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With ORJGIVfzAL LITET^TfT COPyjRIVUTIOS^S, ILLUST^tATIOU^S, 
 and music from the following WRITERS, c 41{TISTS, and COmPOSERS, ’ 
 
 ijaustomau 
 
 mi 
 
 LITE%cA<I{Y- 
 
 LORD TENNYSON. 
 
 LADY CONSTANCE HOWARD. 
 LADY BRASSEY. 
 
 THE HON. LEWIS WINGFIELD. 
 
 J. H. AVELING, M.D. 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 JOHN COLEMAN. 
 
 « FARGUS (“Hugh Conway”) 
 
 “VIOLET FANE.” 
 
 HORACE LENNARD. 
 
 FRANK A. MARSHALL. 
 
 MRS. BLOOMFIELD MOORE 
 MRS. WALKER. 
 
 HERMAN MERIVALE. 
 
 OSCAR WILDE. 
 
 &c., &c. 
 
 llligiggiggi 
 
 u 
 
 all specially 
 
 CONTRIBUTED 
 
 FOR CHARITY.” 
 
 # iSixibCi 
 
 IHfiBHSIBBBaBllBmiSltBBBWltlBBBMBilBSaiBB 
 
 a a luuuiinuiu 11 
 
 A. BACCANI. 
 
 JOHN B. BURGESS, A.R.A. 
 GERALD M. BURN. 
 RANDOLPH CALDECOTT 
 WALTER CRANE. 
 
 GEO. CRUICKSHANK. 
 ALFRED DARBYSHIRE. 
 ARTHUR H. DAVIS. 
 
 ILL USIRcATIOUKS- 
 
 5 JOHN DINSDALE. 
 
 THOS. FAED, R.A. 
 
 LUKE FILDES, A.R.A. 
 HARRY FURNISS. 
 
 WM. GALE. 
 
 F. GOODALL, R.A. 
 
 § MRS. HOUGHTON. 
 WALLIS MACKAY. 
 
 I 
 
 FRED. II. COWEN. 
 
 music- 
 
 PHIL. R. MORRIS, A.R.A. 
 VAL. C. PRINCEPS, A.R.A. 
 THOMAS SIMPSON. 
 
 G. A. STOREY, A.R.A. 
 
 J. D. WATSON. 
 
 W. WEEKES. 
 
 W. F. YE AMES, R.A. 
 
 &c., &c-. 
 
 d&arcb 
 
 AUG USTUS L. TAMPLIN. 
 
\ 
 
 GEO%GE FQALKUKE^ & SOC\S, 
 cArt Printers, 
 
 _ The Imperial Press, 
 
 mcA^CCHESTE^. 
 
 t 
 
£ines 
 
 on tfye portrait of 
 
 Sbakspere, 
 
 prefixed as frontispiece 
 to tfye first €bition of 
 tfis tDorks in folio, 
 { 623 . 
 
 9 9 
 
 9 
 
 ■& <&\ 
 
 -j-N r “ i r“ t 
 
 9 | 
 
 « m | 
 
 Zo tbe IReabev. 
 
 ©jis figure, that tljou tjere seest put, 
 
 3t teas for gentle Sfyakspere cut; j 
 
 Herein tlje (Bracer l}ab a Strife | 
 
 IPitlj Hature, to out^bo ttje life: 
 
 0, coulb fye but fyace braten b?is IDit 
 21s tcell in Brass, as fye fyatlj l?it 
 bjis £ace; fye print teoulb tfyen surpass 
 21U tljat teas eoer terit in Brass. 
 
 But since fye cannot, Beaber, look 
 not on t}is picture, but t?is Book. 
 
 <BE?^ J0I7CS07C. 
 
 9 9 
 
 9 
 
“ Heaven take my 
 soul, and England 
 keep my bones.” 
 
 King John. 
 
 s#(ij 
 
 1 
 
 & 
 
 i 
 
 aF 
 
 MB 
 
 iiSl 
 
 Special Work of the Hospital. 
 
 Special Methods of Helping. 
 
 “ The Sick Visitor ;” Illustration by Wm. Gale. 
 
 Quotations of Speeches referring to the Hospital. 
 Exterior of the Albert Hall ; Illustration by John Dinsdale. 
 The Showman’s Note. 
 
 “ The Names,” Poem by Robert Browning. 
 
 “The Sleeping Beauty,” Illustration by W. Weekes .. 
 
 “Somebody’s Story,” by “Hugh Conway” (Fredk 
 J. Fargus) . 
 
 Stanza, by Lord Tennyson . 
 
 “Proserpina,” Illustration by Walter Crane 
 “Lyrics of Pericles,” by Herman Merivale 
 
 “Hamlet in the Drawing Room;” Illustration by 
 Harry Furniss . 
 
 pages. 
 
 to 
 
 14 
 
 15 
 
 12 
 
 16 
 
 PAGES. 
 17 to 
 
 23 
 
 1 Shakspere at a Discount,” by Frank A. Marshall ... 
 
 “ Under the Balcony,” by Oscar Wilde . 
 
 “ Types of Beauty,” Illustrations by Luke Fildes and 
 
 Val Princep. 
 
 “ The End of a Vendetta,” by the Hon. Lewis 
 Wingfield . 
 
 “ A Song,” by Mrs. Bloomfield Moore . 
 
 “Spanish Muleteer ;” Illustration by J. B. Burgess, A.R.A. 
 
 “ A Ride to Ronda and Back,” by Lady Brassey 
 
 “Katherine and Petrucio;” Illustration by Randolph 
 Caldecott. 
 
 “ Touchstone and Audrey;” Illustration by J. D. Watson 
 “ How Friend Helps Friend,” by J. H. Aveling, M.D. 39 and 40 
 
 “The Head of the House at Prayer,” Illustration by 
 
 F. Goodall, R.A. 41 
 
 “Falstaff the Brave;” Illustration byW.F.Yeames,R.A. 42 
 
 25 
 
 3i 
 
 24 
 
 to 
 
 29 
 
 30 
 
 to 
 
 37 
 
 38 
 
 28 
 
 3 6 
 
I. 
 
 M! 
 
 il 
 
 11 
 
 
 m 
 
 p 
 
 si 
 
 i 
 
 p 
 
 1 
 
 m 
 
 l 
 
 •1 
 
 is 
 
 pen 
 
 1 
 
 “ How Love can 
 trifle with itself.” 
 Two Gentlemen of 
 Verona. 
 
 pq c ‘ 
 
 mS!( 
 
 PAGES. 
 
 “ Kirby,” by Lady Constance Howard .43 5 1 
 
 Illustration by G. A. Storey, A.R.A.. 5 2 
 
 “ Gus’s Legacy,” by John Coleman .S3 to 5 6 
 
 “ Love and Will,” by Mary Grace Walker . 57 
 
 « Orlando and Rosalind Illustration by J. D. Watson 58 
 
 Sonnets, by “Violet Fane” .59 and 60 
 
 List of Contributors of Articles for Sale . 61 
 
 Song, with Music, “Take, oh! take those lips away, 
 
 by W. Shakspere; Music by Fredk. H. Cowen ... 62 and 63 
 « The Chelsea Hospital for Women,” an Appeal, by 
 
 Mary Grace Walker . ^4 
 
 “ Pyramus and Thisbe,” Illustration by Mrs. Houghton 65 
 
 Gr^nd March, by Augustus L. Tamplin .66 to 74 
 
 “ The River Avon,” Illustration by Arthur H. Davis ... 75 
 
 Illustration by A. Baccani . 76 
 
 Verse by “ H. B.” . ^7 
 
 View of Interior of Albert Hall. 7^ 
 
 Patrons of the Show . 
 
 “ Scene from Midsummer NighFs Dream j Illustration 
 by Geo. Cruikshank . 
 
 General Council . 
 
 Plan of Show. 
 
 “A Voice from the Tomb” . 
 
 Brief Arguments of the Eleven Shaksperean Plays 
 
 Programme of Shaksperean Concerts . 
 
 Programme of 2nd Life Guards. 
 
 Illustration by Wallis Mackay . 
 
 Miss Cowen’s Shaksperean Tableaux . 
 
 Illustration by Thomas Simpson . 
 
 Exhibition of Shaksperean Relics. 
 
 Programme of Organ Recitals by Augustus L. Tamplin 
 
 List of Stalls and Stallholders . 
 
 Extra Shows. 
 
 “ The End ” . 
 
 Advertisements. 
 
 pages. 
 
 80 
 
 81 
 
 82 
 
 83 
 
 84 and 85 
 86 to 88 
 89 to 91 
 92 and 93 
 
 94 
 
 95 
 
 96 
 
 97 to 108 
 109 & no 
 in to 122 
 
 123 
 
 124 
 
XI. 
 
 “ Great floods have 
 
 flown from simple 
 sources.”^ ItsWell . 
 
 ^HE SHAKSPEREAN SHOW-BOOK “A Book, 
 oh rare one ! ” I borrow from the Bard the words of 
 Posthumous, not “ in self-glorious pride,” but “ to do 
 ample grace and honor” to those “who hath writ” 
 “for Charity,” “ this precious Book of love,”—for 
 ^Charity is love. 
 
 merely “a Beggar’s Book”—a professional beggar 
 'y indeed, a Hospital Secretary—but the rarity of 
 it is that writers and artists “ of good name and fame” 
 have “joined, with me, their servant” in the production 
 of such a Book without fee or reward. 
 
 [sk of the contributors : “ How comes this gentle 
 . concord ?” and each will answer “This was but a 
 deed of Charity.” “Your cause doth strike my heart with 
 pity,” and “ those poor breathing orators of miseries,” 
 the patients in your Hospital, were mute appeals unto me. 
 ^/ WAS even so ‘ ^ P at i ents in this Hospital bear 
 those sufferingswhichare the heritage of womankind, 
 be theyrichor poor,lowly or exalted. But the poor, though 
 _ needing more, cannot have at home the special care and 
 treatment which the rich can purchase. It is “ such suffering souls 
 that welcome ” the comfortable bed in a Woman’s Hospital. 
 
 Off long-standing mortgage of ^5,000 has been “a grievous 
 ' 5 -/ burden ” on the Hospital. Its most munificent benefactor is the 
 holder of the deed, which is veritably “ a charitable deed ” seeing that 
 he has taken “little payment for so great a debt.” Yet, “knowing how 
 the debt grows,” we would act on Portia’s advice—“ pay him the five 
 thousand and deface the bond.” 
 
 “fVViiTH so great an object” “I took a thought,” and the 
 SHAKSPEREAN SHOW came of it, The event has been 
 received “ with most prosperous approbation,” and “ befriended with 
 aptness of the seasonwe may accept as an “ earnest of success ” 
 Richard’s assurance to Bolingbroke that, “ they well deserve to have that 
 know the strongest and the surest way to get.” ’Tis a custom that our 
 Charitable Institutions are in part maintained by pleasure-giving 
 entertainments, and what better custom than “ that a sweet society of 
 fair ones” should lend their graceful energies in “so good a cause?” 
 
 “Off s many arrows loosed several ways fly at one mark,” these several 
 arrows, “which hit but hurt not,” have been placed in the quiver 
 of the Show:—Shaksperean Tableaux, Concerts and Dramatic Recitals, 
 Exhibition of Shaksperean Relics, Military Bands, etc., and may each 
 be “a hit, a very palpable hit.” 
 
 “OVlE have been advertised by our loving friends” the Press, on terms 
 “most wondrous kind”—“purchased by the merit of the cause,” 
 not by payment, “for woman’s griefs cry louder than advertisement.” 
 T^he Show has proved the Stage, too, possessed of a charitable soul. 
 ^ On the 24th day of May, in all the chief London, and some of the 
 provincial Theatres, a special announcement of the Show was placed 
 in every Box, Stall, and Dress Circle seat, by the kind courtesy of the 
 proprietors or managers. 
 
 OQ r nd now “Farewell, and thanks” to every one who “plays a part” 
 in the Shaksperean Show. “Description cannot suit itself 
 in words to demonstrate” the grateful thanks due to you from all 
 associated in the management of the Chelsea Hospital for Women. In 
 the name of the General Council “ I give you thanks in part of your 
 desert,” and for the rest you will be content, I know, to take the 
 reward for the service in the doing of it. 
 
 May 29th, 1884. 
 
 J. S. W. 
 
7s ii- 
 
 ■ 
 
 .1 
 
 (I 
 
 (' 
 
 I 
 
 « 
 
I 
 
 “For God's sak« 
 entertain good 
 comfort.”— 
 
 Richard III . 
 
 Qtamee ; 
 
 BY ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 HAKESPEARE!—to such name’s sounding, what succeeds 
 Fitly as silence ? Falter forth the spell,— 
 
 Act follows word, the speaker knows full well, 
 
 Nor tampers with its magic more than needs. 
 
 Two names there are: That which the Hebrew reads 
 With his soul only; if from lips it fell, 
 
 Echo, back thundered by earth, heaven and hell, 
 
 Would own “Thou did’st create us!" Nought impedes 
 We voice the other name, man’s most of might, 
 
 Awesomely, lovingly: let awe and love 
 Mutely await their working, leave to sight 
 All of the issue as—below—above— 
 
 Shakespeare’s creation rises: one remove, 
 
 Though dread—this finite from that infinite. 
 
 '/yfa R>iiTh; 
 /Z . ’ft 
 
“Somebody’s” Story, 
 
 by 
 
 “Hugh Conway” (Fredk. J. Fargus). 
 
 !S 
 
4 
 
 u I’ll see before 
 I doubt.”— 
 Othello . 
 
 “ Somebody’s ” Stoi^y, 
 
 By “I 7 UGH (sonway” (Fi^bd^. 3. Fai^gus). 
 
 HIS is somebody’s story as told me by 
 herself. 
 
 y EARS ago—the exact number matters to 
 no one—on a certain blazing day in 
 July, a girl stepped out of the back door of 
 Watercress Farm, near Midhay Village, 
 Westshire. After a quiet glance around, as 
 if to make sure that she was unobserved, 
 she ran quickly across the cow barton, past 
 the pigsties, in which the apoplectic pigs lay 
 puffing and panting, went through the ricketty gate, and reached 
 the piece of pasture land adjoining the precincts of the house, 
 and known as the Home Meadow. 
 
 CT he was, I understand, then about fourteen years of age, and like 
 most girls who are destined to grow into fine tall women, was 
 at that age angular and awkward. She had all the finely propor¬ 
 tioned framework, but the foundation was not yet properly built 
 over, so, at present, her figure was not remarkable for grace or 
 symmetry. Moreover, she was poorly dressed, her things were old 
 and illfitting—perhaps not too clean. She wore coarse home-made 
 worsted stockings, and laced boots with thick clumped soles, the 
 heels, no doubt, tipped with miniature horse shoes. She was 
 
 nothing more than the daughter of a very small tenant farmer, and the 
 only thing gay or bright about her was a bunch of scarlet poppies, which 
 was pinned to the bosom of her common print dress. 
 
 77et, I daresay, had a physiognomist seen her without the hideous sun 
 bonnet, which she wore tilted over to her very nose, he would 
 have been arrested by something in the girl’s face, and wondered 
 whence a peasant child got such a look. An ordinary observer might 
 have seen only an ordinary looking girl, with dark, eager-looking eyes, 
 and a mass of bright brown hair, twisted up anyhow. 
 
5 
 
 JJnder her arm she carried, hugging it like a precious possession, a 
 large, coverless, dog-eared volume. She passed swiftly over the 
 meadow, and reached the side which was bounded by one of those old- 
 fashioned, extravagant, yet very beautiful hawthorn hedges. Under 
 this hedge was a ditch, but the long rank grass growing in it sprang 
 from soil which the protracted summer drought had made as dry as the 
 rest of the world. In this ditch the girl deliberately lay down—a 
 proceeding which at first sight seemed strange. 
 
 y ET as the branches of hawthorn and other and lower growing bushes 
 completely sheltered her from the sun, her curious retreat was not 
 ill-chosen. She lay on her face, placed her book on the ground, 
 propped her head up with her arms, and read eagerly. 
 
 ^very word seemed familiar to her. She read for a few minutes, 
 then turning from the page repeated, in a low voice, the lines 
 oyer which she had run her eyes. Ever and anon she went off into a 
 kind of day dream. 
 
 F)resently a woman’s shrill voice rang through the still summer 
 ■*“- air. 
 
 ‘j-y)ROTHY ! Dorothy ! you lazy wench, where be you ? ” 
 
 JguT Dorothy made no sign. She crouched a little lower down into 
 the ditch, put her fingers into her ears, and read harder than ever. 
 Her repeated cries bringing no answer, the shrill-voiced woman went 
 back to the house. 
 
 jgETWEEN reading and dreaming, Dorothy’s stolen afternoon slipped 
 away. At last—perhaps because she was a growing, healthy girl, 
 and began to feel the pangs of hunger—she scrambled out of her 
 ditch, and with the look of one who has to pay for a fault, walked 
 slowly towards the house. She lingered awhile at the netted wire fence 
 
 which enclosed the poultry yard. The sun had now got round, and 
 the fowls were scratching about in the shady side of their domain. 
 Dorothy felt in her pocket, and finding a few grains of corn threw 
 them to the hungry crew. A wild rush and a chorus of “ cluck, cluck, 
 cluckity,” followed the action. 
 
 V^orothy smiled as she looked at the greedy struggling creatures. 
 
 Her face changed wonderfully with her smile. She began to talk 
 to her pensioners, who, be it said, were of all sorts and conditions 
 of fowls. 
 
 Hamlet, Hamlet ’’—addressing her remarks to a young black 
 
 Pole—“ where is Ophelia ? There she is ”—as a beautiful white 
 hen detached herself from the crowd—“and there is the fiery Tybalt, 
 in the thickest of the fray,”—Tybalt was a fierce young game cockerell— 
 “Ah, Sir John, Sir John”—to a big capon—“methinks thou art fat 
 enough to kill: and here comes Cassius with his lean and hungry look,”— 
 half a yard of attenuated fowl-flesh straggled out of the henhouse— 
 “ Where are my own hens Helena and Hermione ? laying eggs for me, 
 I hope; Romeo and Juliet on the balcony, as usual”—two pretty 
 pigeons stood on the ledge of the triangular pigeon-house which was 
 affixed to the house wall—“ And who are you, I wonder ? ”—as two 
 stupid-looking ducks waddled up from the tub sunk in one corner of 
 the yard—“ Let me see, Dogberry and Verges, of course.” 
 
 Qorothy laughed quietly at this last conceit. Indeed, so absorbed was 
 she in her novel adaptation of the lower animals to Shakspere’s 
 characters, that she was quite unaware that a man had been for the 
 last minute or two standing at her side and listening to her words. She 
 looked up in a startled way as he laid his heavy hand on her shoulder. 
 £17 lthough Dorothy knew Shakspere by heart, and although the 
 J 1 man at her side was her father, except that he could read and 
 write, he was very little above the level of an average farm labourer. 
 
A great heavy stolid-looking man; honest, and hard working, 
 for many years, by sheer industry and thrift, had managed to postpone 
 the disastrous consequences which in our day, wait upon ignorant 
 old fashioned tillers of the soil. 
 
 "R E y° u S one star k staring mad?” he asked in a sharp voice, "a 
 goin’ and talkin’ to the vowls in that vool’s way. This cooms o’ 
 your reading, and such like ! ” 
 
 J^orothy tried to slip away, but he held her arm too firmly. 
 
 “JYv HAT have ’a got theer ? ” he continued, pulling 
 volume from under her arm. “ More printed 
 heer—I ha’ no more o’ this.” 
 
 the tattered 
 rubbish—see 
 
 “ When you 
 speak sweet I’d 
 have you do it 
 ever.”— 
 Winter’s Tale . 
 
 /^herewith he hurled the said volume into the middle of the 
 pigstye, and presently a lot of promising little pigs ran out and 
 
 nuzzled it. Finding it was not edible they, being pigs, and knowing 
 not the value of pearls, trampled it into the unsavoury mire. 
 
 TAorothy uttered a sharp cry. “ Now you go indoors, and help 
 Betty,” said her father, giving her a slight push. “A nice 
 lazy trolloping thing you’re agoin’ to grow into !” 
 
 P^er eyes were full of tears; her heart was bursting. She went away 
 / without a word. Poor Dorothy ! 
 
 “tf you must read,” her father called out after her. “Theer’s the 
 ^ Bible, and theer’s Bunnyin’s Pilgrim’s Progress, and Holy War— 
 Read them.” 
 
 Qnce more without meaning any irreverence, I say. Poor Dorothy ! 
 
