but our British Army makes a gallant showing in full 
 dress, and the English public can hold its own with any 
 in the world when it turns out in force either by day 
 or evening. On both the occasions mentioned all boxes 
 and seats were at a great premium, the receipts were 
 enormous, as, of course, were the expenses, but a large 
 sum remained over, in each case, to be divided among 
 the theatrical charities. By the second performance a 
 new Fund was started which is known as the " King 
 George's Pension Fund," and one of the first to benefit 
 by it is that admirable artist and thoroughly worthy 
 lovable old comrade, Mr. Harry Paulton. 
 
 When the season closed at the Prince of Wales's, 
 July 20, I spent a delightful holiday with my people 
 and a relative at Dieppe, though the heat of that summer 
 was so abnormal that the middle part of most days was 
 passed lying under the trees in as little clothing as 
 decency permitted. We had a little house on the 
 outskirts of the town which permitted us to enjoy as 
 much of the gaiety of this piquant resort as we liked, 
 and, at the same time, we saw quite a little of the more 
 sedate side of French life. Two things struck me very 
 forcibly : First, the extraordinary thrift and genial 
 politeness of the peasantry, market-gardeners, etc., and 
 second, the remarkable enthusiasm and esprit of the 
 soldiery (we were very near a large barracks). From 
 what I observed, I should think the renaissance of 
 the French Army is a very solid fact.
 
 298 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 After this pleasant time in new environment I returned 
 to London to rehearse for Sir Herbert Tree's production 
 of Macbeth, in which I played Banquo. It was first 
 played on September 5, 1911, and ran till December 13. 
 The notices were good, generally and personally, and 
 the business was enormous for a long time. All will 
 remember the sumptuous character of this revival. 
 In my wildest dreams of Macbeth I had imagined nothing 
 like it. J. Comyns Carr acted as artistic adviser in 
 the matter and did his work well. If I said that the 
 performance wiped out my former impressions of the 
 acting play, I should not be writing the truth, and those 
 who knew me, as well as those who have paid me the 
 compliment of reading these reminiscences, would 
 know I was a humbug : which I am not ! For Sir 
 Herbert Tree I have nothing but sincere regard. A 
 delightful companion, humorous and witty, a splendid 
 host, and the best all-round character actor I have seen 
 in my time, I cannot, however, say that his Shake- 
 spearean performances have supplanted in my mind 
 some of those I have seen before. Yet he is always 
 more than interesting, and there were moments in 
 his Macbeth so fine that if I had my time to come over 
 again and were again called on to play the part, I should 
 certainly copy him. I recall one very notable scene, 
 with Lady Macbeth after the murder of Duncan, in 
 which he reached real greatness. But as a whole it 
 left me cold and inclined to retrospection. Mr. Bour- 
 chier's Macduff, too, had the same effect. Here is 
 another artist "who has done some very fine character 
 work in play after play at the Garrick and a performance 
 I shall refer to directly. But his readings at times are
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 299 
 
 so diametrically opposed to all I have ever learned and 
 practised that the only honest course for me to take is 
 to " agree to differ." And this brings me back to 
 the suggestion I hinted at in my previous remarks 
 about a National Theatre. Without the slightest 
 reference to any one, individually, I venture to assert 
 that many grave errors have crept into the reading of 
 blank verse. Indeed, they abound in profusion. Be- 
 yond all question the traditions of Shakespearean 
 reading were conveyed pretty directly from the author's 
 time down to the last half of the nineteenth century, 
 through a sequence of great actors ; and the effect, on 
 an attuned ear, of rendering his glorious verse in the 
 spirit of modern prose can only be to lessen its effect 
 and make it commonplace. Of course, on the French 
 stage the traditions, as bearing on the works of the old 
 dramatists, are carefully preserved and insisted on. 
 Even too much so ! Heaven forbid that Shakespeare's 
 verse should ever be delivered in the intoned manner 
 adopted by the tragedians of France (though they, 
 doubtless, would insist on its correctness). What we 
 want in England (and always had till recently) is a 
 happy medium. There is no need to go far for an 
 example. The standard for delivering blank verse is, 
 in my judgment, that set by Sir Johnston Forbes -Robert- 
 son ; that is the method of elocution and reading which 
 should be a part of the equipment of every Shakespearean 
 actor of every rank, and that is the standard which 
 should be the absolute objective point of a national 
 Shakespeare Memorial Theatre if it ever arrives. The 
 question is who is to teach it and to insist on it as far 
 as possible ? To get back to Macbeth. Miss Violet
 
 800 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 Vanbrugh did extremely well as Lady Macbeth. Her 
 sleep-walking scene -which had a wonderfully effective 
 setting was much above the average. Basil Gill was 
 a good Malcolm and A. E. George, Miss Frances Dillon 
 and Ross Shore were effective witches. The Lady 
 Macduff scene, from the text, was introduced for the 
 first time in many years, but though Avell played by 
 Miss Viva Birkett, did not prove of much value to the 
 play. The last act was perhaps the weakest point in 
 the performance, and the fight was really poor. Its 
 arrangement was entrusted to a young gentleman who 
 knew nothing about the play and who did not realise 
 that what is effective in a school-of-arms may not prove 
 so on the stage. The fight in Macbeth has points of 
 drama in it which are of far greater consequence than 
 the mere clash of swords, and there is a world of dramatic 
 effect in it when properly carried out. 
 
 Mention of the name of Miss Vanbrugh reminds me 
 that possibly we came of the same stock in the distant 
 past. Of course, it is known her name is the same as 
 mine, and she herself has told me that her family came 
 from Oxfordshire, my native county, where my people 
 could be traced in one parish for more than two hundred 
 and fifty years. Some old relatives of mine, who have 
 little else to do but find out such things, have told me 
 that beyond all question our ancestors were of the same 
 family. I hope it is true. It would be no small pleasure 
 in life to know that one could claim ever so slight a 
 kinship with two such charming and talented ladies 
 as herself and her sister. , 
 
 During the run of Macbeth we rehearsed and pro- 
 duced for three matinees and one night a play by Mr.
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 301 
 
 Israel Zangwill, entitled The War God. Like all the 
 work of this very clever man, it was full of good things ; 
 indeed I have often taken the book he gave me down 
 from its shelf at home and thoroughly enjoyed some of 
 the fine writing it contains. The notices were not good, 
 and it did not prove attractive. I fear it must be classed 
 in the category of what are known as " dreamer's plays.'? 
 Who was it said : " A dreamer is one who can only 
 find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that 
 he sees the dawn before the rest of the world " ? 
 
 Beyond all question, Mr. Zang will's imagination 
 reached a very high altitude in The War God, and it 
 was a pity it was not seen by a greater number of the 
 public. In this play Mr. Bourchier gave perhaps the 
 best performance of his life. As Count Torgrim, the 
 Chancellor of a supposititious kingdom — a character 
 evidently suggested by the life and work of Bismarck — 
 he was positively great. Proud, austere, masterful, 
 scheming by turns and pathetic on occasion, he touched 
 all chords in the gamut of emotion with a master hand, 
 and had the play run he would have enhanced his repu- 
 tation immensely by his very fine delineation. Tree 
 played the secondary part of Count Frithiof, which 
 was certainly fashioned on the career of Count Tolstoi, 
 and he, too, scored a success in a lesser degree. A. E. 
 George was very effective as one Brog, a revolutionary ; 
 Basil Gill's fine voice was heard to advantage as Osric, 
 the hero; Miss Lilian McCarthy was picturesque and 
 forceful as the Lady Noma, and the rest of us, including 
 Charles Maude, myself, Moss Shore, Gerald Lawrence, 
 Misses Laura Cowie and Clara Greet, lent our best help 
 in more or less visionary characters.
 
 802 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 November 26, 1911, ;•. complimentary dinner was 
 given to Mr. George Edwardes at the Savoy Hotel, with 
 Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree in the chair, to celebrate 
 the twenty-fifth anniversary of his career as a London 
 manager. It was a splendid gathering, and there I 
 had the great pleasure of meeting, after many years, 
 that fine artist Charles Santley, one of the greatest 
 vocalists the world ever produced ; perhaps as a singer 
 of baritone ballads the absolute best. I had known him 
 in my early days at the old Gaiety, when he sang in 
 Zampa, etc., and his greeting of me was cordial in the 
 extreme. He sang two ballads in honour of his old 
 friend George Edwardes, and showed that years had 
 only impaired his voice a little and his art not a jot. 
 More than one popular singer present rubbed their eyes 
 in astonishment at the wonderful and " grand old 
 man." 
 
 January 7, 1912, I took part in the Dickens Centenary 
 Celebration at the Coliseum, promoted and arranged by 
 Seymour Hicks and Mr. Oswald Stoll. It was held on 
 a Sunday evening, and consisted entirely of acts, scenes, 
 and tableaux from the works of that popular author. 
 Nearly all the profession joined in some part of the 
 entertainment, and the immense auditorium was packed 
 from floor to ceiling. The proceeds were handed to 
 some members of the great novelist's family who were 
 in reduced circumstances. 
 
 January 20, March 16, April 13, 1912, articles of 
 mine appeared in the London Press on the following 
 subjects : " A Working Actor on Macbeth," " An Actor 
 on ' The Miracle,' " and " The Reading of Shakepeare." 
 
 An ambitious play by Mr. E. G. Hemmerdc, K.C.,
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 303 
 
 was produced at the Aldwych, March 12, 1912. It was 
 called Proud Maisie, and was a modern blank-verse 
 effort dealing with incidents in Scotland at the period 
 of Bonnie Prince Charlie. It is a curious but well- 
 established fact that plays written around this character 
 have never succeeded. It is difficult to understand 
 why. His were stirring times, full of incident, chivalry 
 and loyalty, but apparently not lending themselves 
 to dramatic success, and Proud Maisie was no exception. 
 The theatre was nominally under the management of a 
 Mr. Archdeacon, but in reality was controlled and 
 financed by Sir Joseph Beecham; therefore everything 
 was done on the most liberal scale. Beautiful scenery, 
 exceptionally gorgeous old Scottish costumes, and a 
 fine cast ; John Bardsley, the operatic tenor, sang a 
 tuneful ballad. Real Scotch dances were executed, a 
 good fencing bout arranged. Miss Alexandra Carlisle 
 played the title-part to admiration. Henry Ainley 
 was romantic and virile. Ben Webster, myself, Leon 
 Quartermane, Norman Trevor, poor Blake Adams, and 
 Miss Madge Fabian all succeeded in our parts, according 
 to the newspapers. But the business was very dis- 
 appointing. I am afraid there is no doubt it was a 
 poor play. 
 
 May 11, 1912, I started on a five weeks' tour with 
 Robert Loraine, playing my old part of Roebuck 
 Ramsden (Man and Superman). We visited Manchester, 
 Birmingham, Newcastle, Glasgow, and Liverpool, giving 
 one matinee at Edinburgh. The Press were unanimous 
 in our favour, and we played to good houses. My next 
 engagement was a return to the St. James's for that 
 curious play Turandot, January 18, 1913. This had
 
 804 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 been a wonderful sun-ess in Germany, and was as pictur- 
 esque and unique as could be imagined, dealing as it 
 did with old China. The scenery was lovely, and the 
 dresses marvels of richness, but, alas ! the play was hope- 
 less. When the MS. reached England and was trans- 
 lated it appeared to contain a great deal of matter so 
 coarse as to be quite unplayable in London, and although 
 we w r ere given nearly carte blanche in the matter of 
 discreet gags it was absolutely impossible to make 
 it go, and it came to an end in four weeks. The Press 
 cut it up badly, and the business was very poor indeed. 
 Another version of this extraordinary play, called A 
 Thousand Years Ago, has been tried in the United States, 
 with nearly the same result. In the London cast were 
 Edward Sass, myself, Vivian Reynolds, Fred Lewis, 
 Norman Forbes, Godfrey Tearle, James Berry, Misses 
 Evelyn d'Alroy, Maire O'Neill, Margery Tarde, Margaret 
 Chute. Some of Edward Sass's interpolated lines were 
 very humorous. 
 
 February 12, 1913, Theatreland reprinted my poem, 
 entitled, " The Broken Melody," for the following signifi- 
 cant reason. Nearly twenty years before I had written 
 this scrap at the request of August van Biene at the 
 time he acquired and made a great success with a play 
 of the same name. He suggested that if I could supply 
 the lyric for a song he would set it to music and, if 
 successful, it might have a sale on its merits as well as 
 help to advertise his play. I did so, and I suppose I 
 over-wrote it. At all events, he was good enough to 
 say it was too much of a poem for his purpose. It was 
 reprinted more than once in the interim, but it was rather 
 an extraordinary coincidence that in the third verse I
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 305 
 
 practically described the absolute manner of my old 
 friend's death, as it occurred all those years after. Hence 
 its reproduction at the time stated. 
 
 February 15, 1913, the weekly Scotsman printed a long 
 article on myself and my career, with a portrait, and 
 pleasant allusions to my old days in Edinburgh. With 
 Scotsmen " once a friend always a friend." Their loyalty 
 is marvellous : they never forget. 
 
 February 23, 1913, I was a guest with Henry Ainley 
 and Miss Haidee Wright at the Gallery First Nighters' 
 Club, at which I spoke in response to the toast of my 
 health and finished up with a short recitation.
 