 ^0 hen night came, and her father was smoking and dozing, Dorothy 
 slipped out, and by the aid of a hayrake managed to rescue her 
 book from its degraded position. Alas, not thyme, marjoram, 
 rosemary—not all the sweet herbs ever grown would make those 
 precious pages fit to read again. It was well for Dorothy that her two 
 hens, Helena and Hermione, laid freely and steadily for the next few 
 weeks. Her sale of the eggs, her only source of income, at last 
 enabled her to replace the martyred volume. 
 
 Jt was owing to the old Rector of Midhay, who had noticed the girl’s 
 quick intelligence, but who unfortunately for her had just died, 
 that Dorothy had received more education than that of all her 
 ancestors put together. So much, indeed, that Abel Fletcher, her 
 father, declared she should waste no more time over such trifles as 
 book-learning. Her duty was hard work ; he meant to have no fine 
 misses about Watercress Farm. 
 
 y 
 
 et he was not a cruel man : in his own way he loved the girl; she 
 was his only child, but unluckily the mother, who might have 
 

 “Within this 
 wall of flesh 
 there is a soul.” 
 —King John. 
 
 softened his asperities, had died years ago. So Abel Fletcher brought 
 his daughter up as by his own lights he thought best for her. I am 
 far from saying that the result of such bringing up would not in ninety 
 and nine cases be highly satisfactory, and tend towards usefulness 
 and happiness. 
 
 gUT to Dorothy, the next four years must have been very miserable 
 ones. However,, being strong and healthy, she bore the 
 monotonous drudgery of farm life bravely. She grew apace. At 
 eighteen, had she so willed it, she might have brought all the smart 
 young rustics sighing to her feet. But Dorothy’s soul soared above 
 things bucolic. Of all Shakspere’s minor characters, she most 
 disliked Audrey. So the girl went on, dreaming in the midst of 
 drudgery, and reading everything she could lay her hands upon. She 
 was now too big for her father to confiscate her volumes. In all her 
 dreams Dorothy had not yet dreamed into what a beautiful creature 
 she had grown. 
 
 (gHE only bright periods of those years were occasional visits which 
 she was allowed to pay an aunt, who lived at Blacktown, the great 
 city some fifteen miles from Midhay. At Blacktown, Dorothy, for the 
 first time, saw the inside of a theatre. The sight was a revelation ! 
 
 Jt matters little whether the acting was good or bad—she saw acting 
 for the first time, and it seemed as if the possession of a new sense 
 was disclosed to her. She went back to Watercress Farm more 
 thoughtful and dreamy than ever, but the dreams began to take a 
 tangible form. 
 
 Qne morning—how she found the hardihood to attempt such a thing 
 she never knew—Dorothy got a lift in a neighbour’s cart, went 
 to Blacktown, and actually saw the manager of the theatre. She 
 scarcely remembers what she told him. No doubt it was the usual 
 
 tale: that she felt the promptings of genius, and if the chance were 
 vouchsafed her, believed she could be an actress. Perhaps she spoke 
 more modestly than the majority of such aspirants speak—perhaps her 
 fresh young beauty commended itself to the manager as something 
 that might draw—perhaps her pleading was so eloquent, that he saw 
 there was native talent in the girl. Any way, incredible as it seems, 
 he promised under certain conditions to give her a little stage training, 
 and try her in a small part. Then, like a brave girl, Dorothy went 
 back to the farm and told her father what she had done. 
 
 ^he effect of the news upon Abel Fletcher had better not be fully 
 described. The man had a strong strain of the sourest Puritan 
 blood in him, and was, moreover, proud of the character for humble 
 respectability which had always been borne by himself and his 
 predecessors. As may be imagined, he knew little enough about 
 theatres, but if the stage was not the pathway to hell, a woman who 
 had anything to do with it was lost past redemption. So he stormed— 
 then commanded—then entreated. Dorothy was firm as a rock. 
 Then her father, after saying certain things which made her face turn 
 first to vivid red and secondly to dead white, took down the family 
 bible and with an unsteady hand erased her name from the first page. 
 Having completed this solemn operation, he told her to go to perdition 
 her own way : henceforth he was childless. 
 
 Qorothy’s professional career is not our concern. Clever essays and 
 magazine articles have already been written about her genius. 
 Critics have raved about her, and the public have worshipped her. 
 True, it was years and years before she played Juliet, Rosalind, 
 Ophelia, or any of her childhood’s ideals. Her work for a long time 
 was but a trifle less wearisome than when she was at Watercress Farm. 
 But her chance came at last, and in a marvellously short time she went 
 to the very top of the tree. Twelve years after her father had cast her 
 
8 
 
 “We’ll bring 
 this labour to 
 an happy end.” 
 —King John. 
 
 off, she was one of the best known actresses in the world—one, more¬ 
 over, against whom slander had breathed no breath. 
 pjLL the while the crabbed Westshire farmer thought of his daughter 
 J 1 as one who had gone open-eyed and of her own free will to 
 perdition. He mentioned her name to no one. He spoke of himself 
 as a childless man. It is even doubtful if he knew the theatrical 
 name she had made famous, and certainly no one in the neighbourhood 
 of Midhay guessed that the great actress, Miss Seaton, was the daughter 
 of Abel Fletcher of Watercress Farm. 
 
 Cf o long as Dorothy was poor and struggling on and learning her 
 trade, she was too proud to make any overtures to her father. 
 Perhaps the shameful words he had hurled at her had wounded her so 
 deeply that it was needful for years to pass before a thought of 
 forgiveness could arise. But when she made her first great success— 
 when fame and fortune were within reach, she wrote to her father. 
 Her letter was returned unread. Bitterly hurt by the action she wrote 
 to him no more ; yet some time afterwards she made another attempt 
 to bring the man to reason. She wrote to the Rector of Midhay and 
 begged him to put matters in a proper light to Abel Fletcher. Dorothy 
 was now growing older and wiser. She was willing to believe that her 
 father’s ignorance must be blamed more than his cruelty—and, after 
 all, he was her father. The rector, much flattered by this delicate 
 confidential commission from so distinguished a woman, did his best to 
 execute it. Abel, with the dogged stupidity of a man of his class and 
 calibre, refused to listen ; indeed, all but insulted the worthy clergyman. 
 When Dorothy heard of the utter failure of the mission, she sighed, 
 and feared that the farmer’s prejudices would never be overcome. It 
 can hardly be that she pined to bring about the resumption of 
 familiar intercourse between her rough father and her sweet and much 
 sought-atter self, but she ardently wished to surround him with comforts, 
 and to make his old age free from labour and anxiety. 
 
 plis mulish obstinacy defeated her scheme. If in his heart Abel 
 1 / Fletcher bemoaned his daughter’s fate, it was but as he would 
 bemoan the fate of one who had deliberately left the paths of virtue. 
 To him “ acting women ” were painted hussies without a shred of 
 respectability—all that must, perforce, fall from them as they stepped 
 on the stage. 
 
 7V^hether he thought of Dorothy or not, he had now plenty of 
 trouble to exercise his mind. Nemesis had overtaken his old- 
 fashioned ignorance. Things were not what they used to be. Cattle 
 disease and sheep rot were rampant. The twenty-five acres out of 
 which he and his father before him had managed to make a living, 
 now scarcely yielded enough to pay the rent. His savings had been 
 swept away ; a portion of his stock sold to meet pressing demands. 
 This summer it had rained unmercifully. The hay, which lay for 
 weeks too wet to be carried, was, after being turned into stuff only fit for 
 litter, absolutely washed away by a flood, the like to which the oldest 
 inhabitant could not recall to mind. So far as Abel could see, the 
 workhouse must eventually be the refuge of his old age, so surely as it 
 must be that of the hinds who assisted him in his unprofitable labour. 
 TAo wonder the man grew more morose and more surly than ever. 
 *■ " It was hard measure for one who, with all his faults, had laboured 
 late and early, lived frugally and soberly, and dealt honestly by his 
 neighbour, to see ruin day by day creeping nearer—to know that the 
 people round about spoke of him as one with whom it was all up— 
 that his landlord’s agent would have turned him out of the now badly- 
 kept farm, had it not been that in such days of depression new tenants 
 were hard to find. The person who was the politest and civilest to 
 Abel at this time was the little country auctioneer, who looked 
 forward to being employed to sell what poor remnant of live and dead 
 stock was left on Watercress Farm. Such interested attention was no 
 comfort. 
 
“The truth shall 
 live from age to 
 age."—Richard 
 III. 
 
 B 
 
 /qHE man was finally driven to his wits end. A farmer is not like a 
 tradesman—has not the same ingenuity of resource. A smart 
 shopkeeper can fail periodically, yet by proper management, start again 
 after each failure, merrily and hopefully. When a farmer is sold up, 
 there seems to be an end of him. Unless he can emigrate, God help 
 him ! Abel was now getting too old for emigration, or was, at least, 
 past that age when transplantation is beneficial. 
 
 here was, of course, always the hope that next year would make 
 things better. If he could tide over until then, the much-desired 
 change might come. A hundred pounds would enable him to carry 
 out this process of tiding over. He could pay the long over-due rent, 
 and manage to hang on for another year. With the newspapers full of 
 advertisements, put in by generous people who wished to lend money 
 in sums varying from five pounds to a thousand pounds, and to whom, 
 kind souls! security was immaterial, Abel cannot be blamed for 
 seeking the aid of these Samaritans. 
 
 pxE would not trespass upon the kindness of the Blacktown lenders. 
 
 ' To his simple mind it seemed certain that such a momentous 
 financial operation as borrowing one hundred pounds would be 
 trumpeted from the house tops, and eventually reach his neighbours’ 
 ears. So he cut out from a London paper the most promising-_a 
 looking money lending announcement and, with his few remaining 
 sovereigns in his pocket, went up to town. 
 
 pvE might have saved himself the trouble. Some of the blood- 
 / suckers took an enquiry fee and then laughed in his face. Others 
 offered to go a little further in the matter, for another fee. If certain 
 questions were answered to their satisfaction they would see about 
 advancing the money. The farmer was shrewd enough to get an 
 estimate of expenses, and to learn the rate of interest to be charged. 
 
 He saw at once that the conditions under which the money was to 
 be lent would make ruin gallop instead of trot towards Watercress 
 Farm. His last hope was gone. 
 
 |n doleful mood he went back to the lodging he had engaged for the 
 night. He had been recommended to stay with a decent body, a 
 native of Midhay, who had married a Londoner. Her heart warmed 
 up as she heard Abel’s broad Westshire accent, and seeing the man’s 
 dejected state, she strove to cheer him. She was a brisk, bustling 
 woman, who ordered persons about; still, she was from the west country, 
 and Abel, sadly in need of sympathy, told her a great deal about his 
 troubles and pressing needs. 
 
 “J fA ! ” she said, “ things is never as bad as one thinks—you’re all in 
 the dumps—you come wi’ me, and get roused up a bit.” 
 
 TAot caring much where he went, or what became of him, he obeyed 
 her command. She led him to a great building, and after 
 waiting for a long time in a throng of people, he found himself struggling 
 
 ■iWMfWweniicc 
 
 
 ""Ml 
 
 
 
IO 
 
 “ To thine own* 
 self be true.”— 
 Hamlet . 
 
 up many stairs, and at last deposited in a seat in a very elevated 
 situation. He guessed he was in a theatre—but theatre, church, 
 chapel—nothing mattered now to a man who was to be sold up. 
 
 /qHE curtain rose. He paid no heed to what was passing on the stage, 
 until a burst of applause, loud enough to wake the dead, aroused 
 him. Then, ever so far down, in front of him, looking superlatively 
 radiant and beautiful, he saw his own daughter, Dorothy ! 
 
 /qHat night she played one of the greatest and most pathetic of her 
 impersonations, in which her love for her stage father was 
 perhaps the strongest point. Abel said nothing : he sat with his eyes 
 round as marbles and rivetted on the stage. The things he saw were a 
 mystery to him—all he could understand was that the wonderful 
 creature whose voice, gesture, and words stirred even his clod of a 
 heart, was his own flesh and blood—the child he had cast off with 
 words which he felt sure could never be forgiven. 
 
 J hope that parting scene came back to him with all vividness, and, 
 moreover, I hope that the volume he had thrown into the pigstye 
 fell, figuratively, on his thick head like a block of iron. 
 
 “£Jint that Miss Seaton lovely?” said his companion, between the 
 J A acts. He made no answer. 
 
 “^hey tell me she makes a matter of a hundred pounds a night. 
 Just fancy!” He wouldn’t fancy it; strange to say, at that 
 moment his thoughts did not run on money. 
 
 “Js she a good gal ? ” he asked, suddenly and fiercely. 
 
 <l (*Tr 00D ' ^ a ’ X es ' w ^y> s ^ e gi yes hundreds to the poor. Good! 
 ^ The best in the land are proud to know her.” 
 
 £ZTbel looked dazed. In a dim way he began to see that there were 
 ' 1 things in the world beyond the comprehension of a small rustic 
 like himself. 
 
 /qHEY saw the play to the end—saw the ovation given to Dorothy by 
 the charmed audience. Then Abel went home with his hostess, 
 and, as he smoked a pipe in her kitchen, seemed to grow more and 
 more disconsolate. 
 
 “£0ell, you’re a pretty man to try and cheer up !” said the woman. 
 “£0 hy do she call herself Miss Seaton ? ” asked Abel, suddenly. 
 “^hey all change their names.” 
 
 *Tt5 HY s ^ ou ^ s ^ e be ’shamed of her feather’s name—if she be a good 
 gal ? His name ought to ha’ done for her.” 
 
 “jp^ER father’s name ! What’s her father’s name 1 ” 
 
 “C^ame as my feather’s—same as my own. She’s my gal.” 
 
 /£vHe woman thought he was joking—one look at his face removed 
 this impression. 
 
IX 
 
 done 
 
 now 
 
 III. 
 
 ^ never did ! she said. “You’re a nice man, surely—to 
 W wonit about a little money, when you’ve a daughter who could 
 pay it ten times over and not miss it.” 
 
 2I[ bel rose. There was a certain rough dignity in his manner. 
 J ‘Years ago, I turned her out o’ doors, like,” he said. “ Before 
 I’d ask her for a farden I’d die in a ditch.” With that he went to 'bed 
 I wonder if he slept. 
 
 gHE next day he returned to Watercress Farm, and for a week or 
 two went about the picture of impending misfortune. When the 
 little auctioneer met him, his civilities were re-doubled. Meanwhile the 
 kind-hearted soul with whom he had sojourned had, after much 
 cogitation, taken upon herself to write a queerly-worded letter to the 
 great actress, and in it had managed to explain the farmer’s pressing 
 difficulties. To this day she cherishes the grateful and courteous reply 
 she received. . 
 
 (0 HE owner of Watercress Farm was Sir William Hartley, a Westshire 
 . naagnate and large landed proprietor. One day as Abel was 
 jogging along in his cart, some four miles out of Midhay, he had to jam 
 the near wheel right into the hedge, in order to let Sir William’s great 
 carriage pass him in the narrow lane. In Sir William’s carriage were three 
 ladies, to wit, Lady Hartley, her daughter, and Abel’s own daughter, 
 Dorothy. This was the finishing stroke to the man’s bewilderment. 
 To him, Sir William represented something above the Queen and below 
 the Supreme Being—and here was his Dorothy, dressed as fine as any 
 lady in the land, sitting beside Lady Hartley. 
 
 ^ither she did not see her father or preferred to make no sign of 
 recognition. He drove home, his moodiness tinged with sadness. 
 
 I don t deserve it, ’ he told himself, “but a’ter all, she’s my own flesh 
 and blood. She might a’ looked at me—I shan’t ask nowt of her.” 
 He heard that same evening, from an alehouse gossip, that Sir William 
 
 Hartley had a “ girt Lonnon play-acting body staying up to the Court.” 
 Had Abel Fletcher studied that volume instead of throwing it to the pigs, 
 he might have found that Hamlet’s words to Horatio about certain un- 
 dreamt-of things in heaven and earth, fully expressed his own frame of 
 mind. 
 
 B UT the ” ext m orni ng Dorothy might have been found talking to her 
 host in his study. She was urging some request with all the 
 persistency which a pretty and distinguished woman is justified in using. 
 But she pleaded in vain; Sir William still shook his head. Dorothy 
 seemed in despair. Then Sir William made a suggestion; Dorothy’s 
 smiles came back, and the matter, whatever it was, settled itself 
 satisfactorily. 
 
 hat same day the farmer received a letter from Sir William, asking 
 W him to come up to the Court at once. Sir William wished to 
 speak about the farm. With many forebodings of evil, yet wondering 
 why so great a man should trouble about so small a matter, Abel 
 obeyed the summons. 
 
 “(§ IMES have been bad with you lately, I hear,” said Sir William. 
 
 can pay all that I owe when I’m sold up,” answered Abel, sullenly. 
 
 well we wont talk about selling up. I have promised to give 
 J you a lease of the farm for your life.” 
 
 “^Jt what rent, Sir William ? ” asked Abel. 
 
 “^IJt— well, at a peppercorn rent.” 
 
 he farmer turned very white. “ I won’t be beholden to no one,” 
 ^ he said, almost roughly. His independence was dear to him. 
 He wanted no charity—yet. 
 
12 
 
 “There lives 
 man secure.” 
 Henry V. 
 
 ‘•pvoN’T you be foolish, Fletcher,” said Sir William, “ The lease is 
 bought and paid for. You’ll be beholden to no one, except a 
 person who can well claim the right to do this for you.” 
 
 “j won’t take it,” said Abel, fiercely. 
 
 “^Jery well, I shall send some one else to talk to you.” 
 
 S ir William left the room. In a moment the door was re-opened 
 and Dorothy entered. She came across to her father with 
 outstretched hands. He looked at her wildly, then sinking into a 
 chair, laid his head on his hands and positively sobbed aloud. Dear 
 Dorothy put her arm around him, patted his shoulder, asked him if he 
 had quite forgiven her, or if he meant to make her miserable for life. 
 Still Abel sobbed, and I believe in these moments fully realised the 
 meaning of the coals of fire simile. 
 
 rjT last he raised his head. “ Dorothy,” he said, in a husky whisper, 
 j* “ if so be as you have quite forgiven me, might I make so bold 
 as to kiss your hand.” 
 
 P^er answer need not be given. It was not only her hand she let 
 * / him kiss. Then peace was made between them; Dorothy’s only 
 stipulations being that he should accept the lease and sundry other 
 benefits which she wished to bestow upon him. He was too penitent, 
 too ashamed, too humble, to resist. After that Dorothy went home 
 with him for an hour or two and saw once more the scene of her 
 dreary childhood. And her heart was full of a great thankfulness 
 that genius had been vouchsafed to her—that she had known how to 
 use it—that it had brought her wealth enough to enable her to make 
 the declining years of the father who had wronged her, happy and 
 free from care. 
 
 -?> <- 
 
 is the “ somebody ” I have called Dorothy, and whose story I 
 XT' have endeavoured to tell ? Only this morning I begged her 
 permission to reveal her true name in these last lines, I am sorry to 
 say it was not granted, so Dorothy it must remain. But then, you 
 have all heard her true name; moreover, nearly all must have seen her 
 sweet self, and applauded her triumphs triumphs which are by no 
 means ended. 
 
 PDostscript. —Warning. This tale is not told to encourage farmers 
 daughters,' or anyone else’s daughters, to throw off parental 
 control and tread the boards. There are very, very few Dorothies in 
 the world! 
 
“Corruption mining 
 all within, affects 
 un seen.' *—Ha inlet. 
 
 1 
 
 m 
 
 
 13 
 
 STANZA, 
 
 OT he that breaks the dams, but he 
 That thro’ the channels of the State 
 Convoys the people’s wish, is great; 
 His name is pure, his fame is free. 
 
 
 gJa[^[g[gj^[liglg[gfgig!afg.;[ap]sn^rHfftlJHr^.;flf^JarSraf7tlJBamiBaf7d 
 
 P 
 
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WALTER CRAT^E. 
 
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 fri^Kted ktt i>t |all 
 
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 OF 
 
 Written by HERMAN MERI VALE for the forthcoming musical production of Shakspere’s Play of “ Pericles ,” arranged for 
 
 representation by JOHN COLEMAN. 
 
 ODE TO 
 
 OD of the steed and the spear and the Ocean, 
 Speed thou our barks o’er the wandering foam, 
 Steer us by reef, and by headland and island, 
 Outward and onward, and inward and home ; 
 Hail to thee, Neptune ! great Neptune, all hail ! 
 
 Shaker of Earth and upheaver of Water, 
 
 Father of Triton and brother of Jove, 
 
 Thou at whose bidding Troy rose as a palm-tree, 
 Under whose branches her warriors strove, 
 
 Hail to thee, Neptune ! great Neptune, all hail! 
 
 Saturn begat thee, and Saturn devoured thee, 
 But to restore thee to mystical birth ; 
 
 I THE DREAM 
 
 AM called, so thou would’st know, 
 
 Dian of the silver bow; 
 
 And, while slumber seals thine eyne, 
 
 Bid thee list the voice divine: 
 
 Seek out mine Ephesian shrine; 
 
 And, before mine altar set, 
 
 NEPTUNE. 
 