 XXXII 
 
 On Saturday, March 22, 1913, Forbes -Robertson 
 commenced his farewell performances at Drury Lane, 
 in Hamlet, and invited me to resume my old part (Polo- 
 nius) with him. Whilst sharing a dressing-room with 
 his brother, Norman Forbes, at the St. James's in Janu- 
 ary, the latter had made the casual remark, " I don't 
 believe they want my brother, or his plays, in London, 
 but he only intends to lose just so much money." What 
 happened is quite modern history and common know- 
 ledge. How the theatre was besieged by crowds night 
 after night, week after week, to witness, not only Hamlet, 
 but nearly all the plays in his repertory. How the 
 records of the theatre, as regards receipts, were equalled, 
 and (I was told) exceeded, and the nightly demon- 
 strations of respect and affection for our foremost actor 
 are amongst the happiest incidents of the modern stage. 
 The Press on Hamlet, generally, and to me personally, 
 were as favourable as ever. The business continued 
 enormous for nearly the whole of the eleven weeks, and 
 our star's banking account must have been very sub- 
 stantially increased, where a loss was considered possible. 
 I was only engaged for Polonius, but through a dis- 
 appointment in the case of a gentleman who had en- 
 gaged to play Iago, I undertook that part at a short 
 notice (May 19, and twice afterwards), with every evi- 
 
 306
 
 Photo] [" The Daily Mirror " 
 
 SIR JOHNSTON FORBES-ROBERTSON AS HAMLET AND J. H. BARNES 
 AS POLONIUS 
 
 [To face page 306
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 307 
 
 dence of satisfaction to the public. Almost in the last 
 days of the engagement the announcement was made 
 that his King had made him Sir Johnston Forbes - 
 Robertson. Never was a theatrical knighthood more 
 welcome or popular. And then came the last night 
 and final farewell, June 6, 1913, when the prices of 
 seats were raised, the theatre was thronged to its utmost 
 capacity, and hundreds were unable to obtain seats. 
 In a speech of feeling, dignity and charm, but free from 
 maudlin sentiment, he alluded to his new-found honour 
 and his old-time respect and love for his friends, the 
 public, and the curtain fell, as far as London was con- 
 cerned, on a career as honest and earnest as can be 
 found in the annals of the British stage. A number of 
 his personal friends and associates met him by invitation 
 on the stage for a last handshake, a parting glass, and 
 a sincere wish for his welfare, in which his popular and 
 gentle wife was heartily included, and " there was an 
 end." 
 
 After this I joined him in the curious experience of 
 being filmed for moving pictures in Hamlet, when we 
 rather opened the eyes of the good folks of Walton-on- 
 Thames by literally walking across and about the streets 
 in our costumes and grease paint, looking like Red 
 Indians or worse. And, now, before taking leave of 
 this fine artist and valued friend, I am going to cross 
 swords with him on one point. A short time ago 1 
 read a most optimistic opinion of his as to the present 
 condition of the British stage, and I also read an open 
 letter from Mr. Henry Arthur Jones combating his 
 contention. I am not always in accord with the views 
 of the latter gentleman, but in this case I range myself
 
 308 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 unreservedly on his side. Sir Johnston's life of sincerity 
 of purpose would clearly denote that he thoroughly 
 believes what he says. That being so, may it be sug- 
 gested that he speaks from the platform of success, 
 which has come to him in recent years, and in which 
 every individual who knows him (or of him) rejoices. 
 
 I am never afraid to face facts, and have no desire 
 " to sail under false colours." Any one reading between 
 the lines of these, my recollections, could hardly fail to 
 notice that the last decade of my career has not been 
 as successful as the former ones, and " times " have not 
 been as good. This may have made me pessimistic, 
 but I don't think so, and I desire to place on record my 
 decidedly opposite opinion to his. I see a stage where 
 our great Shakespeare is over-embellished and under- 
 acted, and often very faultily read — where the scene 
 painter and upholsterer triumph to the exclusion of 
 the poet's fancy, his immortal lines, and colossal studies 
 of human nature. I have seen Sir Johnston himself 
 have a great difficulty in getting members of his own 
 company to give adequate emphasis and meaning to the 
 author's lines. I see a stage from which romance and 
 charm are almost entirely banished, where filthy, sordid, 
 realistic, ugly so-called problems, neither amusing, en- 
 nobling nor interesting (except to a very few advanced 
 thinkers), are (slightly to paraphrase the bard himself), 
 
 " Like a mildew' d ear 
 Blasting a wholesome nation," 
 
 perverting the young and disgusting the old, and so 
 deadly dull as to kill the theatre habit among the public 
 — plays to which no decent parents would take their
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 309 
 
 young people ; thereby excluding all that section of 
 playgoers. — Theatres opening one week to shut up 
 next ! Actors rehearsing four and five weeks, very 
 often to get one or two weeks' salary, and three-fifths 
 of the English actors of force and character driven abroad 
 to get a living. I could furnish a list of these, from my 
 own knowledge, which could hardly fail to convince 
 the most sceptical. These are facts as I observe them. 
 Let who will differ from me. 
 
 And now I enter on my " last lap." August 2, 1913, 
 I left Southampton on the s.s. New York for a tour 
 in the U.S. of the Drury Lane drama The Whip. We 
 opened in Chicago August 30, and played there eight 
 weeks. When I look back and remember Chicago as 
 I first knew it and see it now it seems unbelievable. The 
 public spirit of the place which has brought about the 
 transformation must have been gigantic. Where I 
 can recall wooden pavements about as level as a switch- 
 back railway, barren, ugly prairies and treeless deserts, 
 I now find splendid streets, magnificent public (as well 
 as business) buildings, perfect pavements, and glorious 
 parks studded with lakes and wooded islands, public 
 bathing-houses, public golf links, and tennis grounds, 
 each and all created out of a wilderness. I am told that 
 the very latest enterprise of this truly wonderful city 
 is to put the ugly railway on the lake front out of sight 
 in some way, carry a bridge over the river, and finally 
 have a majestic boulevard on this same lake front 
 fifteen miles in length, extending from Evanston at the 
 north to the southern extremity of Jackson Park at 
 the south. 
 
 From Chicago to Boston, November 1, 1913, where we
 
 :3H) FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 played thirteen weeks. Boston (always charming to 
 the Englishman), with its interesting old Colonial land- 
 marks, its splendid institutions, its public library with 
 mural decorations by Sargent, Abbey, and others; its 
 beautiful Opera House and Art Museum, its Symphony 
 Hall, where the Boston Symphony Orchestra, led by 
 Dr. Karl Muck (of the Imperial Opera, Berlin) would 
 " charm the birds off the trees." Everywhere good 
 taste and comfort, especially in the line hotels, amongst 
 which may be mentioned the Bellcvue, owned and 
 managed by a " Man of Kent " (a Mr. Harvey, son of 
 the inventor of the " Harvey " torpedo), with many of 
 our countrymen among the staff, including one or two 
 old soldiers of the British Army. 
 
 From Boston to New York for two weeks, February 16. 
 New York, which some of its citizens claim " is the 
 most wonderful city in the world." In some respects 
 they would appear to be right. It seems to have ab- 
 sorbed the gaiety and advanced ideas of every other 
 prominent community in the world. Presumably, there 
 is hidden away somewhere in New York a domestic 
 life, but one is never cognizant of it. Everywhere is 
 evidence of the " mighty dollar " and the most strenu- 
 ous pursuit of pleasure. The money spent daily on 
 costly and luxurious enjoyment must be too fabulous 
 to contemplate. 
 
 On to Philadelphia March 7. " Sleepy old Phila- 
 delphia " some of the forward Americans call it. Maybe ; 
 but to me it is one of the most charming cities in the 
 Union, and I have always thought so. I love its magnifi- 
 cent Fairmount Park, its old-world characteristics, 
 and even its narrow streets and red -brick pavements,
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 311 
 
 carrying the mind back to the days " when all the world 
 was young " to us, and its sense of calm, comfortable, 
 well-off respectability. Nor is this feeling of secure 
 wealthy complaisance without good basis. I wonder 
 how many of the gigantic, ostentatious projects of the 
 West have been formulated and financed and owned 
 in the sedate but handsomely housed trust companies 
 of Philadelphia. We played there seven weeks, and 
 I experienced any amount of most kindly hospitality. 
 It is a city of delightful clubs, the Union League, the 
 Racquet, the new Manufacturers' (a most wonderful 
 all -marble structure), and last, but by no means least, 
 the charming Art Club, one of the very nicest, cosiest, 
 and tasteful semi -Bohemian clubs in the world. Here 
 good-fellowship abounds, radiating from its President. 
 John Howard McFadden. Known to his friends on 
 both sides of the Atlantic as the Cotton King, he is a 
 many-sided man in the true sense of the word. There 
 are many fine collections of pictures and objects of art 
 owned amongst the wealthy men of Philadelphia. This 
 is the present home of Rembrandt's " The Mill " ; also 
 the celebrated " Madonna," by Raphael, known in 
 Europe as the " Cooper " Madonna, recently purchased 
 from the famous Lansdowne collection for an enormous 
 sum. Both of them are housed with other great works 
 in the veritable palace of Mr. Widener, which is a posi- 
 tive storehouse of treasures. There are several other 
 valuable collections in the city, but I have never derived 
 greater pleasure from the contemplation of pictures 
 than from those owned by John McFadden. There are 
 not a great number, about thirty or forty — all gems of 
 the great English School. Two Hogarths, several,
 
 812 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 
 
 Etaeburns, seven Romneys, a glorious Gainsborough, 
 an equally splendid Turner, a George Morland, an Old 
 Crome, " Blacksmith Shop," the best Harlow I have 
 ever seen, and as fine an example of Constable as (I 
 believe) there is in the world. This last picture has 
 quite a history. It was sent to Lisle to an exhibition 
 about the year 1824 or 1826, and on its return to England 
 was held in pawn at the port of entry through 
 the inability of the painter to pay the accrued costs or 
 expenses of £14. It was eventually taken out of custody 
 by a man named Silcock, and after many vicissitudes 
 found its way to its present abiding-place. Called 
 " Stour Lock," it is a magnificent specimen which " makes 
 one's mouth water." The great charm of McFadden's 
 collection to me is that they are not exhibited in 
 a gallery with a lot of inferior specimens, but, beau- 
 tifully preserved, they are tastefully hung and splendidly 
 lighted in the living rooms of his fine house in Ritten- 
 house Square, so that he, his family, and his friends 
 move always in this gloriously artistic atmosphere. 
 What a luxury ! Nor does Mr. McFadden spend all 
 of his great wealth on his own personal pleasures or 
 fancies. Descended from John Howard, a man famous 
 in the annals of medical research in the last century 
 (which he conducted at his own expense), he has in- 
 herited the same desire to benefit his fellow-creatures. 
 He is prime mover in, and sole supporter of, " The John 
 Howard McFadden Cancer Research," which is carried 
 on by his assistants the Messrs. Ross, in a laboratory 
 in connection with the Lister Institute, near Chelsea 
 Bridge, in London, and " a little bird has whispered me " 
 that great results are looming in the near future. He
 
 FORTY YEARS ON THE STAGE 313 
 
 has written an article on this topic, which was printed 
 in the Nineteenth Century and After. Add to this a 
 genial manner and presence and a thoroughly kindly 
 and friendly nature, and it may be gathered that he is, 
 distinctly, a man to know ! 
 
 And here ends my task. With my face turned towards 
 home, the dear home folk, and the friends I love in 
 "Old England," I lay down my pen. To those of my 
 readers who are my contemporaries in our calling my 
 affectionate heartfelt regard. To the younger members 
 of our great and noble profession I wish all good -luck, 
 with just a scrap of advice by slightly altering Addison's 
 line in the play of Cato — 
 
 'Tis not in actors to command success : But we'll 
 do more, Sempronius — we'll deserve it. 
 
 To that greater public, outside, the profound respect 
 of an ever-faithful servant. It would be an immense 
 gratification to feel that, among them all, even a very 
 few could be found to differ from me, when I say, 
 "THANK GOD! IT'S FINISHED!"
 
 INDEX OF NAMES 
 
 Abbey, H. E., 144, 145, 178, 204 
 Abingdon, W. L., 167, 243 
 Adams, A. A., 272 
 Adams, Blake, 303 
 Addison, Carlotta, 208, 211, 241 
 Ainley, Henry, 273, 274, 303, 305 
 Albery, James, 81, 263 
 Aldrich, Louis, 173, 174 
 Alexander, George, 148, 293 
 Allen, Viola, 188, 191 
 Alroy, Evelyn d', 293, 304 
 Ames, Gerald, 293-295 
 Anderson, Mary, 144-148, 171- 
 
 178 
 Anson, G. W., 90, 241, 289 
 Archer, Fred, 152-155 
 Arthur, Julia, 194 
 Ashwell, Lena, 206, 227, 241, 266, 
 
 289 
 Atherley, Frank, 271 
 Aynesworth, Allan, 285 
 
 Baird, Dorothea, 213 
 
 Bancroft, Squire, 95 
 
 Bandmann, 66 
 
 Bardsley, John, 303 
 
 Baring, Godfrey, 292 
 
 Barker, Granville, 277, 278, 282, 
 
 283 
 Barnes, Colonel, 126 
 Barrett, Lawrence, 148 
 Barrett, Wilson, 110, 231-235 
 Barrie, Sir J. M., 206 
 Barry, Helen, 116 
 Barrymore, Maurice, 16, 17, 161, 
 