 Neptune some style thee, some call thee Poseidon, 
 Many thy names as the races of Earth : 
 
 Hail to thee, Neptune ! great Neptune, all hail! 
 Deep in the sea lies thy palace at y£gae, 
 
 Whence thou arisest to ride on the wave, 
 
 Yoking thy golden-maned, brazen-hoofed coursers, 
 Mighty to ruin, but powerful to save; 
 
 Hail to thee, Neptune ! great Neptune, all hail! 
 
 Clouds as thou biddest them gather and scatter, 
 Come at thy whisper and fly at thy nod ; 
 
 Look then on us that bow down at thine altars, 
 King of the Ocean, the Mariners’ God ! 
 
 Hail to thee, Neptune ! great Neptune, all hail! 
 
 OF PERICLES. 
 
 ! When my maiden priests are met, 
 
 s Tell them all that happed to thee,— 
 
 How Thaisa died at sea, 
 s Tell,—and leave the rest to me. 
 
 s Dream-like then thy woes shall seem ; 
 
 i So arise, and heed the dream I 
 
“Shakspere at a Discount;” 
 
 An Anachronism, in one Scene, 
 
 By Frank A. Marshall. 
 
i8 
 
 0HAKSPERE AT A DISCOUNT; 
 
 Bit anachronism, in ®ne Scene, 
 
 BY FRcANK cA. ZM^RSHoALL. 
 
 HbOltlS 1f3at'C)beab (a Manager). 
 /Ibontague Softie^ (his Secretary). 
 
 Characters: 
 
 fl&essenaer. 
 
 /Ibr. H. 3D. Hpter (his Literary Adviser). 
 
 /Ifcr. milltam Sbabspece (a Play Writer). 
 
 CENE-MANAGER'S ROOM of the 
 ROYAL OMNIUM GATHERUM 
 THEATRE. — ADONIS HARD¬ 
 HEAD seated in an armchair smoking , 
 with a cup of coffee on a table by his 
 side,—SO FT LEY at writing-table with 
 a pile of opened letters before him — 
 APTER standing by fireplace , smoking 
 cigarette. 
 
 Hardhead.— Well, Softley, what letters are there this morning ? 
 
 Softley.— One hundred and twenty-six applications from ladies who, 
 though “ having had no dramatic experience, are anxious, tor 
 your sake, to play Juliet at a matinie. 
 
 
 Hardhead. —That promises a series of attractions. 
 
 Softley.— Two hundred and sixty-four letters, more or less ill-spelt, 
 from young men who, having failed in various professions, are 
 anxious “ to adorn the stage all promise “ to dress well,” and “ do 
 not require a salary of more than ten pounds a week to start with. 
 
 Hardhead.— That’s their modesty : go on ! 
 
 Softley. —A letter from His Serene Highness 
 the Prince of Pumpernickel, asking for 
 the best box to-morrow night. 
 
 Hardhead.— Confound his impudence ! how 
 many boxes has he had this season ? 
 
 Softley (referring to Book ).—Only twelve. 
 
 Hardhead.— Well, I suppose we must send 
 it him. The Princess asked me to her 
 last soirie: they might have asked me to 
 dinner. 
 
19 
 
 “Mirth and merri¬ 
 ment lengthen 
 life.”— Taming of 
 the Shrew. 
 
 Apter. —Courage, mon cher ; that will come in time. 
 
 Softley.— Another letter from Lord Augustus Hardup, asking for two 
 good boxes or eight stalls. 
 
 Hardhead. —Does he think my theatre is made of paper ? Has he 
 taken anything for my benefit ? 
 
 Softley. —No; but he told me he was going in Lottie Trevor’s box. 
 Hardhead. —Mean skunk ! send him two dress circles. 
 
 Softley.— But won’t he be insulted ? 
 
 Hardhead. —Not a bit of it: 
 he’ll give them to his 
 washerwoman as payment 
 on account. What next ? 
 Softley. —Another letter from 
 Mr. Shakspere, asking that 
 his tragedy of “ Hamlet ” 
 may be returned to him if 
 not accepted. He adds, 
 in a postcript, that this is 
 the fiftieth letter he has 
 written in the last month. 
 Hardhead. — Capital exercise 
 for him in patience and 
 composition. (To Apter.) 
 Have you read the piece ? 
 After.— Oui , mon cher , ce riest 
 pas mal. 
 
 Hardhead.— For heaven’s 
 sake talk English; you 
 knowyou can when you try. 
 Is there any money in it ? 
 
 Apter.— That depends on circumstances: if you let me touch it up 
 a bit, and if you put it on the stage properly, and advertise it 
 well, it might run. 
 
 Hardhead— (to Softley). —Have you read it ? 
 
 Softley. —Yes, there are some good lines in it; but its very heavy. 
 
 Hardhead. —Ah ! wants cutting ? I can do that. 
 
 Apter. —Pardon, mon cher —I mean that’s my department. 
 
 Hardhead. —Who is he ? 
 
 After. —He’s clever; one or two of his pieces have had a fair run at 
 the Globe. 
 
 Hardhead. —That don’t say much for them. Has he got any influence? 
 
 Apter.— The critics speak well of him. He was elected at the Garrick 
 and the Beefsteak the other day. Some people (stroking his 
 moustache ) call him a poet. 
 
 Hardhead. —Bother your poets: they never draw. 
 
 Softley. —He’s a great friend of Lord Southampton. 
 
 Hardhead.— Is he? that’s something in his favour. 
 
 Softley.— By the way (reading memorandum tablet ), he’s got an 
 appointment this morning. 
 
 Hardhead.— Well, I suppose we’d better see him. 
 
 (Enter Messenger with card). 
 
 Messenger. —Gentleman waiting below; says he’s got an appointment. 
 
 Hardhead (taking card) —Talk of the devil! the very man. (To 
 Messenger) Show him up. (Exit Messenger). I want some¬ 
 thing novel; farcical comedies are played out; and now that 
 Lottie insists upon wearing clothes that come halfway down to 
 her knee, burlesque seems on its last legs. 
 
20 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 “ Fortune ! all 
 men call thee 
 fickle.” 
 
 Romeo & Juliet . 
 
 Apter. —They’re not bad legs, still. ( Re-enter Messenger ushering 
 in Mr. Shakspere). (Exit Messenger). 
 
 Hardhead (to Shakspere) —Sit down, my dear boy. You have come 
 about that tragedy of yours; Hamlet, I think you called it ? (to 
 Softley) Where’s the MS ? 
 
 Softley (taking MS. from drawer). —Here, sir. 
 
 Hardhead ( looking at MS.). —Ah, I see, five acts. Dear me! 
 Couldn’t you put it into three 1 
 
 Shakspere. —No, I am afraid I could not, without spoiling the piece. 
 
 Hardhead. —It will want a deal of cutting, if we do play it. 
 
 Shakspere.—I have no objections to some passages being omitted. 
 
 Apter. —It wants writing up in parts; (to Hardhead) I could do 
 that. 
 
 Shakspere. —Thank you. If it wants writing up, I prefer doing it 
 myself. 
 
 Hardhead (looking through ATS.). —The first act is far too long. 
 What do you want all this stuff at the end for ? 
 
 Shakspere. —Well, it is necessary to the play. 
 
 Hardhead. —I don’t see it. Here’s a capital point for a cut. The 
 Ghost says, “ Brief let me be. ” There you are ; you need only 
 let him tell Hamlet that his father has been murdered, and down 
 comes the curtain. 
 
 Apter. —Yes,; youcould have the murder seen through a transparency— 
 very good effect. 
 
 Shakspere. —Pardon me. I think you will find that what follows is 
 somewhat necessary to the scheme of the play. 
 
 Hardhead. —Oh, that doesn’t matter, if we can get an effect. You 
 have read the piece carefully, Mr. Apter ? 
 
 
 \ 
 
 Apter. —Yes ; it’s not so bad; but you want a French company to 
 play it properly. 
 
 Shakspere. —The piece is written in English. I think, as a rule, 
 Englishmen pronounce their own language better than Frenchmen! 
 
 Apter. —Ah, my dear fellow ! but they can’t act. 
 
 Shakspere. —There I differ from you. 
 
 Apter. —Very weak part, Ophelia! Mrs. Plantaganet Rose would 
 never play it. 
 
 Shakspere. —I do not think that she could. 
 
 Hardhead. —She’d want two or three love scenes written in. 
 
 Shakspere. —There is no room for them. Hamlet is the chief part 
 in the tragedy. 
 
 Hardhead. —Yes, my dear boy ; but men don’t draw; women do. 
 
 Shakspere. —That depends how they are dressed. Ophelia does not 
 wear tights. 
 
 Hardhead. —But she ought to; couldn’t you disguise her as a boy, 
 as you did in some of your other pieces % 
 
 Shakspere. —No; it would not suit the character at all. 
 
 Hardhead. —Oh, bother the character ! I’m thinking of the public. 
 Supposing we accept your piece, Mr. Shakspere, of course you 
 will alter it a good deal. ^ 
 
 Shakspere. —I think I would rather not. The tragedy has cost me a 
 good deal of thought, and I believe in its present form it is a 
 good play, or I should not offer it to you. 
 
 Hardhead. —Well, you know, that is a matter of opinion. I think 
 there are some things in it the Lord Chamberlain would not pass. 
 
21 
 
 “ He’s a fool 
 that will not 
 yield." 
 
 Pericles. 
 
 Taaa&t 
 
 Shakspere. —Possibly; but I thought now the censor was not so 
 particular. You have played some pieces here that contain 
 passages far stronger than anything you will find in my play, and 
 spoken by women in costumes I should scarcely call modest. 
 
 Hardhead. —Oh, that’s quite a different thing ! We don’t mind 
 anything strong, if it’s properly disguised; but your satire here in 
 parts is—if you will allow me to say so—rather too coarse and 
 open. 
 
 Shakspere. —Ah, I see; what you speak on the stage now must be 
 decently clothed : it is only the speakers that may be unclothed. 
 
 Hardhead. —Well, we’ll drop that subject. (To Softley) : Is there 
 any scenery we could work into this play ? 
 
 Softley.—I don’t know, sir. 
 
 Hardhead. —I must get in that blue and white china I picked up so 
 cheap the other day. (Looking again at MS.) You could 
 introduce that, I suppose, Mr. Shakspere, in the Queen’s chamber 
 in the third act. 
 
 Shakspere. —Well, I never devoted much thought to that subject. I 
 fancy the interest of the audience will be centred upon what is 
 said and done in that scene; and not upon the china there may be 
 on the walls or on the tables. 
 
 Hardhead.— Now, there you’re wrong. Nothing like real china to 
 carry off a play.—There doesn’t seem to be any ballet in the 
 piece. 
 
 Apter.— Oh, that could be easily introduced. 
 
 Shakspere. —Pardon me, I do not think so. 
 
 Apter.— Oh, yes ! In the fourth act when Ophelia comes on, you 
 might cut out all that talk between the King and Laertes, and put 
 a ballet in its place. 
 
 Hardhead. Yes, and bring down the curtain upon an effective picture 
 of Ophelia’s suicide; that would be much better. 
 
 Apter.— Then the last act ought to be altered ; lar too much dying 
 in it; it is a regular battue of all the characters. 
 
 Hardhead —The public are getting tired of stage deaths. 
 
 Apter.— I don’t see why the piece should not end happily. Ophelia 
 might be saved; Hamlet might marry her, and end with a grand 
 coronation scene. I could write that in. 
 
 Hardhead.— Yes, I bought some music cheap the other day—would 
 come in there capitally. 
 
 Apter. —Then I think Mr. Shakspere ought 
 to write a part in for Lottie, she is such 
 a favourite. 
 
 Hardhead.— Of course, I forgot that. She 
 would not play the Queen—unless she 
 had a dance. 
 
 After.— No; but a lively waiting-maid might 
 be introduced with plenty of chic ; Laertes 
 might have sent her over as a present 
 from Paris; and she could introduce a 
 song and dance in the third act. 
 
 Shakspere.— Have you any other suggestions 
 to offer ? 
 
 Hardhead. —Yes; the gravedigger—not a bad 
 idea that gravedigger—he might have a 
 topical song—Jimmy Gag could write 
 that himself. 
 
20 
 
 22 
 
 
 Tell truth and 
 shame the devil.” 
 Henry IV . 
 
 Apter.— Don’t you think there might be an entertainment instead 
 of that heavy play-scene ? Then we might get in those Brothers 
 Fantoccini we saw in Paris, with their clever imitation of animals. 
 
 Shakspere. —You seem to forget this is a tragedy. 
 
 Hardhead.— Not a bit of it, my dear boy. That’s the thing most 
 against it. (Giving MS. to Shakspere.) You had better look 
 it over, and alter it on the lines we have suggested. Of course I 
 shall expect my name to appear as joint-author. Bring it back in 
 a month or two, and we will see what we can do with it. 
 
 Shakspere.— Thank you. You have had the piece for two years, and 
 I have never succeeded in getting an answer to one of my letters, 
 nor in seeing you or your advisers till to-day. I write my pieces 
 not for the purpose of introducing ballets, or blue and white china, 
 ladies with chic —whatever that may be—or topical 
 
 or young 
 
 songs. I am vain enough to think that there is yet a sufficiently 
 large number of intelligent persons amongst the British public 
 who care to listen to what is worth hearing for itself, and not 
 merely for the surroundings. I am very much obliged to you, 
 gentlemen, for the suggestions you have so kindly made ; but I 
 prefer to keep my piece as it is; and I have no doubt, in time, 
 I shall find a manager who has brains enough to accept it. Good 
 bye. 
 
 (Curtain.) 
 
 
 THIStVtN ACtS. 
 
23 
 
 “With patience 
 bear your yoke.” 
 — Pericles. 
 
 tender tfte l3ctlcomj, 
 
 BY OSCAR WILDE. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL star with the crimson mouth! 
 O moon with the brows of gold! 
 
 Rise up, rise up, from the odorous south! 
 And light for my love her way, 
 
 Lest her little feet should stray 
 On the windy hill and the wold! 
 
 O beautiful star with the crimson mouth ! 
 O moon with the brows of gold ! 
 
 O ship that shakes on the desolate sea! 
 
 O ship with the wet, white sail! 
 
 Put in, put in, to the port to me! 
 
 For my love and I would go 
 To the land where the daffodils blow 
 In the heart of a violet dale! 
 
 O ship that shakes on the desolate sea! 
 O ship with the wet, white sail! 
 
 
 O rapturous bird with the low, sweet note ! 
 
 O bird that sits on the spray! 
 
 Sing on, sing on, from your soft brown throat! 
 And my love in her little bed 
 Will listen, and lift her head 
 From the pillow, and come my way! 
 
 O rapturous bird with the low, sweet note! 
 
 O bird that sits on the spray! 
 
 O blossom that hangs in the tremulous air! 
 
 O blossom with lips of snow ! 
 
 Come down, come down, for my love to wear! 
 You will die on her head in a crown, 
 
 You will die in a fold of her gown, 
 
 To her little light heart you will go! 
 
 O blossom that hangs in the tremulous air! 
 
 O blossom with lips of snow ! 
 
 CO 
 
 __e 
 
 # 
 
“The End of a Vendetta,” 
 
 by 
 
 The Hon. Lewis Wingfield. 
 
 
■&- - 
 
 26 
 
 
 “We have done 
 deeds of charity.” 
 —Richard III. 
 
 EqsI of & V e nsl e tt&, 
 
 BY THE HON. LEWIS WINGFIELD. 
 
 HERE is a beerhouse in Oxford Street, which 
 possesses an ancient signboard, painted 
 generations ago, representing a Load of 
 Mischief. I regret to state that the ribald 
 painter has limned a long-suffering and 
 weary man with a woman on his back. 
 Crusty old bachelors are wont to declare 
 that women are vain, frivolous, full of 
 faults, one of the gravest of which is a want 
 of charity towards others of their sex. 
 Ladies have a tendency, no doubt, to judge their erring sisters without 
 adding mercy to the balance ; but that it is not always so may be 
 shown by the relation of a story which is true in all its details. 
 
 ^he Ormondes and the Desmonds; great families both, were natural 
 enemies. They were, in the matter of mutual hate, Montagus 
 and Capulets, Guelfs and Guibellines, Orsinis and Colonnas. In the 
 time of King Charles the First each of the rival houses could boast of 
 a young scion, beautiful as the day, who loathed each other in theory, 
 after the orthodox fashion which obtains in Sicily. They met at Court 
 and, instead of scratching out each others eyes, fell violently in love, 
 one with the other at first sight, just as Shakspere’s delightful hero and 
 heroine did at Verona, long ago. Romeo and Juliet told their love, 
 and the time-honoured Vendetta fell to the ground, as far as they were 
 concerned. But the course of true love was not to run quite smooth. 
 
 His Majesty was a stickler for ancient 
 institutions, and it appeared to him a 
 pestilent proceeding that Montagu 
 and Capulet should quietly bury the 
 hatchet. Romeo was James, Lord 
 Thurles (known afterwards in history 
 as the Great Duke of Ormonde) j 
 Juliet was the Lady Elizabeth Preston, 
 heiress of vast estates. Being an orphan, 
 the young lady was the king’s ward, 
 and he bestowed the guardianship of, 
 her person and money bags upon 
 the Earl of Holland, with the proviso 
 that she was to become the bride of 
 the Earl’s eldest son. Both Romeo 
 and Juliet were haughty and stiff¬ 
 necked, declining to be coerced. In¬ 
 stead of rushing off to a friar’s cell and 
 taking opiates, the latter went straight 
 to the amazed monarch and told him 
 roundly that she would marry my Lord 
 Thurles. The King sent for Lord 
 Thurles, and warned him to desist from 
 pretensions to the hand of his beloved, 
 
 IW • - 
 
27 
 
 “I speak no more 
 than what my 
 soul intends.’'— 
 Henry VI. 
 
 for she was destined by Majesty for another. The behaviour of 
 Romeo was as undutiful as that of Juliet. The gay gentleman 
 told the king in plainest language that he was sorry to displease 
 his master, but that he intended to have the Lady Elizabeth, 
 and that so long as he wore a sword by his side no other man 
 should possess her. This was very shocking to one so selfish 
 and narrow-minded as Charles, who by a whimsical jest of fate 
 has been held up to posterity as a saintly martyr. Although the 
 union was in all respects most eligible for both, and although by 
 the match an old feud might be smothered, His Majesty was obdurate. 
 What did he care for young hearts or for expediency ? He had said 
 that the heiress should become the property of Lord Holland’s son, and 
 to Lord Holland’s son she should be bound, willy-nilly, regardless of the 
 anguish which might come of it. Juliet was accordingly marched off 
 by her new guardian, and immured in durance vile at one of his 
 country places, pending a speedy marriage. Things looked very black 
 for Romeo and Juliet, but Cupid watched 
 over his own. True, there was no friar at 
 hand to act as go-between, but there was 
 someone else whose services were quite 
 as useful. Lord Holland had a daughter 
 as well as a son, and she pitied the throes 
 of anguish endured by the hapless lovers. 
 
 By means of the Lady Isabella Rich the 
 pair kept up a constant correspondence 
 of notes and tokens; for the Lady Isabella 
 was a free agent, who, not so closely 
 secluded as her brother’s betrothed, 
 could manage to meet Lord Thurles at 
 dead of night. She was lively, pretty, 
 good natured, prepared to strain nerve 
 
 and muscle in the cause of true love. But, alas! ’tis dangerous to play with 
 fire. Youth is warm and inexperienced. Both she and the too-fascinating 
 James were yet in their teens, and she fell a victim to passion and oppor¬ 
 tunity. The Lady Isabella became the mother of an infant, who was 
 immediately sent abroad and carefully brought up in Paris without 
 knowledge of his parents. The secret was so carefully kept that no 
 breath of suspicion rested on the Lady Isabella. She upbraided herself 
 bitterly with want of loyalty to her friend Juliet, and, anxious as muqh 
 as lay within her power to repair a wrong, suggested to the fascinating 
 James that her father was fond of lucre, and that if he were offered a 
 good round sum he would sell his ward to Romeo. Lady Isabella 
 went so far as to threaten to expose her own misfortune unless her 
 father gave his consent, and pressure being thus brought to bear on 
 him, the avaricious lord consented, and used his influence with the 
 King to bring about the desired result. 
 