 201-204, 210 
 Bateman, H. C, 9-12, 96, 111, 
 
 112 
 Bateman, Jessie, 110, 267, 240 
 Beatrice, Mile., 96 
 Beatty, Kingston, 10, 121 
 
 Bedford, William, 276 
 
 Beecham, Sir Joseph, 303 
 
 Beere, Mrs. Bernard, 110, 135, 
 
 155, 163 
 Belasco, David, 228 
 Bellamy, George, 269 
 Bellew, J. C. M., 5, 6, 7 
 Belmore, George, 10, 111, 230 
 Bennett, Miss, 181 
 Bennett, Richard, 281 
 Bernhardt, Sarah, 83, 163 
 Berry, James, 304 
 Beveridge, J. D., 73, 74, 94 
 Beverley, William, 19 
 Biene, August van, 304 
 Billington, John, 93, 230, 266 
 Billington, Mrs., 146, 147, 172, 
 
 230, 266 
 Birkett, Viva, 281, 283, 300 
 Bishop, Alfred, 207, 208, 211, 
 
 283 
 Bishop, Kate, 23, 24 
 Bixby, Dan, 43, 45 
 Blakeley, William, 213, 214 
 Blanchard, E. L., 22 
 Blanchard, Kitty, 62 
 Blinn, Holbrook, 242, 256 
 Blythe, H. G., 16 
 Booth, Edwin, 174, 193 
 Boucicault, Aubrey, 211 
 Boucicault, Dion, 8, 29, 48, 55, 
 
 73, 83, 112, 216 
 Boucicault, Nina, 259 
 Bourchier, Arthur, 267, 298, 301 
 Bourchier, Mrs. Arthur, 267 
 Bowling, Captain, 152 
 Boyne, Leonard, 194, 243 
 Bradfield, Louis, 259 
 Brand, Tita, 273, 274 
 Brema, Marie, 273, 274 
 Brookfield, C, 155, 213, 241 
 
 
 314
 
 INDEX OF NAMES 
 
 315 
 
 Brook, Miss E. H., 269 
 Brooks, Joseph, 125, 201 
 Brooks, Sarah, 244 
 Brough, Fanny, 243 
 Brough, Lionel, 90, 212, 262 
 Brougham, John, 43 
 Browne, Graham, 217, 285 
 Browne, Tom, 266 
 Buchanan, Robert, 143 
 Buckstone, 156 
 Burgess, Mrs. Fred, 266 
 Burnham, Lord, 86 
 Busley, Jessie, 272 
 Butt, Lawson, 286 
 Byron, H. J., 21-24, 38-40, 78, 
 90, 152 
 
 Calder, W., 167 
 Calthrop, J. A., 85 
 Calvert, Charles, 29, 42, 55 
 Calvert, Mrs. Charles, 172 
 Cameron, Sir Roderick, 42 
 Campbell, J. A., 161 
 Campbell, Miss, 181 
 Campbell, Mrs. Patrick, 217, 220, 
 
 225 
 Canninge, Mrs., 207 
 Cannon, Arthur, 197 
 Cannon, Joseph, 197 
 Cannon, " Morny," 197 
 Carew, James, 280 
 Carlisle, Alexandra, 93, 94, 303 
 Carlisle, Sybil, 211 
 Came, Joseph, 181, 188 
 Carr, J. Comyns, 78, 134, 228, 
 
 298 
 Carroll, E., 43 
 
 Carson, Murray, 207, 22G, 227 
 Carter, Hubert, 273 
 Carton, R. C, 81, 288, 287, 293 
 Caruso, 280 
 
 Cavendish, Ada, 32, 89, 90 
 Cavour, Count, 138 
 Cellier, Alfred, 156 
 Chamberlain, Joseph, 11 
 Chatterton, F. B., 19, 73, 78 
 Chaumont, 83 
 Chester, Elsie, 289 
 Chevalier, Albert, 115 
 Chippendale, 157, 190 
 Choate, J. H., 228 
 Christianson, Christian, 143 
 Christianson, Kate, 143 
 Chute, Margaret, 304 
 Clark, Holman, 295 
 
 Clarke, John, 17, 39, 56, 78 
 Claude, Angelina, 133 
 Clayton, John, 74, 85, 113, 203 
 Cliff e, Cooper, 217 
 Coffin, Hay den, 294 
 Coghlan, Rose, 205 
 Coleman, John, 168, 170, 286 
 Collier, James, 149 
 Collins, Arthur, 267, 296 
 Compton, E., 156, 280 
 Compton, Mrs., 293 
 Connaught, Duke of, 246 
 Conover, Mrs., 161 
 Cooper, Clifford, 100 
 Cooper, F. R., 100, 109 
 Cooper, Frank, 269, 289 
 Cordova, Rudolph de, 177, 286 
 Couldock, C. W., 62, 201 
 Cowell, Arthur, 197 
 Cowell, Lydia, 118 
 Cowell, Mrs. Florence, 181 
 Cowie, Laura, 301 
 Craven, Hawes, 217 
 Craven, W. S., 205, 213 
 Cressall, Maud, 269 
 Critchett, Sir A., 287 
 Croizette, 83 
 Croker, Richard, 197 
 Crowe, Mrs., 10 
 Crowe, Sydney, 217 
 Curzon, Frank, 205-226, 269 
 
 Dacre, Arthur, 185-187 
 Dalton, Charles, 181, 194 
 Daly, Augustin, 202 
 Dauvray, Helen, 194 
 Davenport, E. L., 55 
 Davenport, Fanny, 162, 163, 165 
 Davis, F., 272 
 Day, W. H., 256 
 Dayle, Gilbert, 259 
 Deadlock, Sir Leicester, 76 
 Dee, Ellas, 241 
 Deitz, Linda, 157 
 Delaunay, 83 
 Delmonico, Charles, 47 
 Denham, George, 188 
 Dennis, Michael, 205 
 Dennison, A. M., 181, 183, 185 
 Depew, Chauncey, 228 
 Devereux, W., 243, 244 
 Dewey, Eugene, 127 
 Dewhurst, J., 19 
 
 Dickens, Charles, 6, 11, 25, 34, 81, 
 85, 228, 302
 
 31G 
 
 INDEX OF NAMES 
 
 Dillon, Francis, 300 
 Dodaon, J. E., 181 
 Douglas, Kenneth, 208, 211 
 Drayoott, Wilfred, 243 
 
 1 'r.-w , t leorge, 10 
 
 Drew, John, 191, 228 
 
 Drew, Mrs. John, 188, 190, 191 
 
 Druce, Hubert, 295 
 
 Dubourg, A. W., 157 
 
 Du Maimer, Gerald, 212 
 
 Dunphie, C, 287 
 
 Duse, Signora, 280 
 
 Dyall, Franklin, 217, 241 
 
 Eadie, Dennis, 259 
 East on, William, 152, 198 
 Edwardes, George, 302 
 Edwardes, Mrs. George, 155 
 Edward VII, King, 245 
 Elliott, Gertrude, 291 
 Elliott, Maxine, 194 
 Elwood, A., 100 
 Emery, Sam, 262 
 Emney, Fred, 259 
 Esmond, H. V., 206, 226, 227 
 Eustace, Jennie, 201 
 Everard, Walter, 94 
 
 Faber, Leslie, 281, 283 
 
 Fabian, Madge, 273, 303 
 
 Fairchild, Roy, 201 
 
 Falconer, Edmund, 78 
 
 Farkoa, Maurice, 294 
 
 Farqueil, 83 
 
 Farren, Nellie, 94, 280 
 
 Farren, W., 44, 91, 92, 146 
 
 Featherston, Vane, 295 
 
 Febvre, 83 
 
 Fechter, 230 
 
 Fernandez, James, 19, 20, 93, 
 
 121, 155 
 Ferrar, Beatrice, 259 
 Field, Ben, 290 
 Field, Kate, 200 
 Fife, Duke of, 245 
 Filippi, Rosina, 213, 256 
 Finlayson, Mrs., 37 
 Fisher, David, 39 
 Fitch, Clyde, 256 
 Flanagan, 252 
 Fletcher, Charles, 6, 50, 255 
 Florence, " Billy," 43, 188, 190 
 Forbes, Norman, 273, 304, 306 
 Forbes-Robertson, Sir J., 172, 
 
 205, 214, 216, 220, 221, 222, 
 
 225. 226, 237, 270, 292, 293, 
 
 299, 307, 308 
 Forrest, Edwin, 117 
 Forrester, Edwin, 100, 107 
 Foster, W. D., 197 
 Frame, Charles, 283 
 French, T. H., 194, 228 
 Frohman, Charles, 2771, 22, 281 
 Fry, R. H., 197 
 Furtado, Miss, 17 
 
 Gammon, Barclay, 89 
 Ganthony, Richard, 236, 240 
 Garden, E. W., 12 
 Garrick, David, 44, 67 
 George, A. E., 300, 301 
 George V, King, 245, 295, 296 
 Gibson, J. R., 118 
 Gilbert, Sir W. S., 39, 41, 90, 147, 
 
 149, 157, 199 
 Gilchrist, Connie, 94 
 Gill, Basil, 300, 301 
 Glendinning, John, 281 
 Goodhart, C, 244 
 Goodwin, Mat, 228, 281 
 Gottschalk, F., 226 
 Goidd, Bernard, 217 
 Grain, Corney, 89 
 Granville, Miss, 217, 241, 274 
 Graves, Clo, 241 
 Green, Clay, 126 
 Green, Richard, 249, 250 
 Greet, Clare, 301 
 Grimston, Dorothy, 267 
 Grossmith, George, 89, 266 
 Grossmith, Weedon, 265, 266 
 Grove, Fred, 283 
 Gunn, Michael, 145, 147 
 Gurney, Edward, 241 
 Gwenn, Edward, 289 
 Gwynne, Julia, 155 
 
 Hading, Jane, 83 
 
 Hallard, C. M., 290 
 
 Halliday, Andrew, 18, 78 
 
 Halliday, Lena, 285 
 
 Halstan, Margaret, 265 
 
 Hammond, Dorothy, 272 
 
 Hanbury, Lily, 243 
 
 Harcourt, Cyril, 289 
 
 Hardie, Keir, 290 
 
 Hardy, Thomas, 34 
 
 Hare, Sir John, 113, 114, 156, 157- 
 
 160, 161, 203, 292 
 Harris, Lindsay, 123
 
 INDEX OF NAMES 
 
 317 
 
 Harris, Sir Augustus, 12, 118, 197 
 
 Harris, Maria, 12 
 
 Harris, Nellie, 12 
 
 Harrison, Maude, 151 
 
 Harrison, President, 176 
 
 Harte, Bret, 47 
 
 Harvey, Frank, 96 
 
 Harvey, Martin, 217 
 
 Hawley, Stanley, 249 
 
 Hawthorne, Grace, 167 
 
 Hawtrey, Charles, 235-240, 295 
 
 Head, Charles, 197 
 
 Hearn, James, 217, 251 
 
 Heath, Miss, 110, 232 
 
 Heggie, O. P., 289 
 
 Hemmerde, E. G., 302 
 
 Henderson, Alexander, 219, 229 
 
 Heslewood, Tom, 244 
 
 Hicks, Seymour, 181, 187, 243, 
 
 283, 285, 288, 294, 302 
 Hilton, Robert, 290 
 Hobson, Maud, 126, 226 
 Hodson, Henrietta, 84, 262 
 Hole, W. B., 36 
 Holland, E. M., 201 
 Holland, Fanny, 41 
 Holland, Ned, 123 
 Hollingshead, J., 83, 86, 93, 137, 
 
 138, 231 
 Holmes-Gore, 226 
 Homfray, Gladys, 256 
 Hopper, De Wolf, 228 
 Horniman, Miss, 65 
 Houghton, Dr., 14, 15 
 Howard, Bronson, 43, 44 
 Howard, C. E., 197 
 Howard, Sidney, 194 
 Hughes, Annie, 206, 207, 208, 
 
 211, 226, 269 
 Hume, Fergus, 168 
 
 Illington, Margaret, 271, 272 
 
 Illington, Marie, 259 
 
 Ingersoll, Robert, 228 
 
 Irving, Sir Henry, 9-11, 28, 63, 
 91, 96-113, 144, 145, 251, 253- 
 255, 262, 263, 266, 274, 275 
 
 Irving, Laurence, 251 
 
 I 
 James, David, 21, 63, 80, 121 
 Jarman, Herbert, 273 
 Jefferson, Joseph, 14, 165, 166, 
 
 174, 188-194, 230 
 Jefferson, Tom, 191 
 Jerome, Jerome K., 206 
 
 Jerrold, Douglas, 113, 114 
 
 Jewett, Sara, 151 
 
 Jocelyn, Harry, 126 
 
 Jogram, Professor, 209 
 
 Johnson, Orris, 201 
 
 Johnson, Sam, 100 
 
 Jolivet, Rita, 293 
 
 Jones, H. A., 207, 281, 283, 307 
 
 Jones, Maria, 13, 19 
 
 Kean, Charles, 68, 74, 232 
 
 Kean, Edmund, 64, 67, 106 
 
 Keane, Doris, 281, 283 
 
 Keene, F., 197 
 
 Keene, J. R., 197 
 
 Kelly, Charles, 135 
 
 Kelly, W. W., 167, 168, 180 
 
 Kemble, 67, 147, 148 
 
 Kendal, W. H, 66, 87, 88, 90, 
 
 94, 113, 134, 156, 157, 159, 160, 
 
 181 182 
 Kendal, Mrs. W. H., 28, 66, 87, 
 
 94, 114, 123, 134, 156, 157, 160, 
 
 181, 182 
 Kennedy, C. R., 289 
 Kerr, Fred, 205 
 Kingston, Gertrude, 200 
 Kitchener, Lord, 246 
 Klein, Charles, 228 
 Knight, Joseph, 274, 275, 276 
 Knight, Julius, 194 
 Knowles, Sir James, 287 
 Knowles, John, 65 
 