 Qure, nothing could be more promising than the future of the turtle- 
 ^ doves. Young, handsome, rich, with all that the world had to give 
 showered in their lap, what more was left for Romeo and Juliet to 
 desire ? They were duly united, and would of course “ live happy ever 
 after,” after the manner of lovers in fairy tales. Things went smoothly 
 enough for seven years; at the end of that time it came about that 
 James (Duke of Ormonde now) proceeded on business to France. 
 Arrived at Paris the father sought out his son, and was so delighted 
 with him that he could not deny himself the pleasure of communicating 
 his satisfaction to the youth’s unhappy mother. But unfortunately, he 
 wrote to his dear wife by the same courier, and in his confusion or 
 delight, or from arrant want of care, made a fatal mistake in the direction. 
 The letter intended for the Lady Isabella fell into the hands of the 
 Duchess of Ormonde, and the castle of her confiding happiness fell 
 crumbling about her feet. She passionately adored her husband, and 
 we can well imagine what her feelings must have been when she 
 
28 
 
 “ Desire all good 
 men’s love.”— 
 Richard III• 
 
 realised how fascinating Janies had been to another, while swearing 
 that he loved none but her. Romeo false, and with her dearest 
 friend! The situation is harrowing for even us to contemplate, whose 
 tenderest feelings are no wit concerned in the catastrophe. She was 
 sitting with the letter open in her hand in numbed astonishment, when 
 the Lady Isabella was announced. There was an explanation, and an 
 exchange of missives. ■ Owing to the carelessness of the gay Lothario 
 two noble women were made wretched; but, fortunately, neither 
 belonged to the “Load of Mischief” category. Isabella sank 
 to the earth bowed down with remorseful grief. The generous 
 Elizabeth, unable to endure the sight of her friend’s humiliation, 
 raised her gently up, threw her arms about her neck, and with 
 tears and caresses bestowed her forgiveness. It was not her 
 fault, poor thing. Who should know so well as she, his 
 wife, how dreadfully fascinating was James? After mingling salt 
 streams awhile, the two sat hand in hand, more affectionate than ever, 
 and the Duchess registered a vow that the past should be condoned. 
 It is even related that she kept her word so well—what a female 
 
 paragon—that the Duke was never led to suspect that his wife knew 
 the awful secret. 
 
 \ /ith the days of Cromwell came distress to the cavaliers. Among 
 W the rest, both the Ormondes and Hollands.were compelled to fly, 
 after the decapitation of their royal master. The good Duchess of 
 Ormonde offered an asylum to the luckless Isabella in her house at 
 Caen, and the latter, worthy of so lofty-souled a friend, accepted the o er 
 as frankly as it was made. She resided for two years with the Duke and 
 Duchess in all uprightness and confidence. The Duchess never 
 condescended to doubt the affection of her husband any more than 
 the honour of her friend. She never permitted her domestic peace to 
 be disturbed by mean suspicion or petty jealousy. At this later day 
 we are privileged to look on both these high-minded ladies as limned 
 by the pencil of Vandyke—proud, calm, magnificent. Verily, it is a 
 refreshing spectacle to look upon—that of two genuinely noble women. 
 
 ___ kC 
 
 
 4 
 
 i 
 
^miiliiimmtniinun 
 
 ©©©© 
 
 A SONG, 
 
 By < (Mrs. 73LOOSWFIELD £MOO%E. 
 
 ' I count it but time lost to hear such a foolish song .’’—As you like ii 
 
 Y the shallow brook in the pasture, 
 
 Where the cattle like to graze, 
 
 I met my love at the early morn, 
 
 In the sun’s first rosy rays_ 
 
 In the ardent sun’s first rays. 
 
 ¥ 
 
 g re y in the meadow, 
 
 Where the old oak’s shadows lay, 
 
 I met my love in the noon-tide heat, 
 
 As she raked the new-mown hay— 
 
 The billowy new-mown hay. 
 
 ¥ 
 
 By the beehives brown in the garden 
 Where the honey-suckles blow, 
 
 I met my love when the summer sun 
 Went down in a golden glow— 
 
 Wrapt all in a golden glow. 
 
 
 By shallow brook and windmill grey, 
 
 And by garden beehives brown, 
 
 I checked the words that I wished to say, 
 Fearing my love would frown— 
 
 Fearing to meet her frown. 
 
 ¥ 
 
 But when, at last, the. veil of night 
 Was pierced by the moonbeams pale, 
 
 1 held my love to my longing heart 
 And whispered to her the tale— 
 
 I whispered so low the tale. 
 
 ¥ 
 
 No more by the side of the shallow brook, 
 Nor by garden beehives brown, 
 
 Nor where the old oak’s shadows lie, 
 
 Shall I fear my darling’s frown— 
 
 No more shall I fear her frown. 
 
 ¥ 
 
“A Ride to Ronda and back,” 
 
 By Lady Brassey. 
 
32 
 
 ** Suck the 
 sweets of sweet 
 philosophy.” 
 Fanting of the 
 Shrew . 
 
 A Ride to Ronda and back, 
 
 BY LADY BRASSEY. 
 
 HE Spanish Town of Ronda, in the province 
 of Granada, is one of the most picturesque in 
 the whole of Europe, and is visited, in the 
 course of each year, by many tourists, in 
 search of grand and romantic scenery. It 
 is, indeed, a quaint old place, composed of 
 Moorish houses, separated by steep and 
 winding lanes. Its chief attraction consists 
 in its marvellous situation, on the summit 
 of an almost inaccessible plateau of rocks, 
 divided in the centre by a stupendous 
 chasm, between three and four hundred 
 feet deep, which separates the old Moorish 
 town from the more modern quarter. 
 
 E xcursions are made to Ronda from 
 Seville and from Malaga, partly by 
 railway, and partly on horseback; 
 and it is also possible to ride thither from 
 Gibraltar, by a magnificent mountain road, 
 the distance being some forty-four miles, and the time ordinarily 
 occupied on the journey about thirty-six hours. While we were staying 
 at Gibraltar in the “Sunbeam,” in the early part of 1882 , we made the 
 excursion to Ronda and back in fifty-five hours, including two nights 
 at Gaucin, the time actually spent on the road being xof hours going, 
 
 and 11 J hours coming back. We were assured by all whom we 
 consulted, or who offered us advice on the subject before we started, 
 that the feat was impossible, and that we should find ourselves com¬ 
 pelled to pass three nights on the road. We persevered, however, in 
 our intention of trying the experiment; and I propose to give a very 
 brief account of how we brought it to a successful result. 
 
 x was on March nth that we set out. Our intention had been to 
 start at nine o’clock ; but the usual delays, incidental to such an 
 occasion, made it past ten o’clock before we left the New Mole. 
 After rather a hot ride along the beach, and through San Roque, and 
 the First and Second Pine Woods we reached Long Stables, where we 
 stopped to lunch, and to rest ourselves and our horses. The rooms at 
 Long Stables are clean but extremely plain, with brick floors, white¬ 
 washed walls, and a tiled roof, where swallows build their nests, and 
 bees store their honey, flitting and buzzing in and out of the windowless 
 casements to their hearts’ content. The beds looked comfortable, and 
 the woman in charge of the place was civil and obliging, going even 
 to the length of offering me the use of her own comb and a powder- 
 box and puff, articles of advanced civilisation, not to say refinement, 
 which one would scarcely expect to meet with at a venta in the middle 
 of a cork wood, miles from anywhere else. For some distance beyond 
 Long Stables the road wound among the stems of magnificent cork-trees, 
 finer than any we had ever seen before, and was bordered every¬ 
 where by grassy glades and myriads of wild flowers. We felt really 
 
Nothing under 
 heavens eye but I 
 hath its bound.” I 
 Comedy of I 
 Errors. ! 
 
 ™!«va.ed country; but 
 Guadairo, which we had to cross no less than'ef hr we .o 0t to the river 
 travelling by its side till we reached the i, v • ^ bteen tlme s, afterwards 
 foot of the hill, leading up to Gaucin Th “ at the 
 
 and as we crept slowly along the zig-zag road * St !f P f" d rocky ’ 
 climbing up a stone staircase. It ^wonderful in ^ * most like 
 footing under such conditions • but oursmfn ho , w , horses keep their 
 I never gave the matter a thought putting the^ “ S ° ? verly tha t 
 and abandoning myself to the § pleasure rff * • °" Czar ’ s n eck, 
 
 extending on all sides. Gaucin is built on Saddle l0Vdy vie - WS 
 and is visible from a considerable dicta,, • saddle of a mountain, 
 had had the little white houts to viewer r,T " a " y dire «i°"s- We 
 
 did not seem to get any nearer; but when unre'we hlu “‘t 5 ’? ! he >’ 
 we were rewarded for our trouh e hv the , , we had reached them 
 
 that lay stretched beneato us y * SpIendour of the panorama 
 
 TThe Fonda Ingles was clean and comfortable The hr.. ( n ,, , 
 
 ^ once a cook in Gibraltar 1 j, , e host ’ Don Pedro, 
 
 everything else watched ie-ilr, d' V and ord ’ cook, waiter, and 
 took, and appeared much hurt if we ^id nnt^ moutbfdl of food we 
 satisfaction with his savoury dishes andfove L P er Petua]Hy express our 
 appreciation of his culinarv skill ’ w £ 1 P ractIcal evidence of our 
 that we ought to take soSS - had been told before starting 
 
 I places imagtoatlt deep do Jn "n‘Ihe bowels “thVSXh' 11 '’' 
 were £££*££ '»*** j*-* P-W in whS 
 
 SpreS and ’ ,h °“ gh ^ £*+ -» "dof mad^jstuffy 6 beyond 
 
 rode d»e“o:^ani;Xd fJ 
 
 by the journey, which had occupied him SfJ 6 quite , exha usted 
 He assured us that it could not nnceiKi 1 even bours and a quarter, 
 owing to the badness of tSe 
 
 project of riding there and LITrhe . dld L not ^ok well for our 
 daunted. For several reasons we m, i!? Xt ’^ ay ’ JUt we were not to be 
 three days—from earlv Satm-da 1 d ° n y mana g e to get away for 
 and it was therefore^ necesSrv 1 a ? I ate ° n Monday night- 
 
 or not at all Ever sTn Ce we were ?t 7 h \ the . tri P "thin that time, 
 1S62, I had longed to make the e Glbraltar * n the “Albatross,” in 
 had always occurred to prevent m^doing 1 so^W^ S0 , methin S 
 qutte determined to manage it somehow o/other Z time' ^ 
 
 I HE ready tor g a“Stt'KreTe “bmthe a " d 
 
 j visible, thoug^tl^mlight'was smnewhat paLd* by^ha^of the Were 
 
 ™— ml, a^ SeTa^T „£r ^ 
 
 keeping watch over it from the cto a Ule “ttle Moorish tower, 
 
 and picturesque as „ne C a n above - was as ™an,ic 
 
 upper road, gazing down into firsf one rtoh we ,P roce f ded along the 
 the varying effects of lio-ht ord u a lcb va ey an d then another, 
 to set, y the moon began’ 
 
 description. le Ts n fh? h su r rr t os 1 e d hfohe nd Twh ^^^beyoiJd 
 flooded some of the vaUeys with rifh -^^^,£££3* 
 
34 
 
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 “ Oft expecta¬ 
 tion hits where 
 hope is coldest." 
 Aks Well. 
 
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 with which they were filled, while others were left in deep shadow, as if for 
 a time forgotten. Disagreeable as it undoubtedly had been to be com¬ 
 pelled to rise at so early an hour, and to dress and breakfast by candlelight, 
 we were now more than rewarded for the temporary discomfort we had 
 undergone. 
 
 A fter riding thus for a considerable distance, we asked the name of 
 a town which had become visible beneath us, and, to our great 
 astonishment, were told that it was Gaucin. We had been 
 winding about among the mountains, gradually getting higher and 
 higher, until- we were far above the town, which presents a totally 
 different aspect from such a position to that with which we were already 
 familiar. Many other little villages we saw, perched among the crags, 
 or lying on the less precipitous slopes of the hills ; and after passing 
 through two of them, by a road sometimes good, sometimes very bad, 
 but always beautiful, we began to draw near our destination. It was 
 quite wonderful to us how every patch of land among the rocks was 
 cultivated, even in places where the mountain side was so steep that 
 it seemed scarcely possible for the seed to lie in the ground. 
 
 JT'he heat of the sun was unpleasantly strong during the latter part of 
 our journey, and we were not at all sorry when at ten o’clock we 
 arrived at our destination. The first aspect of Ronda reminded 
 me of Constantine, in Algeria, the town being built on each side of a 
 ravine some two hundred feet wide by three hundred in depth, with 
 almost precipitous sides, through which the clear and sparkling river 
 Guadalvin rushes over its rocky bed, surmounting every obstacle, and 
 foaming with indignation at the difficulties it has to encounter. Other 
 bright streams gush from the rocks on either side, forming numerous 
 waterfalls, while in every available hole and cranny grow figs, aloes, prickly 
 pears, and graceful ferns, which give the scene quite a tropical aspect. 
 7T ~he torrent and ravine, or Tajo, are spanned by two bridges, one old 
 and the other new. The former, which was built in 1761, consists 
 of one arch of over a hundred feet span, and nearly three hundred 
 
 feet in height. The latter is called the bridge of San Miguel. The 
 view from each is exquisite, whether you look up or down the stream, 
 though, on one side, its grandeur is somewhat marred by a number of 
 small mills that have been built with a view of utilising the vast water¬ 
 power that would otherwise run to waste. There are some Moorish 
 ruins at Ronda, and also a fine bull-ring—one of the largest in Spain ; 
 and during the horse and cattle fair in May, the town, which is of 
 considerable extent (having a population of nearly 24,000), is crowded 
 with visitors of every grade from all parts of the country, tents being 
 pitched and small wooden huts erected outside the walls, by way of 
 additional accommodation, as at Seville during the fair week. 
 
 TVS r. Ford describes Ronda as an “intricateold Moorish town 
 J i l of tortuous lanes,and ups and downs,” adding that “the 
 houses are small and the doors are made of the fine 
 Nogal, or Walnut, which abounds in the fruit-bearing valleys.” 
 
 "Ilf e went through the streets and looked 
 IX* at the shops full of embroidered 
 saddlery, harness-work, and donkey 
 and mule trappings, for which Ronda is so 
 famous ; and then, after a brief rest, pre¬ 
 pared to commence the return 
 journey. We left the town by 
 the opposite side to that by 
 which we had entered it, and 
 took a different route to that 
 of this morning, following the 
 course of the river for a consider¬ 
 able distance. The road itself 
 was better, and there were many ‘ 
 pretty views to admire at various 
 points ; but altogether it was 
 nothing like so grand as that 
 
35 
 
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 «►#<►♦<► 
 
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 “Men must 
 not walk too 
 late.” | 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 which we had already passed over. We rested half way for a short 
 time, and had a chat with a travelling family of gipsies, whose principal 
 occupation, like that of other gipsies in Spain, appeared to be to clip 
 horses, mules, and donkeys. They were anxious to operate upon our 
 steeds ; but we declined their services with thanks. With them was 
 the jolliest, large dark-eyed, olive-complexioned, little rogue of a boy, 
 about two years old, full of mischief, and yet very sociable. He 
 amused us immensely with his prattle, while we and our horses sought 
 a brief shelter from the heat of the sun. 
 
 3 t got dark before we reached Gaucin, and our guide, after losing- his 
 way and then his head, became so frightened that he was utterly 
 useless. If it had not been for the fact that we had carefully 
 noticed the formation of the mountains and the general features of the 
 landscape as we came out this morning, we should have been in an 
 awkward plight. As it was, we spent rather a viauvais quart d'heure 
 before we succeeded in finding the right road again—a narrow track, 
 running along the edge of a steep precipice, not being the most 
 pleasant spot in which to find oneself at nightfall. However, our 
 troubles were not of long duration, and in due course we alighted at 
 the door of our hotel, at a quarter to seven o’clock, much to the 
 astonishment of our host. When, this morning, we ordered dinner to 
 be prepared for seven o’clock, he politely but firmly declined to cook 
 it, saying that it was quite impossible to accomplish the journey to 
 Rondo and back in a day, and laughing when I assured him that we 
 had well considered the matter, and that somehow or other I generally 
 managed to carry out any plan on which I had set my mind. 
 
 3 t was a good long ride—fifty-two miles there and back—and it is 
 scarcely surprising that we did not feel inclined to sit up very 
 long after dinner. 
 
 S oon after nine o’clock the next morning we left Gaucin, on our way 
 back to Gibraltar. We should have liked to have stayed a few 
 hours longer, and to have climbed up to the little Moorish tower 
 
 and the hill above, from which I believe the view is superb ; but we 
 thought it better to make sure of getting home in good time. Our 
 horses all came out very fresh. Those which had arrived on Saturday 
 night, and had remained in their stable ever since, looked quite dazed 
 as they emerged into the light again; for the approach was so bad, and 
 the streets of the town were so steep and stony, that the groom in 
 charge of them had been afraid to take them out yesterday, even for 
 exercise. 
 
 A s we slowly wended our way 
 down the same rocky road 
 by which we had arrived 
 on Saturday, some of the small 
 urchins of the town amused 
 themselves by throwing stones at 
 us from above. Fortunately for 
 us, most of the missiles, though 
 coming unpleasantly near, 
 bounded over us. We were, 
 however, utterly defenceless, and 
 it was impossible to pursue the 
 little ruffians, who were on the 
 top of a steep precipice im¬ 
 mediately over our heads. 
 
 S oon after starting, we passed 
 our baggage-horse, looking 
 very tired and lame, on 
 observing which we caused most 
 of the luggage to be shifted on 
 to our guide’s horse, and left 
 him behind to walk. It served 
 him right, for he had contracted . 
 to take us to Ronda and back, 
 
“Tell pale-hearted 
 fear, it lies.” 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 and to provide two good mules for baggage, besides horse-clothing 
 and forage ; instead of which, in order to make a little more money, 
 he had supplied only one old horse. 
 
 A bout eight miles from Gaucin we left the road by which we had 
 before travelled, and turned off towards Guadiaro. The road 
 itself was good, but the country was comparatively flat and 
 uninteresting, so that we were able to canter along and allow ourselves 
 two or three hours for a good rest in the middle of the day, at the nice 
 clean little inn, close to the river, at Guadiaro. 
 
 R esuming our journey it was not long before we were near the 
 Second Tower on the eastern beach, one of the meets of the 
 Calpe hounds; and shortly after half-past five we were once 
 more in Gibraltar, where our speedy return, after having accomplished 
 our undertaking, caused no little astonishment among our friends. 
 
 I he following is a short summary, showing the exact time occupied 
 in the various stages of the journey to and from Ronda :— 
 
 From Gibraltar to Ronda. 
 
 
 Left Gibraltar, io a.m.) 
 
 Arrived Long Stables, 12 noon ... j 
 
 En route ... 
 
 2 hours. 
 
 Left Long Stables, 1-30 p.m. ... 1 
 Arrived Gaucin, 5-45 p.m. ... j 
 
 En route ... 
 
 4f hours. 
 
 Left Gaucin, 5-30 a.m.j 
 
 By upper road > 
 
 Arrived Ronda, 10 a.m. j 
 
 En route ... 
 
 4^ hours. 
 
 
 
 Total time en route to 
 
 Ronda ... 
 
 1 of hours. 
 
37 
 
39 
 
 1 Take heed ; have 
 open eye.” 
 Merry Wives. 
 
 POW 
 
 * |jelps 
 
 Sy J. H. AVEL/NG, -M.D. 
 
 A “ That’s a fable.”— Othello. 
 
 HERE russet rocks and silver sand 
 ■ Broke boldly from the stony strand, 
 
 \ U M m And soaring straightway to the sky, 
 
 M M W A hill became, uplifted high— 
 
 There lofty giant larches grew, 
 
 Whose branches, bathed in heav’n’s bright blue, 
 
 And clothed the heights in clouds of green, 
 
 A crown upon a stately queen ! 
 
 TTrom harm this hill was safely kept 
 -J By sea’s strong arm which round it swept, 
 
 While ^pointed peaks protecting stood 
 Afar, and watched both hill apd wood. 
 
 7\ mong the trees so strong and tall 
 
 One lovely Larch o’ertopped them all; $ 
 
 Of that high hill she was the crest (!) 
 
 Or plume which rose o’er all the rest. f 
 
 Beneath, on short smooth grass, there ran - 
 
 Fat rabbits fearful of no man; 
 
 While pouting pigeons full of food 
 Among the branches perched and cooed. 
 
 Above flew whitest sea-birds seeming, 
 
 Like stars against the welkin gleaming. 
 
 There was not in this world of bliss 
 A tree more proudly placed than this, 
 
 TIIhen flowers purple clothed the ground 
 ''A'* Of all the mountain moors around, 
 An idle Wind, who spent his hours 
 In stealing scent from perfumed flow’rs, 
 While wandering with no intent, 
 
 Without a care which way he went, 
 
 Came softly sauntering and still, 
 
 Until he reached this happy hill. 
 