 Lablache, Luigi, 246 
 Labouchere, Henry, 83 
 Labouchere, Mrs. Henry, 28, 83 
 Lackaye, W., 201 
 Langford, C, 94 
 Latham, F. G., 243 
 Lawford, Ernest, 271, 272 
 Lawley, Hon. Francis, 194, 196 
 Lawrence, Gerald, 244, 301 
 Lawrence, Lilian, 201 
 Lawson, Lionel, 86 
 Leclerq, Carlotta, 230 
 Ledger, George, 63, 64 
 Lee, Jennie, 126 
 Lee, Phil, 52 
 Lee, Richard, 31 
 Lee, Robert, 276 
 Leigh, Henry, S., 81 
 Leighton, Margaret, 119 
 Leonard, Agnes, 93 
 Leslie, Enid, 295
 
 31 S 
 
 INDEX OF NAMES 
 
 Leslie. M;\\u\. 269 
 
 Lewis, Arthur, L72, 244, 281, 283 
 
 Lewis. Bred, 293, 804 
 
 Low is. Leopold, 10 
 
 Lingham, Nat, 54, 123 
 
 Little C. P., 231 
 
 Litton, Marie, 01 
 
 Lloyd, N. G., 166 
 
 Loates, S., 197 
 
 Loftus, Kitty, 268 
 
 Lohr, Mario,' 295 
 
 Lonsdnlo. Lord, 197 
 
 Loraine, Robert, 303 
 
 Lyle, Lyton, 293 
 
 Lytton, Lord, 282, 296 
 
 McAlpin, Colonel, 294 
 McCarthy, Lillah, 301 
 McCarthy, Justin, 193 
 McCullough, John, 116-119, 172, 
 
 1731 
 McFadden, J. H„ 311, 312 
 Macfarlane, W. W„ 225 
 Machell, Captain, 197 
 Mcintosh, B., 228 
 MacKay, F. F., 62 
 MacKay, Wallace, 76 
 McKennel, Norman, 244, 265 
 Macklin, Frank, 147 
 McLaughlin, James, 198 
 MacLean, John, 93 172, 
 McManus, Captain, 211 
 Macquoid, Percy, 296 
 Macready, W. C, 50 
 Maitland, Kenmure, 36 
 Maitland, Ruth, 286, 293 
 Marston, VV. H., 47 
 Mason, Jack, 151 
 Massey, Rose, 73, 74 
 Mathews, Charles, 32-36, 86, 90, 
 
 159 
 Mathews, Ethel, 209 
 Matthison, Mrs. E. W., 290 
 Maude, Charles, 301 
 Maude, Cyril, 266 
 Mayer, Marcus, 202 
 Mead, Tom, 96, 109 
 Mellon, Mrs. Alfred, 230 
 Melton, Henry, 9 
 Merivale, Hermann, 85, 97, 98, 
 
 216 
 Merriott, Paul, 267 
 Meyrick, Ellen, 93, 266 
 Miller, Henry, 290, 293 
 Miller, Joaquin, 124 
 
 Mills, Frank, 256, 267 
 
 Milhvard, Jessie, 281 
 
 Milton, Maud, 251 
 
 Minster, R-, 265 
 
 Modjeska, Madame, 232 
 
 Mollison, William, 243 
 
 Monokton, Lady, 161 
 
 Montague, H. J„ 12-15, 21-47, 60 
 
 Montgomery, Walter, 142 
 
 Moodio, Louise, 141 
 
 Moore, Mary, 208, 263, 266 
 
 Morant, Fanny, 62 
 
 Morton, Charles, 229 
 
 Mowbray, T., 78, 79 
 
 Muck, Dr. Karl, 310 
 
 Murdoch, Bella, 94 
 
 Murray, Mrs. Gaston, 39 
 
 Nash, George, 201 
 
 Neilson, Adelaide, 41, 42, 50-60, 
 
 98, 119 
 Nerney, Thomas, 73 
 Nethersole, Olga, 202, 226, 256 
 Neville, Albert, 248 
 Neville, Henry, 89, 121, 230, 248, 
 
 279 
 Newry, Lord, 98 
 Nicholls, Harry, 167, 244 
 Nott, Cicely, 93 
 
 O'Beirne, Marie, 25 
 Odell, E. J., 78 
 O' Grady, Hubert, 73 
 O'Neil, James, 54 
 O'Neill, Anne, 201 
 O'Neill, Mary, 304 
 Owen, R., 269 
 Owen, W. E„ 188, 191 
 
 Paget, F., 201 
 
 Pallant, William, 238 
 
 Palmer, A. M., 149 
 
 Parker, Frank, 286 
 
 Parker, Louis N., 207, 226, 227, 
 
 231 
 Parkinson, Joe, 253 
 Parry, John, 89 
 Parry, Judge, 93 
 Parry, Serjeant, 93 
 Parselle, John, 151 
 Pateman, Bella, 210, 240 
 Pateman, Mrs., 181 
 Pateman, Robert, 180, 181, 241 
 Paulton, Harry, 93, 181, 297 
 Payne, Louis, 272
 
 INDEX OF NAMES 
 
 319 
 
 Peck, Robert, 197 
 
 Pemberfcon, Max, 269 
 
 Penley, W. S., 205 
 
 Pettitt, Henry, 62, 139, 180, 194 
 
 Phelps, Samuel, 56, 67, 68, 70, 71, 
 
 81, 86, 87, 90, 91, 137, 193, 215 
 Philips, F. C, 19 
 Phillips, Kate, 115, 244 
 Pinero, Sir Arthur, 28, 100, 134, 
 
 181, 192, 271, 282 
 Poulton, A. G., 241 
 Pounds, Courtice, 242 
 Price, E. H., 162, 164 
 