 He swept the sea and stony strand, 
 
 The russet rocks and silver sand, 
 
 And floated o’er the dreaming wood 
 To where sweet Larch in silence stood. 
 
 S pell-bound, Wind started back amazed, 
 On Larch’s loveliness long gazed; 
 Then came with fitful palpitations 
 And wandered round with shy gyrations \ 
 Still nearer ventured, sighed some vows, 
 
 And touched the tips of her chaste boughs 
 So softly she could scarcely say 
 If Wind had pressed her, yea or nay, 
 
 Till bolder grown with greed of bliss 
 He breathed upon her one coy kiss. 
 
“ By whose gentle 
 help I was pre¬ 
 served.”— Measure 
 for Measure. 
 
 H ow suddenly her fate she knew, 
 
 For through her frame a love-thrill flew; 
 Yet outer sign as light for him 
 She suffered not in heart or limb; 
 
 But all in vain, for Wind still near, 
 
 Fast losing all his foolish fear, 
 
 And taking passive no as yes, 
 
 Next tried a tender, close caress. 
 
 N ow Larch no longer mute could be, 
 
 For trembling in her ecstacy 
 Through ev’ry feath’ry fibre green, 
 
 She sighed, and let her love be seen. 
 
 7T"hen Wind, with longing lightly pent, 
 
 U-' Upon the Larch his passion spent 
 With whirling, overwhelming might; 
 Enwrapt her limbs with mad delight, 
 
 And urged the strength of his love-storm 
 So stoutly on her yielding form 
 That suddenly she fell, but falling, 
 
 With roars of rending roots appalling, 
 
 Was caught, and kindly bade to rest 
 Upon a neighb’ring Larch’s breast— 
 
 A bleeding breast all crushed and torn, 
 
 But happy that it had upborne 
 A sister sinking deep in strife, 
 
 Fast losing all she loved in life. 
 
 And thus both grew with arms entwined, 
 Defying ev’ry wicked Wind. 
 
 *j*i |hen years had passed, these Larches stood, 
 W Still friends, the highest in the wood; 
 
 The only ones, for on the ground 
 All other trees lay stretched around. 
 
 A mighty hurricane had burst 
 
 Upon that wood and worked its worst; 
 
 It swept the sand and spindrift high 
 To mingle with the leaves and fly 
 A cloud of ruin o’er the hill, 
 
 With vengeful violence to kill; 
 
 But hurled itself with might and main 
 Against the standing Larch in vain , 
 
 For leaning Larch was now a prop, 
 
 A friend indeed to stay and stop 
 The Wind’s o’erbearing baneful breath, 
 
 And save her faithful friend from death. 
 
 
 
 
 Copies of the Book of Fables by the same Author may be purchased at any of the Stalls , or of the Show-Book Sellers. 
 
F. GOO<DqALL , R.A. 
 
 “ Thy oath 
 remember.” 
 Pericles. 
 
 THE 
 
 V.*> 
 
 
 HEAO Of THE HOUl£ AT PRATER. 
 
44 
 
 KIRBY, 
 
 a Dream of tbe fc>a\>s of (Boob <&ueen Bees. 
 THE PAST—1589. 
 
 “ A matchless pair, 
 
 With equal virtue form’d and equal grace. —Thomson. ^ 
 “ Do all things but forget.”— Pope. 
 
 URIED in lime avenues and native woods, in 
 the good county of Northamptonshire, lies 
 Kirby, the seat of Sir Christopher Hatton, 
 Chancellor and favourite of Queen Elizabeth. 
 It was originally built for the Staffords, and 
 completed for Lord Keeper Hatton by 
 John Thorpe. The arms of the Staffords are 
 still visible. It is commonly said that 
 Queen Bess exchanged Holmby or Holtenby 
 (the other side of the county, built also 
 bv Tohn Thorpe, who was the architect of Burghley House, 
 Stamford) with Sir Christopher for Kirby, but this must be a mistake, 
 as Holmby belonged to his family in the reign of James I. 
 
 ‘t/iRBY was probably a gift to the Chancellor from his royal mistress. 
 ■£1 The inner court was wrought into its beautiful shape by Inigo 
 Tones, for Lord Hatton, Controller of the Household in the time of 
 Charles I. Kirby was spoken of as the retreat for the court of 
 George the III in the event of the threatened invasion. 
 
 inner courtyard was square, and was enclosed by a large range of 
 ^ apartments. On one side was the great hall, panelled half the height 
 of the walls with oak, magnificently carved in quai nt 
 devices; and at one end was the music gallery. 
 
 ^The picture gallery, 160 feet long, extended 
 nearly the length of one side of the quad¬ 
 rangle, and was a beautiful room, though perhaps 
 rather narrow for its length. Numerous pictures 
 hung on its walls, gallant knights, courtly priests, 
 astute statesmen, lovely ladies, were there in all 
 costumes. The walls were covered with rare pieces 
 of tapestry, representing allegorical and other 
 subjects. The wainscoting was of chestnut. The 
 floor was of polished oak, strewn with fresh-gathered 
 rushes, and all down the room were ranged cabinets 
 and cupboards of oak, ebony, and ivory; statues 
 of men and women in marble, some holding large 
 silver lamps in their raised arms, china from India 
 and Japan, on pedestals, gilt chairs, the seats and 
 backs covered with rare brocade and satin, a 
 spinning-wheel of ebony and ivory, and an open 
 harpsichord of rosewood inlaid with silver, with a 
 
45 
 
 “Grace for 
 ace, and love 
 r love.”— 
 Romeo & Juliet. 
 
 painting of St. Cecilia on the lid, and with an open piece of music, the 
 last volta then composed, which was the favourite dance of Queen Bess 
 and Sir Christopher Hatton. The chapel, too, was beautiful, the carvings 
 entirely of walnut wood. The clock over the chapel slowly pealed 
 forth the solemn flight of time, and seemed with its deep voice to utter 
 a protest against a wanton idling of precious moments, as each one 
 passed into the vast land of days that are past and vanished. To this 
 fair palace in Rockingham Forest (for Kirby stood in Rockingham 
 Forest) of which the Lords Hatton were Rangers, with its two lines of 
 lime avenues, and two avenues the opposite side of the house of horse 
 chestnuts, came a goodly cavalcade one day, when the horse chestnuts 
 had just donned their bravest array of pink and white-spiked* fragrant 
 blossoms and tender dark green leaves. Down the chestnut avenue, 
 treading the thickly-strewn carpet of sweet flowers under their palfreys’ 
 prancing feet, causing the flowers as they died to emit their 
 gracious perfume, came the gay party. 
 
 First, a band playing dances, the musicians 
 attired in scarlet and gold, their surcoats 
 emblazoned with the Royal Arms of 
 England, then numerous gentlemen on 
 horseback, each having a lady bravely 
 attired riding beside him, then many 
 pages on foot, in the livery of the noble 
 house of Hatton; and last, mounted 
 on a splendid white palfrey, whose 
 trappings and bridle and saddle were 
 of cloth of gold, embroidered with 
 real jewels, rode Elizabeth, Queen 
 of England—“ Good Queen Bess.” 
 
 Her dress was of cloth of silver, 
 embroidered with eyes and ears; the 
 
 sleeves, puffed to the wrist, were divided between each puff with bands 
 of pearls as. big as nuts; they finished at the wrists with rare old 
 Venetian point, and on one arm a serpent was embroidered in rubies 
 and pearls, signifying “wisdom.” The ruff was of the same costly 
 point, made very stiff, held out by pieces of wood or ivory, and stiffened 
 with yellow starch, first invented in this reign in 1564, when Mistress 
 L ingham Von der Plasse, a Fleming, came to London, rose into 
 immense reputation, and acquired a large fortune as a teacher of clear 
 starching, for which she charged five pounds, and an extra sum of one 
 pound for showing how to make the starch. The starch of Queen 
 Elizabeth’s day was made from wheat-bran, roots, and other vegetable 
 materials, and was coloured red, blue, and purple. Stubbs, in his 
 Anatomy of Abuses,” ascribed the introduction of “ this liquid matter, 
 which they called starch” to another agency. According to him, 
 it was the Devil that learned them to wash and dye their ruffs.” 
 Besides the starch, the fair dames of that period also made “ certain 
 devices of wires, created for the purpose, and whipped all over with 
 gold thread, silver, or silk, each having what was termed an “ under- 
 proper, upon which was built up row by row “ stately arches of 
 pride,” what the puritanical bigot and puritan calls “the master 
 devil ruff,” some of which were sufficiently fine to win the name 
 of “spider’s web,” on which devices, in spangles of gold and silver, 
 sparkled sun, moon, stars, eta On her 
 head the Queen wore a crown of magnifi¬ 
 cent jewels, and the stomacher of her dress 
 glittered with diamonds and rubies; her 
 gloves were embroidered with the Royal 
 Arms in emeralds and pearls, finished at 
 the edges with gold lace ; her stockings 
 were of knit black silk, presented to her 
 in 1560 by her silk woman, Mrs. Montague; 
 
mTfflTfflTfflTfflTi III mmnifflMffll 
 
 a soldier 
 purpose." 
 ides. 
 
 46 
 
 her shoes were of perfumed red leather, perfumed with her favourite 
 scent “ Peau d’Espagne,” the toes were very broad, crusted heavily with 
 gold; at her waist hung a chain of diamonds, from which was 
 suspended a fan of peacock’s feathers, with a looking 
 glass let into the back, surmounted by rubies and 
 diamonds, and on her other side hung a large pocket, 
 to which she consigned her letters of importance from 
 foreign potentates, ambassadors, and other persons 
 of consequence. Her handkerchief, of the finest 
 cambric (which she also put in her pocket), was 
 embroidered with the Royal Arms, and trimmed with 
 old point lace a quarter of a yard deep. The 
 gentleman who walked at her side, holding her 
 bridle, was none other than Sir Christopher Hatton, 
 
 Queen Elizabeth’s favourite statesman and courtier, 
 the unequalled dancer of her gay court, and 
 the owner of proud Kirby and all its broad acres, a 
 gift it is commonly believed from his fair mistress, for 
 he was her true and faithful servant and devoted 
 lover. His administration began in 1587, in con¬ 
 junction with Lord Burleigh, Robert, Earl of Essex, 
 and others; he was made Lord Chancellor of England 
 in 1588 ; he was the first that possessed that high office 
 who was neither prelate nor lawyer; and he acquitted 
 himself with great credit. Let us take a look at Sir 
 Christopher as he appears in the full-length portrait of 
 him at Eastwell Park, Ashford, Kent, the seat of the 
 present owner of Kirby, the Earl ofWinchilsea and 
 Nottingham. Sir Christopher was born at Holmby, and 
 educated at St. Mary’s Hall, Oxford, from whence 
 he proceeded to the Inner Temple. He possessed 
 
 great abilities, highly cultivated by study and business, and he 
 was remarkable for his eloquence and powers of persuasion, which 
 often served his interests well. It was his well-timed speech, when he 
 was Vice-Chamberlain, that persuaded Mary Queen of Scots to 
 come before the court, which, pleading her dignity, she had before 
 refused to do. He is standing in this picture with one hand on his 
 hip. He wears a doublet of white satin barred heavily with gold, a 
 ruff round the neck, and a short black velvet cloak studded very thickly 
 with enormous pearls. Long silk hose, gartered at the knee, and neat 
 black velvet shoes embroidered with pearls, complete his costume. 
 He is very good looking; has a smiling mouth, deep blue eyes shaded 
 by long lashes, and with a sweet kind look in them, curly brown hair, 
 and a long pointed beard. At his side lies a very small curly white dog. 
 Thus attired, on this May day in 1589, walked Sir Christopher, leading 
 his Queen to the home her generosity had given him. 
 
 H v my soul, Sir Christopher,” spake the Royal lady, “ I am almost 
 *** sorry I did not retain in mine own keeping so fair an heritage— 
 methinks I was over hasty; and yet,” mused Elizabeth, “ my Lord 
 Keeper is a worthy owner for a worthy abode.” And she smiled on 
 her host, whose look of true devotion was not lost on his royal guest. 
 “ Right proud am I,” answered Sir Christopher, as the first view of 
 glorious Kirby Hall broke upon them, “ to welcome your most 
 gracious Majesty to my dear home—dear to me always, as my 
 sovereign lady’s gift—doubly dear to me now that my Queen 
 graces it with her presence;” and, as he spoke, Sir Christopher 
 knelt and kissed the Queen’s hand, while hearty shouts of “ Long 
 live Queen Bess, God preserve the Queen,” came from the 
 throats of many a stalwart Northamptonshire man, and resounded 
 through the still forest air. The Queen smilingly acknowledged the 
 reception of her subjects, and then with the aid of Sir Christopher she 
 dismounted. He gallantly led the Queen through the quadrangle into 
 
47 
 
 n 
 
 “Wise men ne'er 
 wail their present 
 woes.”—A’ iciiard 
 II. 
 
 
 the withdrawing room, and from thence into the library, with its stores 
 of valuable books and MSS. Here were Drydale'/Worka Jeremy 
 
 nf y f. ? St T g ,’ an , d “ Hol y Edmund Spencer’s “Faerie 
 
 Queen Sir Philip Sydney’s “Arcadia,” the poems of Thomas Howard 
 
 Earl of Surrey, the refiner of English verses, who introduced sonnets 
 from Paly and wrote the earliest blank verse in some translations from 
 Virgil, the allegorical poems of William Dunbar, a Scottish clergyman, 
 who wrote The Union of the Thistle with the Rose,” and many 
 others. On a table of ebony and silver stood a silver tray, with cuds 
 of fragrant tea Here Lady Frances Howard, Lady Sheffield, Lady 
 Wodehouse, Blanche Parry, and the beautiful Isabella Markham, had 
 already preceded her. Most of these ladles were attired in white 
 
 Fn^ r fu g “J h ? Enghsh Mercurie >” the first newspaper printed in 
 ^ngland, Her Highness retired to her bedchamber, and was seen no 
 more until dinner was served. According to Heutzner, much ceremony 
 and solemnity was then observed. Two gentlemen first entered, one 
 bearing a rod, the other a tablecloth; this was a great luxury; the Earl 
 of Northumberland, a most wealthy and luxurious nobleman, only 
 had eight for his own use, and one for his servants, which was 
 washed once a month. Both gentlemen kneeled three times with 
 as much show of respect as if the Queen had been actually present 
 Then came others with a saltcellar, a plate, and bread. The salt- 
 cellar, which wis of silver or pewter, was placed half way down the 
 table, above this sat the master, his family, and guests ; below it were 
 servants and retainers of all degrees. An unmarried lady, dressed in 
 white silk, then entered with a married lady bearing a toasting fork 
 The former after kneeling three times, rubbed the plates with bread 
 and sa!t The yeoman of the guard then appeared bringing in a course 
 of twenty-four dishes served on plate ; these were received by a 
 gentleman and placed upon the table, the table itself being covered with 
 magnificent plate, gold and silver drinking cups, glass beakers, 
 
 tumblers and bottles; the lady taster then gave a mouthful to each 
 guard, of the dish he brought, for fear of poison. After this a number 
 of unmarried ladies bore the dishes into the Queen’s inner chamber. 
 1 welve trumpets and two kettledrums were being played in the great 
 hall while these ceremonies lasted. After the Queen, Sir Christopher 
 and then guests, had eaten of the dishes which the Queen preferred the 
 remainder was taken to the ladies of the court. As a rule. Queen 
 Bess eat very little, and drank weak beer or wine and water, and unless 
 it was a state occasion such as I have described, she took her meals 
 with a few of her attendants. Before dinner she and her attendants 
 sweetened their dainty persons with rose water previous to beginning 
 their meal. Queen Elizabeth’s breakfast, except on fast days, consisted 
 of butter, eggs, boiled steaks, fish, wheaten bread, cabbages, potatoes 
 and a confection of barley, sodden with water and sugar and thickened 
 with bread, and ale made from the hops now first grown in England ; 
 this she partook of at eight in the morning; she dined at eleven off 
 
 •rVrr’ ^ ea ’ ° r pork ’ and supped at six - She studied much, and 
 it a difficult point arose, she sent for some learned man to help her; after 
 
 breakfast she transacted business, papers of public interest and affairs 
 were read aloud; she gave the orders she thought necessary in notes by 
 lerself or her tutor and secretary, Roger Ascham, who used to teach 
 her Latin, and pinch, nip, and hoi (slap) her, if she displeased him in 
 the least W hen tired with work, she took a matinal walk with her 
 ladies if the weather was propitious. She hated a high wind, and seldom 
 stirred out in it, but rain, if not too violent, did not prevent her or her 
 c ° u , rt from exercise under umbrellas. According to Bohm, she would 
 chide her familiar servants so loud that those at a distance heard her 
 voice, and for small faults she would strike her maids of honour with 
 her hand. Blanche Parry was her friend and confidante. When the 
 Queen took her walks abroad, special officers had to go the same road 
 and order away all ugly, deformed, and diseased persons. Her 
 
48 
 
 “He is well 
 paid that is 
 well satisfied.” 
 — Merchant 
 of Venice. 
 
 popularity was wonderful, ‘one reason being that her ear was always 
 open to the complaints of her loyal subjects, even at the most incon¬ 
 venient seasons. When she retired to bed, she was attended by all the 
 ladies of her household. When she felt tired, she sent them all away, 
 except the lady whose turn it was to sleep in her room. A gentleman 
 of good quality sat in the next apartment, with others, in order to be 
 ready to awake her should anything extraordinary happen. Supper time 
 was when she most enjoyed herself, then she would laugh and talk. 
 After that she would play on the virginalls, a keyed instrument of one 
 string, listen to a song, dance a coranto, or witness a masque specially 
 performed for her. Such was Sir Christopher s illustrious guest. 
 On this evening the banquet was spread in the great hallthe table 
 was covered with gold and silver plate, in many cases enriched with 
 jewels, and every delicacy covered the board, which groaned under the 
 weight of its good cheer. Huge silver lamps shed a soft ray oyer the 
 brilliant scene, the band in the gallery pealed forth sweet melodies, in 
 the intervals a blind negro boy played divinely on the lute, conversa¬ 
 tion was bright and gay, all looked happy. The banquet over, Sir 
 Christopher led the Queen up the staircase of solid carved oak, into 
 the noble gallery, where they sat down to a game of backgammon, 
 while others played dice, chess (supposed to have come from 
 Asia, and to have been known in the land ioo years before 
 the conquest), cards, invented to relieve the mind of Charles VI., 
 the mad King of France ; and others shovel boards, played on a 
 smooth table with flat metal weights. A line was drawn across the 
 table four inches from the edge, and the skill of the play consisted in 
 shoveling the weights so as to cross this line without falling over the 
 edge of the table ; others, in a small room adjoining, played billiards, 
 a game invented by Henrique Denique, in I 57 1 - There, in the prime 
 of his courtly graces and his noble presence (their backgammon 
 being over) my grave Lord Keeper led the brawls. After the dance, 
 
 Sir Christopher led his sovereign down the slippery steps, still called 
 by Elizabeth’s name, into the trim pleasance below, among those 
 yews then “clipped by law and tantalized 
 with skill,” to the fine smooth lawn beyond. 
 
 On the right stretched a long terraced garden, 
 and, in the centre of the surrounding wall, an 
 alcove with statues in Roman costume, and a 
 huge chimney projecting from the wall as a 
 buttress, admirable in the proportions of its 
 upper parts. Sir Christopher and the Queen 
 enjoyed the air for a short time, and then they 
 passed into the chapel, with its beautiful 
 carvings of walnut wood, and heard a few short 
 prayers, then back again to the library, when 
 musscadine and sweetened sack (lamb’s wool, 
 made of sound old ale, spice, and sugar, and 
 a roasted crab apple, while in drinking it was 
 essential each guest was presented with a sprig 
 of rosemary to stir its fragrant depths) were 
 served in large silver bowls to each guest, 
 and then once more Sir Christopher besought 
 the Queen to walk with hinj yet again in the beauty 
 of the night, and, on her complying,-led *Her 
 Majesty to the front of the house, and there— 
 where the silver moonlightbathed the whole fair 
 scene in its pure light, avenues, house, park, 
 deer—Sir Christopher bid his Royal mistress 
 a gallant and loving good night. 
 
 
t) 
 
 » 
 
 Thank heaven 
 for a good 
 man’s love.”— 
 As you like it. 
 
 OW what is left? of a palace, a house once 
 s ° fair of all rums in the country, the 
 saddest of all is that of Kirby Hall. So 
 utterly is it concealed by trees that you may 
 pass within fifty yards of one of the finest 
 houses in the kingdom without knowing that 
 a house is there. Desolate, deserted, as it 
 now is, until 1836 it was a habitable house : 
 the father of the present Earl of Winchilsea 
 . j an d Nottingham lived there, where he first 
 
 ?h a S d ^ and c hlS dau i hter ’ the present Lady Caroline Turnor, wife of 
 there *^ ? S ‘ oke Rochford ’ Lincolnshire, ws born 
 
 •n k-. 5 ? i8 3 6 > when Lord Winchilsea left it, it has never been 
 
 inhabited by any of the family, and it has been gradually going to rack 
 a£d rum, a process which is now all but complete When Lmd 
 
 it Slfi 6 ! ll ’ hls a § ent Webster first lived in it, then a farmer had 
 t with the land about it, and now a labourer lives in the drawing room 
 
 of one of the finest Elizabethan houses ever built. How 
 1S k he vie , w ° f fra S mentof th e house where the Lord 
 Weaklv 7o aS tt rn |i V gab r lG ° f HoImb rraises its chimney-stack 
 traced hv tfi^ ^ lon g-J° r g otten obliterated garden is hereby 
 
 worst tL gr rf banks ' At Holmb y> time has done its 
 
 worst, the hard fight for life is over, death is triumphant. One can 
 
 ICIWBY, 
 
 a IRealitp of tbe ba?s of Ouccn iPictoria. 
 THE PRESENT-1881. 
 
 saunter slowly through the gardens, now restored to grazing land again, 
 until a calmness, such as one feels in walking by the graves of friends 
 long since. “ gone beforebut to see, as at Kirby, the very action of 
 decomposition going on, the tattered tapestry in shreds on the walls 
 the pictures half in half out of their broken frames, the crumbling 
 stucco of the ceiling, forming a support to the hanging ivy, to 
 inhale the damp, unwholesome air, to hear the rats and mice 
 
So 
 
 “About your 
 business 
 straight.”— 
 Richard. III. 
 
 
 Dugdale, and “ Rare Ben Jonson,” where used to be the harpsi¬ 
 chord whose keys royal Elizabeth’s fingers had touched, and the 
 spinning wheel she was wont to use ; to see the machinery of the clock 
 that marked the passage of time in Sir Christopher’s day, fallen in 
 through the roof into the chapel, of which nothing is left. All the 
 
 beautiful carved 
 walnut work is a 
 thing of the past; 
 the seat where 
 Elizabeth knelt 
 has been sold or 
 burnt in sheer 
 wanton mischief 
 by some careless 
 ^country yokel, and 
 i the lovely fresh 
 founts of green 
 fern sprout up in 
 
 _ ___the choked gut- 
 
 ters ; and then to 
 see the masonry 
 in all its firmness 
 without a stone displaced, the sculpture and devices of the Stafford 
 crest, with fruit and flowers, &c., as sharp as the first day they were 
 carved ; the solid oak staircase yet entire; the quaint stone animals, 
 half dogs, half bears, which in Sir Christopher’s time squatted on the 
 pinnacles which terminated the Corinthian pilasters on which the portal 
 of the great hall to the south was raised, but are now gone, with the 
 exception of a few lying buried deep in the luxurious growth of grass 
 and weeds, which fills the whole of the inner courtyard. This is a 
 melancholy, a despairing sight, without a single redeeming touch of 
 
 B 
 
 :&r"- 
 
 t) Pi 
 
 hope, or joy, or comfort. Down that long and splendid gallery, 
 in the prime of his favour, the splendour of his handsome person 
 and courtly graces, 
 
 “ My grave Lord Keeper led the brawls, 
 
 The seals and maces danced before him.” 
 
 ould even his quickness and agility avoid the gaping pitfalls 
 now ? 
 
 own those green slippery steps Queen Elizabeth, with stately 
 mien, stepped into the trim pleasance below, among 
 the grand old yews, now struggling in brave defiance of the 
 gardener’s shears. In that beautiful old chapel, of which nought 
 remains but a few crumbling planks, and where 
 it is dangerous to walk, a loyal household often 
 knelt in prayer for his most sacred Majesty, 
 when such a prayer was a crime, and the 
 worshipper, if discovered, would have paid his 
 devotion with his life. From that iron-tracerie 1 
 balcony embowered in ivy, now falling in pieces 
 and worn with rust, did the fair heiress of the 
 Montagues, when hostess here, stepping forth 
 from her dainty boudoir, welcome and speed her 
 parting guests. When Lord Winchilsea left 
 
 Kirby a sale took place, 
 at which many things 
 that undoubtedly ought 
 to have been preserved 
 • were parted with, and 
 so little care was taken 
 . ot what was left that the 
 .. deer cart was mended 
 
“ An you lie 
 we’ll have you 
 whipped ! ”— 
 King Lear. 
 
 with a piece of tapestry torn down from the walls. But it is all over 
 now. A few years ago and a little timely moderate outlay would have 
 saved all these associations, and preserved a house that much money 
 would now be needed to restore. Ruin and decay have marked Kirby 
 for their own. Nothing remains of its splendour but its beautiful 
 outside walls. The ghost of a dead past reigns paramount over every¬ 
 thing ; the avenues are all gone, the approach to the house is over 
 grass and deep ruts, and we who loved it look on in indescribable 
 regret and longing. The old house, which gazed on the Lord Keeper’s 
 
 good night to his mistress and Queen, now sleeps in a sleep which 
 knows no awakening. 
 
 “ Oh, for the touch of a vanished hand, 
 
 And the sound of a voice that is still.” 
 
 ^ruly “ the tender grace of a day that is dead ” will Kirby know 
 nevermore. And so with sorrow and intense pity and longing we 
 turn away, and leave, bathed in the same sweet pure moonlight that 
 witnessed Sir Christopher’s good night to Queen Bess in 1589, dear 
 lovely Kirby on the summer evening of 1883. 
 
 
STOREY, A.R.A. 
 
tmmmnmmn 
 
 A little snow 
 anon becomes a 
 mountain."— 
 King John . 
 
 “Gus'S” Legacy 
 
 AN ACTOR’S STORY, 
 
 BY JOHN COLEMAN. 
 
 ID I know ‘ Gus’?” I should rather 
 think I did. Peace to his memory. 
 Though he had the head of an ass he 
 had the heart of a lion, and was one 
 of the simplest, noblest, best, most 
 generous, large-hearted fellows that 
 ever lived; he never had an enemy 
 in the world, except himself! Through 
 frequently acting with him our ac¬ 
 quaintance ripened into intimate 
 friendship. When I first met him he 
 was in the prime of manhood, above 
 the middle height (I should think 
 about five feet ten); his features were more expressive than beautiful; 
 his figure, robustly symmetrical, was a cross ’twixt Apollo and Hercules; 
 his limbs superbly formed; fair hair, blue eyes, a square brow, a 
 massive head, well balanced on a magnificent neck and shoulders, 
 completed the picture. 
 
 I T was sa id that in his youth his voice was singularly melodious; when 
 1 knew him it retained much of its power, but, except in the lower 
 notes, little of its melody. 
 
 Kis acting, I should think, was never profoundly 
 6 intellectual, and was characterized more by 
 vigour than subtlety or refinement; but he had 
 occasional sparks of the divine afflatus, and in the 
 torrent of Othello’s anguish and despair, or the 
 paternal emotion and classic dignity of Virginius, after 
 Macready’s retirement, he distanced all competitors. 
 
 jjaATTERLY he distinguished himself highly in Sir 
 Giles Overreach, Mathew Aylmer, and Master 
 Walter. When I have named these characters, 
 together with O’Callaghan, and William in “ Black 
 Eyed Susan,” I have mentioned the parts in which 
 I think he most excelled. 
 
 yyiTH the public, however, he was always popular, 
 and when at his best held his audience in 
 his hand, exciting an enthusiasm which disarmed 
 criticism, and which was as contagious as it was 
 irresistible. In his youth he was much admired 
 by the fair sex ; indeed, I once heard a very dis¬ 
 tinguished woman, long after she had reached the 
 meridian of life, say that when first she met him, 
 
55 
 
 “ What's brave, 
 what’s noble, 
 let us do."— 
 A nto7iy and 
 Cleopatra. 
 
 when they were boy and girl together, that he had a most “ loving, 
 noble nature ”—I think she purposely omitted the word “constant ”— 
 and if he had then asked her to run away with him, she could not 
 have found in her heart to say him “nay.” 
 
 Touring his last engagement in Dublin, prior to his departure to 
 ^ Australia, I was confined 
 to my bed suffering from a 
 terrible malady. It was generally 
 believed I was in articulo mortis , 
 and dear old “ Gus,” however 
 late the rehearsal, however en- ' 
 grossing his duties, came to my 
 bedside every day, bringing me 
 the rarest flowers, the most 
 delicious fruits, the choicest 
 wines—everything, in fact, that 
 could stimulate my nerves or stir my jaded appetite. Never shall I 
 forget his last visit. 
 
 Ke was accompanied by Harry W., the manager and comedian, and 
 6 Tom P., the Scotch tragedian. After they had “stirred me up” 
 as much as they could with their bright, genial talk, “ Gus” said : 
 “ Clear out, boys ; I want to speak with Tom.” When the decks were 
 clear, he said : “ Look here, old man, a fellow can’t be on his back so 
 many months without getting under the weather. Take these as a 
 parting gift. I wish they were a hundred times as much.” So saying, 
 he tried to thrust a handful of Irish bank notes into my hand. I 
 replied : “ No, dear boy, no ; I’m all right. The children are earning 
 money—lots of it,’’ as in fact they were. 
 
 “Gus” seemed awfully cut up by my refusal, but he put his arms 
 around my neck, and said : “ Kiss me, old fellow. Good bye, 
 
 God bless you.” While he spoke, I was reminded of “Kiss me, 
 Hardy,” and it brought “ the mother ” to my eyes. 
 
 < 2 |t this moment W. and P. returned, Tom asking in tragic fashion : 
 oJ “ When shall we three meet again ?” and Harry replying : “ There 
 are four of us, you old duffer”—and so they bade me a cheery 
 “ good-bye.” 
 
 (gjHE door of my room was left ajar, their laughter ceased, they 
 stopped in the passage. I heard “Gussy’s” last words—they 
 sounded like my Requiem : “ Poor Tom, I fear he’s booked for 
 kingdom come ; we shall never see him again.” To which the others 
 responded, “Never, ah, never more;” and they never did see me 
 again, for in less than twelve months those three men, full of health 
 and strength, and vigorous life, had met the Great Mystery face to 
 face, and passed out into the darkness of the dread unknown. 
 
 <3s they left my dull, stifling chamber, and the sound of their 
 e/ pleasant voices faded away, I felt assured that death was waiting 
 at the door, and that my life was also fading away, and so I turned 
 my face to the wall and wept. 
 
 f£oR days, weeks, months, I lay hovering ’twixt life and death; at 
 length my disease reached the crisis—was passed, and I—the 
 moribund—whose life was despaired of, survive to tell this story. 
 
 hortly after my recovery I began to feel the “ ignominious pangs 
 attendant upon impecuniosity ; ” Tradesmen were pressing, I was 
 not strong enough to take an engagement, and was very “hard up.” 
 Dolly had been bothering me for money for butchers and bakers. 
 Not to put too fine a point upon it, we didn’t know where to turn for 
 a dinner. 
 
56 
 
 “ God is our 
 fortress.”— 
 Henry VI. 
 
 imminnmnin 
 
 ] had, however, my 
 food for the mind, 
 for I cannot exist with¬ 
 out my daily paper : 
 the newsboy had just 
 brought it in. Dolly 
 was fidgeting about 
 dusting an old disused 
 tea-caddy which lay 
 half-an-inch thick with 
 dust on a corner of my 
 book-shelf, when, all 
 at once, a cold chill 
 struck through me as 
 I read the words : 
 
 “YyRECK of the Lon¬ 
 don. Fearful loss 
 of life.” 
 
 “ ^HE great tragedian, G. V. Brooke, drowned at sea.” 
 
 \ /hile I was lost in “ the pity of it,” carried away by imagination 
 W to the deck of the London , where I beheld poor “Gus” 
 paddling the water with his bare feet, while he said “ Remember 
 me to the boys at Melbourne,” my wife brought me back to Dublin 
 by exclaiming “ This is just like you, Tom; always telling me you 
 haven’t got a shilling left, and here, like a magpie, you have been 
 stuffing this dirty old tea-caddy full of bank notes ! ” 
 
 I looked at them; the name of “Gustavus Vaughan Brooke” was 
 written on the back. They were “Gus’s Legacy.” 
 
 This story was told (almost exactly as it is here narrated) by 
 a distinguished actor, to 
 
57 
 
 O 
 
 1 
 
 0 
 
 
 “ Sorrow breaks 
 seasons and re¬ 
 posing hours.”— 
 Richard III . 
 
 lioue finu muu, 
 
 <BY cMRS. WALKER. 
 
 K Y heart had wander’d far and long, 
 
 For Love was weak, whilst Will was strong, 
 And, loudly calling, drowned Love’s song. 
 
 ¥ 
 
 But Love, advancing with the years, 
 
 Grew, amid growing hopes and fears, 
 
 And flourish’d, watered by my tears. 
 
 ¥ 
 
 Sorrow but serv’d to prove his powers, 
 
 For he is like the fair young flowers, 
 
 That grow the faster for the showers. 
 
 
 He growing thus within my breast, 
 
 Soon made his presence manifest, 
 
 And gave my heart nor peace, nor rest. 
 
 ¥ 
 
 Till by his hand proud Will was slain, 
 Yet, though the parting cost me pain, 
 
 I would not have him back again. 
 
 ¥ 
 
 For now I hear Love's witching song 
 Ring in my ears the whole day long, 
 Since Will is slain, and Love is strong. 
 
 ¥ 
 
 And ever thus he sweetly sings: 
 
 “ Come! I will show you better things 
 Than all your fond imaginings ! ” 
 
 ¥ 
 
 At last, obedient to his lays, 
 
 My heart comes home to rest always 
 Securely,—after many days ! 
 
 
59 
 
 “ Nature’s mother is 
 her tomb Romeo 
 and Juliet. 
 
 SONNETS, 
 
 Sr “VIOLET FAUXE; 
 
 THE GUEST-CHAMBER. 
 
 V ITH bated breath, and falt’ring feet, I tread 
 The threshold of this room,—and ever so 
 Must enter it! The cheerful fire-light glow 
 Falls softly on the rosy-curtained bed 
 Made ready for the guest;—the table spread 
 With snowy muslin, and with flow’rs that blow 
 And, e’en in this chill month, their fragrance shed;— 
 And all seems bright, to those who do not know! 
 
 ¥ 
 
 But I am looking,—with mine inward eyes,— 
 
 Upon another sight;—the self-same room 
 Shrouded and darkened,—and a form that lies 
 Straightened upon the bed,—the seal of doom 
 For ever on her lips;—I hear low sighs 
 
 And smell sweet blossoms destined for a tomb. 
 
 CONCENTRATION. 
 
 ER’S has not been the lot of those who find 
 1 By warm fire-sides the light of friendly smile, 
 Nor can the “stolid priest in fretted aisle” 
 Soothe with his specious salves her anxious mind 
 She strains not after gold with those who grind 
 The mill of earthly toil,—nor cares to wile 
 The absent hour with pleasures that beguile, 
 
 Since home, creed, wealth, and world, in one combin’d. 
 
 See then, my friend, how great hath been her gain !— 
 How kind sweet destiny,—how wise her choice!— 
 
 How hath she cause to triumph and rejoice 
 Whilst all she treasures her two arms contain! 
 
 Yet, should one heart grow cold, and mute one voice, 
 Her soul must languish in perpetual pain. 
 
jWAOl 
 
 60 
 
 “ Success will fashion 
 the event.” — Much 
 Ado. 
 
 SO^JT^ETS—continued. 
 
 LOVE'S VANITY. 
 
 ffl T 
 
 is for you, dear love, I dress, and don 
 Soft raiment, lace, and jewels of red gold, 
 
 To shine in your eyes only, and to hold 
 At the sword’s point what was so dearly won,— 
 And so, and not for self’s sake, I put on 
 These pomps and vanities,—which you behold 
 And scarcely mark; ah, vain and manifold 
 Are love’s poor wiles,—yet none are new,—not one! 
 
 For ladies,—ev’n as I,—long, long ago, 
 
 In some such eyes as yours to merit grace, 
 Twined chains of shining gold, and pearls in row, 
 And deck’d themselves in jewels and fine lace, 
 Above whose bones, to-day, rank burdocks grow, 
 nn,;icf ™irl winds sigh around their resting-place. 
 
 r 
 
 r 
 
 r 
 
 UNCERTAINTY. 
 
 ? 
 
 'S^.OUBT not the wisdom of the just Decree 
 I ))) Which saith “Ye shall not know; ye shall not raise 
 (jgJ^ The veil that hides the dawning of new days 
 """ And new misfortunes.” Who could live, yet see 
 The loved one’s vacant chair? or watch him, free, 
 
 Turning to tread, with cold averted gaze, 
 
 The paths that lead from old familiar ways? 
 
 And all the cruel changes that may be? 
 
 * 
 
 Nothing I know, and nothing understand, 
 
 Nor would I lift the veil;—and yet, although 
 Your days may prove the longest in the land,— 
 
 Still, since I neither understand nor know, 
 
 And cannot read the lines in this dear hand, 
 
 I hold it fast, afraid to let it go. 
 
 ~/ e 
 
6i 
 
 he following have kindly contributed Articles 
 for Sale at the Shaksperean Show: + * * * 
 
 “Truth is truth 
 to the end of 
 reckoning.”— 
 Measure for 
 Measure . 
 
 H.R.H. The Duchess of Albany. I Mrs- 
 
 The Marchioness of Kildare. ()l Mrs. 
 
 The Countess Cadogan. (?) Mrs. 
 
 The Countess of Kintore. (j) Mrs. 
 
 The Countess of Scarborough. I Mrs. 
 
 The Countess of Seafieli q Mrs. 
 
 The Countess of St. Germans. i?) Mrs. 
 
 Lady Barclay. I Mrs. 
 
 Lady Caird. I Mrs- 
 
 Lady Freake. q Mrs. 
 
 Lady Mc.Garel Hogg. (?) Mrs. 
 
 Lady Wolff. I Mrs- 
 
 Anonymous. f Mrs. 
 
 Adamson- 
 
 Ashby- 
 
 H. A. Brassey. 
 
 Edward Brooke. 
 Farmer. 
 
 Gordon. 
 
 Washington Hibbert. 
 
 E. Vaughan Morgan. 
 Price. 
 
 Leopold de Rothschild. 
 Edward Singleton. 
 Snelgrove. 
 
 W. H, Smith. 
 
 Mrs. F. Williams. 
 
 Miss Duckworth. 
 
 Miss A. G. Strickland. 
 
 Miss A. M. Williams. 
 
 Professor G. F. Armstrong. 
 
 H. 0. Ash, Esq. 
 
 Captain F. S. Dumaresq de Carteret 
 Bisson. 
 
 Messrs. Brand and Co. 
 
 Rev. H. Cart. 
 
 Arthur H. Davis, Esq. 
 
 Messrs. Deane and Co. 
 
 T. Dyer Edwards, Esq., F.R.G.S. 
 
 Equitable Steam Mineral Waters 
 Company. 
 
 F. J. Fargus, Esq. (“ Hugh Conway'7. 
 Messrs. Feltoe & Sons. 
 
 Freeland Filliter, Esq. 
 
 F. J. Furnivall, Esq., M.A. 
 
 L. Horsley, Esq. 
 
 Baron Liebeg Company. 
 
 Midwood and Co., Manchester. 
 Messrs. Pounce & Co. 
 
 Messrs, W. A. Ross and 0o„ Belfast. 
 F. Thinn, Esq. 
 
 Messrs. Trubner and Co. 
 
 Henry E. Wright, Esq. 
 
 THE FOLLOWING SPECIAL GIFTS ARE GRATEFULLY ACKNOWLEDGED 
 
 A GOLD and BLACK PIANOFORTE, from Messrs. COLLARD & COLLARD, which is to be Raffled for; 
 150 members at 10s. each. 
 
 500 Copies of FABLES, by J, H. Aveling, M.D., presented by EDWARD HANSON, Esq., and Dr. AVELING. 
 500 Articles for the “ANGLE IN THE AVON,” from JAMES DEBAO, Esq. 
 
 NO TE.—The above is a L ist of the Donors of A rticles or Money , received or promised up to the time of going to press. There are many 
 who have sent Articles direct to Stallholders, of which no information has reached the Secretary. All Donors are heartily thanked. 
 
■5PI 
 
ftbe Cbelsea Ibospital for Women, 
 
 an appeal on its bebalf to tbe Women of Enolanb. 
 
 ■wrMwwriwwwMwwmmwmmmmwmmwwmwgin 
 
 AUGHTERS of England; at your hands 
 We look for help in this our need; 
 Ye in whose keeping lies indeed 
 The future welfare of our lands. 
 