 Quartermane, Leon, 303 
 
 Ramsay, Alicia, 286 
 Rankin, McKee, 62, 123, 125, 228 
 Raymond, J. T., 43, 45 
 Raymond, Lucy, 23, 24 
 Rayne, Eveleen, 73 
 Reade, Charles, 145 
 Reed, Charles, 198 
 Renaud, Chateau, 112, 113 
 Reynolds, Vivian, 293, 304 
 Richards, Cicely, 167 
 Rignold, George, 28, 55, 138 
 Rignold, Jane, 39 
 Rignold, William, 28, 135, 148 
 Ristori, Madame, 135, 135, 137 
 Roberts, Lord, 285 
 Robertshaw, Jerrold, 267 
 Robertson, Ian, 217 
 Robertson, Madge, 28, 157 
 Robertson, Tom, 13, 276, 279 
 Robson, E. M., 244 
 Robson, Stuart, 62, 188 
 Rock, Charles, 244 
 Roe, B., 243 
 Romaine, Claire, 265 
 Rousby, Mrs., 61, 93 
 Rooke, Irene, 243 
 Rooke, Mary, 167 
 Rosebery, Lord, 288 
 Roselle, Amy, 143, 147, 185 
 Ross, Herbert, 289 
 Rossi, Signor, 138 
 Rothschild, Alfred de, 288 
 Rouse, Mrs. 188 
 Rome, James, 198 
 Royce, E., 97 
 Royston, A., 293 
 Rutland, Duke of, 288 
 Ryder, John, 28, 41, 51, 93, 118- 
 120, ''140, 141 
 
 Saker, Edward, 24, 25 
 
 Salvini, 11, 12, 137 
 
 Sanford, Wright, 47 
 
 Santley, Charles, 302 
 
 Sass, Edward, 241, 304 
 
 Saville, John, 272 
 
 Saville, T. F., 201 
 
 Schaus, William, 42 
 
 Scott, Captain, 246 
 
 Scott, Clement, 66, 114, 121, 140 
 
 Serrano, Vincent, 272 
 
 Shaw, Bernard, 270, 278, 279, 
 
 282 
 Sheridan, W. E., 54, 56, 123, 125 
 Shine, J. L., 161, 167 
 Shook, Sheridan, 149 
 Shore, Moss, 300, 301 
 Shrewsbury, Lord, 288 
 Siddons, Mrs. Scott, 28, 31, 32, 
 
 276 
 Silke, George, 197 
 Simpson, Palgrave, 33 
 Sims, G. R., 180 
 Sinclair, Henry, 19 
 Sketchley, Arthur, 88 
 Smith, Joseph, 129 
 Smith, Mark, 43, 44 
 Soldene, Miss, 230 
 Somerset, C. W., 142, 143, 206, 
 
 265 
 Sothern, E. A., 43-47, 157 
 Spencer-Brunton, Enid, 259 
 Standing, Guy, 272, 289 
 Steel, Vernon, 283 
 Stephens, W. H., 89 
 Sterling, Edward, 20 
 Sterling, Mrs. Arthur, 146 
 Stetson, J. B., 199, 200 
 Stewart, A. T., 49 
 Stirling, Mrs., 91, 190 
 Stoddart, James, 62, 151 
 Stoll, Oswald, 302 
 Stuart, Constance, 273 
 Swanborough, Edward, 247 
 Swanborough, Mrs., 20, 21, 23, 
 
 276 
 Swinbourne, Thomas, 139, 140, 
 
 162 
 
 Tabor, Robert, 241, 242 
 Tarde, Margery, 304 
 Taylor, J. G., 172 
 Tearle, Godfrey, 304 
 Teazle, Lady, 91, 163 
 Tempest, Marie, 285
 
 320 
 
 INDEX OF NAMES 
 
 Teniae, Elleiine, 231, 247 
 Tames, William, 10, 73, 113, 217- 
 
 210. 226 
 Terry, Charles. 155 
 Terry, Edward, 23, 90, 93 
 Terry, Ellen, 28. loo, 103, 104, 
 
 109, 110. 144, 155, 251-203, 
 
 279-281, 287 
 Terry, Florence, 100 
 Terry, Marion, 90, 206 
 Thame, 7 
 
 Thimm, Daisy, 265 
 Thomas, Augustus, 201, 272 
 Thomas, Brandon, 115, 179, 270 
 Thomasini, Signor, 29 
 Thompson, Lydia, 229 
 Thome, Charles, 02 
 Thome, Thomas, 21, 63, 80, 121 
 Tilbury, Zeffie, 172, 229, 244 
 Titheradge, G. S., 227, 240 
 Titheradge, Madge, 267 
 Tittell, Charlotte, 194 
 Tittell, Esther, 271 
 Toole, J. L., 28, 32, 61, 62, 90, 
 
 262, 266 
 Tracey, Helen, 281 
 Travers, W., 48, 49 
 Tree, Mrs. H. B., 265 
 Tree, SirH. B., 171, 212, 256, 282, 
 
 291, 296, 298, 302 
 Tresahar, J., 265 
 Trevelyan, Francis, 196, 198 
 Trevor, Norman, 286, 303 
 Twain, Mark, 47 
 Tyars, Frank, 218, 219 
 Tyler, Fred, 207 
 
 Valentine, Sydney, 266, 289 
 Vanburgh, Violet, 181, 300 
 VandenhofT, George, 16, 17, 50 
 Vaughan, C. B., 295 
 Vaughan, Kate, 97 
 Vedrenne, 277, 278, 282, 283 
 Vernon, Ida, 151 
 Vernon, W. H., 23 
 Vestris, Madame, 34 
 Vezin, Herman, 90 
 Volpe, F., 206 
 
 Waller, Lewis, 169, 213, 243, 219 
 Wnllis, Gladys, 201 
 Wallis, Mrs., 119, 241 
 Ward, Fred, 25, 94, 118 
 Ward, Genevieve, 96-99 
 Warde, George, 172, 244 
 Waring, Herbert, 172, 237 
 Warner, Charles, 11, 95, 121, 122, 
 
 143, 144, 237 
 Warren, Joseph, 191 
 Warwick, Lady, 290 
 Waterlow, Margerie, 293 
 Waterson, Henry, 76 
 Watson, Henrietta, 206, 283 
 Webb, Fred, 197 
 Webster, Ben, 81, 151, 230, 266, 
 
 269, 303 
 Webster, Lizzie, 267 
 Weguelin, T., 293, 295 
 Welsh, James, 208, 211, 226 
 Wheeler, A. C, 43, 45 
 White, Fisher, 217 
 Wigan, Horace, 44, 74, 75, 76 
 Willes, Eloise, 151 
 Wills, W. G., 109-114 
 Willard, E. S., 116 
 Williams, Arthur, 240 
 Williams, Barney, 43, 45, 111, 119 
 Wilson, Jay, 272 
 Winter, William, 43, 45, 173 
 Witmark, Jay, 236 
 Wontney, Arthur, 289 
 Wood, C, 197 
 Wood, Mrs. John, 39, 40 
 Worthing, Frank, 271 
 Wright, Haidee, 305 
 Wyndham, Sir Charles, 208, 213, 
 
 228, 259-263, 266 
 Wyndham, R. H., 25, 28, 29 
 Wyndham, Mrs., 25, 27, 28, 29, 
 
 38, 41, 73 
 Wynne, Gladys, 290 
 
 Yorke, G. M., 172 
 
 Young, Brigham, 129, 130, 131 
 
 Zangwill, Israel, 301 
 
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