 Maidens, whose sunny lives are pass'd 
 In happy homes; with tender cares 
 Encircled close, lest unawares 
 Your brows should meet too keen a blast 
 
 “ What we do 
 not see we tread 
 upon ."—Measure 
 for Measure. 
 
 Matrons, who know a mother’s joys, 
 
 And who have felt a mother’s pain, 
 And so live out your youth again 
 In healthy, joyous girls and boys— 
 
 * 
 
 Your sisters’ ciy comes up to you, 
 
 A wail of pain through all the land; 
 Let each hold out a helping hand, 
 Each to her own true heart be true. 
 
 * 
 
 Give of your substance! nor withold 
 The ready aid, the witching smiles, 
 The thousand graceful woman’s wiles 
 That charm the wealthy of their gold. 
 
 9 
 
 Yet, think not gold alone can prove 
 
 A balm for pain! no wealth is blest, 
 Nor skill nor science does its best, 
 Till each walks hand in hand with love. 
 
 
 
66 
 
 ■“ N «s2a 
 
 Now music sound, 
 and sing your 
 solemn hymn." 
 Much Ado. 
 
 — 
 
 ENTD. STA. HALL.] 
 
 ©RAND + fQARCH 
 
 (FROM THE MUSIC TO SHAKSPERE'S PLAY OF “KING JOHN"), 
 
 BY AUGUSTUS L. TAMPLIN. ’ „ oms „ s ™. 
 
 
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 play on.” 
 Twelfth Night. 
 
 
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 73 
 
 
 
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.. . . . ... " . . . . 
 
imirmixi 
 
 “ When maidens 
 sue men give like 
 f Gods .”—Measure 
 for Measure. 
 
 rm:nnm 
 
 a 
 
 LL ye who have inherited through Time, 
 Immortal treasure in our poet’s plays, 
 Who love to look again on bye-gone days 
 With beauty making beautiful old rhyme, 
 Ye who have gentle hearts, on pity bent, 
 Open as day for melting Charity, 
 
 Come to our Show, and by your aid supply 
 A kindly welcome to our good intent, 
 
 Which is to please, and haply by our art 
 Excite your wonder, praise, and merry laugh— 
 
 And move your sympathy on their behalf 
 Who, in Life’s drama, play so sad a part, 
 
 And with a touch of nature try to touch your heart.” 
 
7 § 
 
 “Judge by the 
 complexion of the 
 sky .”—R ichard II. 
 
$HAKSPEREAH $HOW. 
 
 “ Peace, the 
 peal begins! ” 
 Love's Labour 
 T.n c/. 
 
 Official 
 
 pamme 
 
 
 Held at the ROYAL ALBERT HALL, KENSINGTON, on the 
 
 2gth, Both, & 31st MAY 1884 • 
 
8o 
 
 “ More is thy due 
 than more than all 
 can pay -Macbeth. 
 
 (LBc Sfyom 
 
 The Object of which is to Pay Off a Mortsace of ,£5,000 which 
 Burdehs the CHELSEA HOSPITAL FOR WOMEN. 
 
 , 11 * II, ■ ■•■MIMIMMIIIMMIMHIIHI ,M I | I | I || alllllllll lll( M l |l lailllallla llalllaall lllllllllll || lllalll mtnnUiUKUIHUIHUHHU 
 
 lhas received tbe patronage and approval of tbe following IRosal and Distinguished personages 
 
 H.R.H. The Prince of Wales. 
 
 H.R.H. The Princess of Wales. 
 
 H.R.H. The Duke of Edinburgh. 
 
 H.R. & I.H. The Duchess of Edinburgh. 
 
 H.S.H. the Countess Gleichen 
 The Countess Karyoli 
 The Countess de Bylandt 
 Baroness Solvyns 
 The Duchess of Argyll 
 „ „ Grafton 
 
 ,, ,, Hamilton 
 
 ,, „ Manchester 
 
 „ ,, Montrose 
 
 The Dowager Marchioness 
 Conyngham 
 
 The Dowager Marchioness 
 Waterford 
 
 The Marchioness of Carmarthen 
 Drogheda 
 Hastings 
 Headfort 
 Kildare 
 Londonderry 
 Ormonde 
 Salisbury 
 Tweeddale 
 The Dowager Countess of Antrim 
 The Dowager Countess of Rosse 
 The Countess of Aberdeen 
 Bandon 
 Belmore 
 Breadalbane 
 Cadogan 
 Clarendon 
 Dartrey 
 Denbigh 
 Dudley 
 Dunraven 
 
 The Countess of Effingham 
 „ ,, Galloway 
 
 ,, ,, Gosford 
 
 ,, ,, Hardwicke 
 
 ,, ,, Kintore 
 
 ,i ,, Lonsdale 
 
 » » Lytton 
 
 „ ,, Malmesbury 
 
 a M Mar 
 
 » ,, Morton 
 
 » Rosse 
 
 n » Rosslyn 
 
 a a Scarborough 
 
 m a Seafield 
 
 Theresa, Countess of Shrewsbury 
 The Countess Spencer 
 a a St. Germans 
 a „ Sydney 
 
 i. ,, Viseonti 
 
 i, M Wilton 
 
 Isabella, Countess of Wilton 
 The Countess of Zetland 
 The Dowager Viscountess Downe 
 The Viscountess Bury 
 
 Chetwynd 
 Clifden 
 Cranbrook 
 Folkestone 
 Galway 
 Hampden 
 Helmsley 
 Hereford 
 Lewisham 
 Malden 
 
 The Viscountess Midleton 
 m a Newport 
 
 it n Ossington 
 
 The Hon. Lady Macdonald 
 >i n Mc.Garel Hogg 
 
 „ Dowager Lady Howard de 
 Walden 
 
 ,, Dowager Lady Willoughby 
 The Lady Auckland 
 
 ,, Katherine Bannermann 
 
 ,, Charles Beresford 
 
 ,, Brooke 
 
 ,, Carberry 
 
 ,, Churchill 
 
 „ Alfred Churchill 
 
 a Randolph Churchill 
 
 ,, Jane Seymour Combe 
 
 a A, M. Courtenay 
 
 » Egerton of Tatton 
 
 ., Elibank 
 
 „ Garvagh 
 
 a Hothfield 
 
 >> Constance Howard 
 
 , > Mary Howarth 
 
 „ Adelaide Kingsale 
 
 ,, Lamington 
 
 ,, Alex. Gordon Lennox 
 
 „ Harriet Lindsay 
 
 ,. Sarah Lindsay 
 
 a Louisa Mills 
 
 „ Dorothy Nevill 
 
 „ Poltimore 
 
 „ Mary Powys 
 
 , i Ribblesdale 
 
 H.R.H. The Duchess of Cambridge. 
 
 H.R.H. Princess Frederica of Hanover. 
 The Baron Von Pawel Rammingen. 
 
 The Lord Mayor and the Lady Mayoress. 
 
 The Lady Julia Womb well 
 The Hon. Mrs. Armytage 
 ,, Birkbeck 
 ,, Albert Brassey 
 it Francis Byng 
 ,, Edward Curzon 
 „ Charles Eliot 
 ,, Ferguson of Pitfour 
 ,, Keppel 
 „ Lowther 
 
 „ „ Richmond Moreton 
 
 The Baroness Von Bissing 
 Lady Abercromby 
 „ Astley 
 „ Barclay 
 ,, Brassey 
 „ Belhaven 
 „ Borthwick 
 a Brett 
 
 „ Broke Middleton 
 „ Caird 
 ii Cooper 
 „ Cust 
 Dynevor 
 ,i De Hoghton 
 ,, De Tabley 
 a Forbes of Newe 
 „ Mary Fitzwilliam 
 „ Freake 
 i, Goldsmid 
 „ Aminar Graham 
 i, Hermoine Graham 
 ,i George Hamilton 
 ,, Hampton 
 
 Lady Harvey 
 I, Hayter 
 n Henniker 
 n Key 
 i, Lefroy 
 ii Lloyd 
 ,i Loch 
 ,i Lopes 
 
 n Adeliza Manners 
 ,, Louisa Mills 
 ,1 Napier 
 ,, Alfred Paget 
 a Maria Ponsonby 
 ,i Redington 
 ,i Ridley 
 ,1 Saltoun 
 n Sibbald Scott 
 ii Slade 
 », St. George 
 ii Constance Stanley 
 ti Sudeley 
 t, Tatton Sykes 
 a Vivian 
 n Winnington 
 ,i Wolff 
 Mrs. Kemmis Betty 
 , Bolton 
 „ Edwd. Brooke 
 ,, Henry Brassey 
 , Fitzroy Campbell 
 >i Richmond Cotton 
 , Frederick Cox 
 , Herbert Cross 
 >i Dugdale 
 
 Mrs. William Ellis 
 „ Geo. Forbes 
 ii Molineux Goldingham 
 
 Miss Green 
 
 Mrs. Washington Hibbert 
 ,, John Johnasson 
 ,, Arthur Kennard 
 ,, Coleridge Kennard 
 „ Lankester 
 „ Geo. B. Leverson 
 „ Loder 
 
 i, Coghlan Me. Hardy 
 ,, Molesworth 
 t, E. Vaughan Morgan 
 ii John Murray 
 i, Edward Ponsonby 
 „ Edward S. Potter 
 ,, Admiral Price 
 ,i David Ricardo. 
 
 ,, Ronalds 
 
 ,, Leopold de Rothschild 
 ,, William Sandwith 
 ii Sassoon 
 I, H. B. Sheridan 
 ,, Edward Singleton 
 i, Algernon Strickland 
 
 Miss Thynne 
 ,, L. Vernon Wentworth 
 
 Mrs. Wildes 
 ,, Hwfa Williams 
 „ Wilson 
 ,, Arthur Wilson 
 ,, Edmund Winn 
 ,, John Woodford 
 ,, Fitzherbert Wright 
 
o 
 
 ‘ The Honor 
 able Board of 
 Council.’’ 
 
 Henry VIII. 
 
 SOT 
 
 iW 
 
 82 
 
 <3enecal 
 
 Sir Julius Benedict 
 Sir Algernon Borthwick 
 Sir Wilford Brett, K.C.M.G. 
 
 Sir Herbert Oakeley, LL.D., Mus. Doc. 
 
 Sir Philip Cunliffe Owen, K.C.M.G., C.B 
 Sir William Forwood 
 Sir Arthur Sullivan, Mus. Doc. 
 
 <D/-. /• H. Aveling 
 Wilson Barrett, Esq. 
 
 Hon. and Rev. Francis Byng 
 Dr. Fancourt Barnes 
 
 S. B. Bancroft, Esq. 
 
 T. Gibson Bowles, Esq. 
 
 A. J. Wright-Biddulph, Esq., J.P. 
 
 Henry Brown, Esq., <£M.A. 
 
 Frederick Cox, Esq., J.P. 
 
 Arthur Chappell, Esq. . . . 
 
 treasurer— James Debac, Esq. flDUSkal Showman— Fred. H. Co wen. Esq. 
 ^Dramatic Showmen — Fred. Cox, Esq., J.P.; B. C. Stephenson, Esq. 
 directors Of the Exhibition Of IReliCS —E. J. Furnivall, Esq., M.A., J. w. Jarvis, Esq 
 
 Birectors of the ^Tableau— 
 
 Miss Cowen, Phil. Morris, Esq., A.R.A., John O’Connor, Esq., & Lionel Cowen, Esq. 
 
 Showman — J. S. Wood, Esq. 
 
 Council 
 
 Fred. H. Cowen, Esq. 
 
 J. Hamilton Craigie, Esq. 
 
 James Debac, Esq. 
 
 Dr. A. W. Edis 
 F. J. Furnivall, Esq., M.A. 
 
 W. S. Gilbert, Esq. 
 
 Ernest Gye, Esq. 
 
 Henry Irving, Esq. 
 
 J. W. Jarvis, Esq. 
 
 J. L. Toole, Esq. 
 
 Stephen Tucker, Esq. (Somerset Herald). 
 Frank A. ^Marshall, Esq. 
 
 Coghlan M. Mc.Hardy, Esq. 
 
 Charles Warner, Esq. 
 
 Warren de la Rue, Esq., M.A., D.C.L., 
 Ph.D., F.RS. 
 

 51515151515151 
 
 “ Return and 
 make thy love 
 amends.” — Two 
 Gentlemen oj 
 Verona. 
 
 51515151515151 
 
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 jff VOICE FROM THE <§OMB. 
 
 a , QlWfer TMftam 
 
 CZVSAvA one ^'§^t Honourable Lord 
 
 vyvXvf Chamberlaine his servants, of the 
 Globe, on the Banke side, and belong¬ 
 ing to the towne of Stratford, by the Avon, from my 
 tomb, wherein my body lieth, in the church of the 
 Holy Trinity, my voice proceedeth to the men and 
 women of the nineteenth century, and I bid them 
 to come forth to witness the show of my plays, which have been 
 enacted divers times by the Right Honourable Lord Chamberlaine, 
 his servants playing usually at the Globe, on the Banke side, as also 
 in the two Universities of Cambridge and Oxford, as well as before 
 her most gracious and Protestant Majestie Elizabeth, of sacred and 
 illustrious memorie. 
 
 ^♦■'HESE sayed plays will be showed in the month of May next 
 ’W'' ensuing, at the Great Albert Halle, situate in the district of fair 
 Kensingtowne, whither I invite all good people, in the most 
 sacred name of Charitie, for the allaying and removing of the bodily 
 sufferings of women living in the good Hospital situate in the Fulham 
 Road, in great London towne. Therefore, ye men and women of 
 England, if ye love and cherish my memorie, for the tales of loves, 
 joys, and sorrows incident to humanitie, which I humbly told when in 
 the flesh, I entreat ye to come to my Show aforesaid, which has been 
 so carefully and beautifully prepared by men of design and exceeding 
 cunning in art. My heroes and heroines will be with ye in the flesh, 
 and in their divers habits as they lived. 
 
 TJ-'here shall ye see my fair Portia, in the Place of Saint Mark, in 
 'V'' the fair towne of Venice. She will be attended by Nerissa and 
 the gentle daughter of Shylock, the Jew. Ye may also see 
 her habited in the doctor’s robes, which she so cunningly used for 
 the saving of the merchant and to the great undoing of the vengeful 
 Jew. She will deal in various kinds of merchandise, and will 
 entreat ye to buy of the same liberallie, for “’Twere good ye 
 do so much for Charitie.” Ye will also meet my lovely but 
 unfortunate Juliet, in her fair garden, looking over the Towne 
 of Verona. In the same garden is the porch of the house of the 
 Capulet, her father ; above the said porch is the balcony ye wot of; 
 all beautifully wrought by the cunning artist. Should ye wander 
 into this garden, ye will meet the two great ladies of the rival houses 
 of Montague and Capulet; maybe also the ancient nurse and go-between 
 the loves of Romeo and the fair Capulet. 
 
 3 n close proximitie ye may walk into the streets of London Towne, 
 as it was when my “ crook-back” Richard limped on his secret 
 visit to the Tower. Here ye may see the old hill of Ludgate, the 
 Fleet water, and the tower and spire of the ancient Churche of Sainte 
 Paule. Strolling in these streets, ye may perchance meet the fair 
 Lady Anne, the Duchess ot York, and divers other ladies of Regal and 
 noble dignitie. Ye know them well; therefore of your charity buy 
 their wares. 
 
 ^TTard by the Capulet’s Garden is the ancient City of Angiers, and 
 jEj beneath its walls the French King’s pavilion. Here, once 
 more, Elinor, the Queen Mother, King John, Philip, the 
 fair Blanch, and many others assume their mortal shapes, as when 
 Prince Arthur and the Ladye Constance sued to them in vain. Ye 
 
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 35 
 
 know the tale, ’twas wondrous pitiful; but now, their stern alarums 
 changed to merry meetings, to ye they offer gentler recompense, with 
 true effect of grace and courtesie. 
 
 ^fr^URNING the corner the visitor will find the public place of the 
 German Towne, adjacent to the gate thereof where my good 
 Duke Vincentio dispensed the justice, punished offenders, and won 
 the pure and thankful love of the fair Isabella. The gateway is strong, 
 and of good masonrie ; the portcullis is up, and ye may view the 
 Towne Street through the portal thereof. Methinks ye may here 
 encounter the Saintly Isabel, the ill-used Mariana, together with 
 waiting maids, and nuns of the convent where I found the sister of 
 Claudio in the novitiate state ; she will be in her sacred garb, on her 
 charitable mission intent, therefore give her welcome. 
 
 F my “Winter’s Tale” live in your memories, turn the corner and 
 A behold Hermione, standing in statuesque grace, in the atrium of 
 Paulina’s house, in the classic land of Sicilia. Through Doric 
 columns you may see hills covered with Temples, fair to see, of white 
 marble, glistening in the glorious sunshine. Let it not surprise ye, 
 if, on this classic scene, ye behold the living forms of Hermione and 
 Paulina ; so may ye also have friendly intercourse with the youthful 
 Perdita, attended by her fair Shepherdesses. I affectionately commend 
 them all to your gentle and tender regard. 
 
 DjoiNING, and in immediate proximitie to the fair Queen of the 
 U/V Adriatic, ye will find the stately Castle of Elsinore, sleeping 
 v ' - quietly in the moonlight ; whether ye will meet my ill-starred 
 Prince I know not, but Queen Gertrude and the fair Ophelia with 
 ladies of the Court of Denmarke ye will encounter, truly a goodly 
 companie. 
 
 t FU£N passye into the lovely garden of Signior Leonato, overlooking 
 the Towne of Messina, the glorious orb of day sinking below 
 the distant waters. Here ye will meet my sprightly Beatrice, 
 the slandered Hero, and perchance the love-conquered Benedick, with 
 many others who had much to do in my Comedie of “ Much Adoe 
 About Nothing,” but which (my friend Ben Jonson whispers in my 
 ear) did not end in “ Love’s Labour Lost.” 
 
 /■VVOW turn ye towards the Great Organ, there shall ye behold the 
 (11 Church of my Tomb, my humble birthplace in the Street called 
 Henley, in the aforesaid Towne of Stratford by the Avon. 
 Beneath again, ye may see the “ Garter Inn,” where ye may enjoy 
 good cheer in the sweet companie of Mistress Page, Mistress Ford, 
 
 f. 
 
 hcivai 
 
 or 
 
 Ann Page, and Mistress Quickly. Perchance ye may encounter a 
 certain fat Knight, if so, give him welcome and a cup of sack, for I 
 loved him well and truly. 
 
 Q>e may pass from the “ Garter ” into the “ Pit of Acheron,” where 
 1/ ye will find the sisters, the Thane of Cawdor’s wife and 
 yJ Hecate. They will rehearse the Cauldron Scene, with real 
 “properties,” which I conjure ye to obtain in memorie of your humble 
 servant, and for the good of suffering humanitie. 
 
 Before ye leave my mimic show, enter the fair glades of my 
 beloved Arden, commune with the gentle Rosalind (the fair 
 Ganymede), Phoebe, and Audrey. A certain motley fool will 
 vend his wares and make ye glad with rnerrie jest. Mayhap ye may 
 find me also wandering with tottering steps, in the disguise of my old 
 Adam, whom I loved with an exceeding great love. If chance carry 
 ye in my way, ye will find me walking on the outskirts of the forest, 
 near the rural home of my dear Anne Llathaway. 
 
 3 N order that all maybe properly appointed, I have deemed it right 
 and wise to take my stand on the cupola which crowns the 
 architectural casket containing my humble tragedies and comedies. 
 
 I have deemed it right and seemly to have this casket cunningly made 
 in the art of my time, which doth also testify my love and loyaltie to 
 the great Queen who deigned to throw the light of her countenance on 
 her humble servant. 
 
 /A-rom this coign of vantage I shall view the drama which will be 
 "\V enacted by my great and specially-engaged companie ; and it 
 ^ is my earnest prayer that the grand Albert Theatre may be 
 daily and nightly filled with the good citizens of the ancient Towne of 
 London, for “Charity’s sweet sake.” 
 
 3 am happy in the knowledge that Master Darbyshire hath designed 
 the Architectural Casket, and drawn the Scenes and Costumes for 
 my Companie, and when my Showman, one Master Wood, who 
 hath devised and planned the Show, doth draw the curtain on the 
 Opening Day, I shall look down with pride and exceeding joye; and so 
 commending meto your gentle loves, I subscribe myselfwith all humility. 
 
 Your bounden Servante, 
 
 X^Ul^y 
 
 
86 
 
 »/49 
 
 
 “ Sit you down 
 in gentleness.” 
 As you like it . 
 
 7 
 
 Brief (arguments of tbe Eleven Sbafcsperean Blass, 
 
 By Mrs. COGHLAN Me.HARDY; Vignettes by Mr. C. ‘BRIETZCKE. 
 
 
 “Hs poll Hide 3t.” 
 
 SCENE—The Forest of Arden. TIME—13th Century. 
 
 D UKE Frederick (an usurper) has a daughter, Celia. His brother, Frederick, 
 defrauded of his rights, and living in exile, has also a daughter, Rosalind, who 
 lives with her cousin, Celia. The Duke having unjustly banished Rosalind from 
 the Court, Celia goes with her. Travelling being dangerous and the girls nervous, 
 Rosalind disguises herself as a boy and Celia as a shepherdess.. In the forest.of 
 Arden they find the banished Duke and his suite. In the end, Celia falls in love with 
 Oliver De Bois, and Rosalind with Orlando. The usurper, Frederick, enraged 
 at the girls’ flight, sets off to destroy them all; but, yielding to softer influences, 
 abandons this project, and restores his brother to his rights. 
 
 “flDerrp Mlves of Wmfcsor.” 
 
 SCENE—The Garter Inn, Windsor. TIME—1399- 
 
 M RS. Ford and Mrs. Page are two merry matrons. Sweet 
 Anne Page is Mrs. Page’s pretty daughter Mr. Ford is 
 jealous of his wife ; Mr. Page is not of his. Sir John Falstaff, a 
 stout Knight, neither young nor sober, fancies that both these matro 
 are in love with him. In return for his audacity, they have resort 
 to practical jokes, ending with one planned in F °rest, whic 
 convinces Sir John that he is made a fool of, and Ford that his wife 
 is better than he thought her. Sweet Anne improves the occasion 
 offered by her mother’s tricks on Falstaff to run away on her own 
 ith her lover Fenton. 
 
 Merry and Honest too. 
 
 < 
 
 warn 
 
 
87 
 
 “ Make assurance 
 doubly sure.” 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 “Madbetb.” 
 
 SCENE—The Cave and Cauldron. TIME—1041. 
 
 D UNCAN, being King of Scotland, Lady Macbeth, the strong-minded wife of 
 a weak-minded General, determines to make her husband King. An 
 opportunity offers when Duncan goes on a visit to the Macbeths. Lady Macbeth 
 implores her husband to use it and murder Duncan; but, as he fails her, herself 
 murders the King. Macbeth rushes off to consult the “three witches,” who greatly 
 terrify him ; while Lady Macbeth goes mad. Macduff, another General, marching 
 into the country, conquers, kills Macbeth and takes the kingdom on his own 
 account. .. 
 
 “Ikina IRicbarb HE.” 
 
 SCENE—Street in London. TIME—1483. 
 
 R ICHARD, Duke of Gloucester, brother to the King, by his 
 intrigues, gets the Duke of Clarence put to death, becoming 
 himself Regent when the King dies, and sends his little nephews to the 
 Tower of London, where he orders their death. Richard is himself 
 proclaimed King, and marries, against her wish, Anne, widow of 
 Edward, Prince of Wales. King Richard is killed at Bosworth Field, 
 and is succeeded by Henry VII. 
 
 “IRomeo anb 3uUet” 
 
 SCENE— Capulet's Garden. TIME—1500. 
 
 Montagues and Capulets (Families with an “ ancient grudge!') 
 
 R OMEO, a Montague, and an impulsive one, is in love with Rosalind, until, 
 at a bal masque, he sees Juliet, a Capulet, and a fair one, fourteen years old, 
 whom Count Paris longs for. Romeo and Juliet make violent love—she from a 
 balcony, he in the garden—so violent that they induce an ancient friar to marry them 
 forthwith. Romeo quarrels with Tybalt, a Montague, kills him, and has to fly to 
 Mantua. Capulet orders Juliet to marry Count Paris at once, which is inconvenient, 
 as she is married already. She induces the friar to give her a sleeping draught, to 
 make her as if she were dead, and then get Romeo to fetch her out of the family vault, 
 but the letter miscarries, Romeo believes her dead, goes to the vault, takes poison 
 and dies. Juliet, on waking, sees Romeo, stabs herself and dies. The Capulets and 
 Montagues make it up over their death. 
 
 MORAL— Let no Family Feuds thwart Pure Young Love. 
 
 “IRm g 3obn.” 
 
 SCENE—Before the Walls of Anglers. 
 
 TIME—1199. 
 
 D URING the Siege of Angiers, Arthur of Bretagne, by many thought 
 heir to the throne, is taken by his uncle, King John, and sent to 
 Northampton Castle in charge of Hubert de Burgh, with orders from 
 the King to put out his eyes. The pitiful pleading of the child overcomes 
 Hubert, and the boy escapes from the Castle, but dies in falling from the 
 walls. The French invade England, but are beaten by the English under 
 Prince Henry. John is poisoned by a monk at Swinstead Abbey, and dies. 
 
 “ Measure for Measure/' 
 
 SCENE—The City Gate , Vienna. TIME—1400. 
 
 V INCENTIO, Duke of Vienna, goes away, appointing in his absence, as Lord 
 Deputy, Angelo, a seeming saint. The Duke, before going, has his suspicions 
 about Angelo and decides to remain in hiding, disguised as a Friar, to watch him. 
 He finds that Angelo takes advantage of his position to tempt a pure and beautiful 
 girl, Isabella, to sin, as the price of her brother’s life, the brother whom Angelo had 
 condemned to death for misconduct in a love matter. The Duke arranges with 
 Isabella that the girl whom Angelo has basely deserted, Mariana, shall personate her. 
 He then exposes Angelo’s dastardly conduct, and compels him to marry Mariana, 
 while the Duke himself weds Isabella, and they devote themselves to purifying the 
 evil state of Vienna. 
 
 MORAL— Don’t be a Hypocrite. 
 
 ‘‘Winter’s Hale.” 
 
 SCENE—In Sicilia 6 ° Bohemia. TIME—poo B. C. 
 
 L EONTES, King of Sicilia, having a pretty wife, Hermione, 
 and a great friend, Polixenes, King of Bohemia, becomes jealous, 
 puts his wife in prison and quarrels with his friend. Paulina, lady-in- 
 waiting to Hermione, tells Leontes his wife has died in prison, leaving 
 a baby daughter. This, the King sends by a courtier to the coast of 
 Bohemia to be destroyed. But man, even when a King, proposing, God 
 disposes ; for, on the coast, the courtier is killed by a bear, and the baby 
 is found by a shepherd, who takes it home. After a lapse of sixteen years, the King is 
 
^L T ZBS ---iUST 
 
 88 
 
 “ Mercy is 
 nobility’s true 
 badge.’’- Titus 
 Andronicus. 
 
 very unhappy under the conviction, as the oracles tell him, that he has made a fool of 
 himself. In this time, baby, now a pretty girl—Perdita by name—and Florizel, the 
 son of Polixenes, fall in love with each other. Polixenes forbids their marriage, but 
 the lovers betake themselves to King Leontes, and at his court Perdita is discovered 
 to be his daughter. Paulina, who can keep a secret, asks all to come and see her 
 famous statue of the late Queen, which they find more than lifelike, so much so that 
 the repentant King embraces it. The statue, which never was a statue, comes to 
 life; and, amid general rejoicing, they all commence and continue to live happy ever 
 after. 
 
 MORAL— Don’t be Jealous when a Pretty Wife is Civil to a Friend. 
 
 
 flDercbant of tDemce.” 
 
 m 
 
 SCENE—Venice. TIME—The Golden Prime. 
 
 S HYLOCK, an old Jew, who lends money at the usual “shent per 
 shent,” has a daughter, but prefers his money. Portia, a very 
 rich heiress, has, as is not unusual, many lovers. As bidden by her 
 father’s will, in selecting one of them for a husband, she makes them 
 choose one of three caskets, gold, silver, or lead ; Bassanio chooses the 
 lead and—wins the lady. Before this, he had been in difficulties, and, 
 perforce, had to go to the Jews. Shylock lent him money on condition 
 of his friend, Antonio, giving a pound of his flesh if he can’t pay. Shylock has a 
 grudge against Christians in general and Antonio in particular; and Antonio, penniless 
 (his ships are lost and not insured), not being able to pay, is indisposed to pay the 
 flesh. The Jew County-Courts him, and finds himself opposed by a handsome-young 
 barrister, who pleads that the bond stipulates for flesh only—but without blood. This 
 is too much for the Jew, who is non-suited, loses ducats and daughter, for she has 
 bolted with a very needy Christian. The barrister turns out to be Portia. 
 
 MORAL— Don’t Go to the Jews. 
 
 “Ibamlet, prince of Denmark.” 
 
 SCENE—Elsinor. TIME— 
 
 C LAUDIUS, King of Denmark, has murdered his brother, the 
 former King, and married his widow, Gertrude. Hamlet, son of 
 former King and present Queen, suspects this and has a prejudice against 
 his uncle and step-father. The Ghost of the late King tells Hamlet 
 
 
 the true story, and he swears to avenge his father’s murder. He breaks off 
 his engagement with Ophelia, a lovely maiden, and kills her father Polonius 
 in mistake for a rat. He continually puts off killing Claudius, and is banished 
 to England, but returns, finding Ophelia mad through his desertion and her father’s 
 death. In the end she falls into a stream and is drowned. Hamlet tries his skill at 
 fencing with Laertes, Ophelia’s brother. The wicked King poisons Laertes’s foil 
 and a drink. The Queen drinks the poisoned wine the King has prepared for 
 Hamlet and dies. Hamlet and Laertes, changing foils, die from the poison • but 
 before Hamlet leaves the world, he at last kills Claudius. No one left. 
 
 MORAL— Don’t Marry Deceased Husband’s Brother; or 
 Murder Will Out. 
 
 “ m>ucb Hbo about IRotbmg.” 
 
 SCENE—Messina. TIME — 12th Ceniury. 
 
 D ON Pedro, of Arragon, has a half-brother, Don John (a 
 villain), and a friend, Benedick, a sworn bachelor, whose 
 friend, Claudio, is in love with Hero, daughter of Leonato, 
 Governor of Messina. Beatrice, Hero’s cousin, who is a great 
 flirt, tries her arts on Benedick, Don Pedro and Hero doing their 
 best to persuade Benedick and Beatrice that each is wildly in 
 love with the other. Claudio, through Don John’s villainy, is 
 made to believe that Hero is impure; and he accuses her himself 
 of it when they meet in Church to be married—with the result 
 that she swoons and is reported dead. At once Beatrice implores 
 Benedick to clear Hero and, through her soft entreaties, he loses 
 Don John’s villainy is exposed; and Claudio, in token of his 
 repentance, undertakes to marry a cousin of Hero, who (as it seems, never died at 
 all, and) turns out to be Hero herself. By force of example Benedick and Beatrice 
 also marry; but the villain, Don John, flies the country, and, when caught, is 
 bravely punished for his sins. 
 
 MORAL— “Man is a Giddy Thing;” and All Bachelors ought 
 at once to Marry. 
 
PROGRAMME OF THE 
 
 mm- Sbakspcrecm * Concerts, «+» 
 
 Under the Direction o! Mr. FREDERIC H. COWEE, in tRe West Theatre, 
 
 Hsslsteb bs tbe Brtlstes ant> Bmateurs nameb, all of wbom bave lunbls Given tbelr services. 
 
 Grand Pianoforte Lent by Messrs. Collard & Collard. 
 
 THURSDAY, 4 O’CLOCK, 5s. ; THURSDAY, 9 O’CLOCK, 2s.6d.; FRIDAY, 4 O'CLOCK, 2s. 6d.; SATURDAY, 4 O’CLOCK, 2S. 6d. 
 
 ADMISSION BY TICKET,\ TO BE PURCHASED IN THE HALL. 
 

 f 
 
 ** Rich is the 
 advantage of 
 good exercise.” 
 —King John. 
 
 ©n ©bursbav Hfternoon, flfoa\> 29tb, 
 
 At 4 o’clock. 
 
 Miss De FONBLANQUE, Miss HOPE GLENN, 
 and Mme. ANTOINETTE STERLING. 
 
 Mr. JOSEPH MAAS, and Mr. FREDERIC KING. 
 
 Sbaheperean Songs. 
 
 i. 
 
 I attempt from love’s sickness to fly ” 
 
 Miss Hope Glenn. 
 
 Music Bv 
 
 Purcell. 
 
 ( a “The willow song ” 
 
 4 ' ( b “It was a lover & his lass’’ Morley. 
 
 '2k 
 
 2. “ O mistress mine ”. Sullivan. 
 
 Mr. Frederic King. 
 
 3 - “When daisies pied” . Arne. 
 
 Miss De Fonblanque. 
 
 Sullivan. 
 Mi 
 
 Mme. Antoinette Sterling. 
 
 5. “ Sigh no more, ladies ” ... Sullivan. 
 
 Mr. Joseph Maas. 
 
 6. “ She never told her love”... Haydn. 
 
 Miss Hope Glenn. 
 
 7 - “Orpheus with his Lute”... Sullivan. 
 Miss De Fonblanque. 
 
 ©n ©bursba^ Evening, flfta^ 29tb, 
 
 At 9 o’clock. 
 
 Mrs. ARTHUR LEVY, Mrs. GODFREY PEARSE, 
 AND Miss BROUGH. 
 
 Mr. J. THORLEY, and LORD BENNET. 
 
 Sbafcsperean Songs. 
 
 1. “ Come live with me” . Laws on. 
 
 Mr. J. Thorley. 
 
 2. “Bid me discourse”. Bishop. 
 
 Mrs. Godfrey Pearse. 
 
 3. “O mistress mine” . Sullivan. 
 
 Lord Bennet. 
 
 4 - “ Lo ! here the gentle lark ” . Bishop. 
 
 Mrs. Arthur Levy. 
 
 5 - “Should he upbraid”. Bishop. 
 
 Miss Broug*h. 
 
 6. “ Sigh no more, ladies ” . . 
 
 Mr. J. Thorley. 
 
 7. “ Where the Bee sucks ” . Sullivan. 
 
 Mrs. Arthur Levy. 
 
9i 
 
 ©n 3friba\> afternoon, fll>a\> 30tb, 
 
 At 4 o’clock. 
 
 Miss CARLOTTA ELLIOT 
 and Miss DAMIAN. 
 
 Mr. BERNARD LANE 6-= Mr. THORNDIKE 
 
 Sbafcspevean Songs. 
 
 Music by 
 
 1. “ Blow, blow, thou Winter Wind ” . Arne. 
 
 Mr. Bernard Lane. 
 
 2. “Who is Sylvia?”.^.-. Schubert. 
 
 Miss Damian. 
 
 3. “ Where the Bee sucks ”. 
 
 Miss Carlotta Elliot. 
 
 4. “On a day, alack the day!”. 
 
 Mr. Thorndike. 
 
 5. “ Hark, hark ! the lark. 
 
 Miss Damian. 
 
 6. “ Sigh no more, ladies ”. 
 
 Mr. Bernard Lane. 
 
 7. “ O bid your faithful Ariel fly ” . 
 
 Miss Carlotta Elliot. 
 
 Ar?ie. 
 
 H. H. Parry. 
 
 Schubert. 
 
 Stevens. 
 
 Linley. 
 
 I 
 
 ©n SatuvbaE afternoon, flfta\> 3lst, 
 
 At 4 o’clock. 
 
 Mrs. HUTCHINSON and 
 Madame OSBORNE WILLIAMS. 
 
 Mr. E. LEVETUS & Mr. G. THORPE. 
 
 Sbafcsperean Songs. 
 
 Music by 
 
 1. “O Mistress mine” ... Sullivan. 
 
 Madame Osborne Williams. 
 
 2. “ Romeo’s good night ” M. Corelli. 
 
 Mr. G. Thorpe. 
 
 3. “ Bid me discourse ” ... Bishop. 
 
 Mrs. Hutchinson. 
 
 4 “ Under the Greenwood Tree ” Arne. 
 
 Mr. E. Levetus. 
 
 5. “ Willow Song ” . Sullivan. 
 
 Madame Osborne Williams. 
 
 6. “ Orpheus with his Lute... Sullivan. ^ 
 
 Mrs. Hutchinson. 
 
92 
 
 “ Every man must 
 play a part.”— 
 Merchant of 
 Venice. 
 
 ROGRAMME OF QUSIC 
 
 jp 
 
 QalMlfiil 
 
 
 To be played each ^Afternoon from 3-3o to 6 o’clock, and each Evening from 
 
 j-3o to io o’clock, for the 
 
 ftusical « promenade 
 
 IN THE GALLERY, BY THE 
 
 Band « of ■> the * 2nd •> Life •> Guards, 
 
 Under the ‘Direction of<£Mr. W. WITfTEPfBOTTOLM, by Permission of COLONEL FEEfUSON . 
 
 
 H^r^Glay 
 
 JlFtepRooD, 
 
 29 hl 2 - 
 
 \ 
 
 
 1.—MARCH . 
 
 . “ Konig Karl” . 
 
 . Mirath. 
 
 H 
 
 
 2.—OVERTURE. 
 
 “ Les Dragons de Villars ”. 
 
 . Millart. 
 
 
 2 
 
 3.—VALSE. 
 
 . “ Parthenia ”. 
 
 . A. Levey , 
 
 
 3 - 
 
 4.—SELECTION. 
 
 . “ Falka” . 
 
 ... Chassaigne. 
 
 
 4 - 
 
 5.—GAVOTTE. 
 
 . “ Stephanie ” . 
 
 . Czibulka. 
 
 
 5 - 
 
 6.—VALSE . 
 
 .“Mia Cara” . 
 
 . Bucalossi. 
 
 
 6. 
 
 7.—SELECTION ... . 
 
 . ... “ Iolanthe ” . 
 
 . Sullivan. 
 
 H 
 
 7. 
 
 8,—ENTR’ACT . 
 
 “La Colombe ”. 
 
 . Gounod. 
 
 : 
 
 8. 
 
 9.—POLKA . 
 
 . ... “ The Primrose ”. 
 
 . ... Holland. 
 
 a 
 
 9 - 
 
 10.—VALSE . 
 
 ... “Mon Amour” . 
 
 . Bucalossi. 
 
 c 
 
 IO. 
 
 11.—GALOP . 
 
 '. ... “Pomone” . 
 
 . Leutner. 
 
 H 
 
 H 
 
 II. 
 
 ft 
 
 ©ob Save tbe <&ueen.” 
 
 
 E 
 
 
 Kjpjday EVenm^ /Aay 29 b! j. 
 
 -MARCH .“ Zillethaler ”. 
 
 -OVERTURE.“ French Comedy ”. 
 
 -VALSE. “Laura,” from the “ Bettelstudent”. 
 
 -SELECTION . “ Nell Gwynne ” . 
 
 -THE PILGRIM’S SONG OF HOPE . 
 
 -VALSE . “ Estudiantina ” . 
 
 -BOLERO . “ Io Son La Rosa ”. 
 
 -SELECTION.“ Princess Ida ” . 
 
 -POLKA... ... “Ins Centrum” . 
 
 -VALSE . “ Jungherren Tanz ” . 
 
 -GALOP.“ Who"Goes There ? ” . 
 
 “©ob Save tbe <$iueen.” 
 
 ... Fetig. 
 Keler Bila. 
 Millocker. 
 Planquettc. 
 ... Batiste. 
 Waldteufel. 
 Mariani. 
 .. Sullivan. 
 
 ... Stasny. 
 .. Gung'l. 
 ... Meissler. 
 
93 
 
 p 
 
 ppiday 
 
 JJfl©pnoo 12, ^iay 30^. 
 
 
 1.—MARCH . 
 
 . “Belphegor”. 
 
 ,. ... Brepsant. 
 
 2.—OVERTURE... 
 
 .“ Lestocq ”. 
 
 . Auber. 
 
 3 
 
 a 
 
 3.—VALSE . 
 
 . ... “Fedora” . 
 
 . Bucalossi. 
 
 4.—SELECTION 
 
 .“Carmen”. 
 
 . Bizet. 
 
 ! 5.—GIN ALBUMBLATT . 
 
 . ... Wagner. 
 
 i 
 
 6 .—VALSE. 
 
 “ White Lilies ” . 
 
 ... W. Fullerton. 
 
 7.—SELECTION .. 
 
 . ... “ Le Bijou Perdu ” . 
 
 . ... .. Adam. 
 
 8 .—POLKA. 
 
 “ L’Esprit Francais ” 
 
 ... Waldteufel. 
 
 
 9.—VALSE . 
 
 ... “ Gloire de Dijon ”. 
 
 ■ ■ . ... Andrew. 
 
 
 10.— CHANT DU PAYSAN . 
 
 . Redando. 
 
 a 
 
 11.— GALOP . 
 
 ... “ Hermit’s Bells ” . 
 
 . Millard. 
 
 
 ‘©ob Save tbe dueen.” 
 
 
 “ Drums, being 
 beaten, will cry 
 out.”— 
 
 King John. 
 
 Jatupday JlftepBooc, ^|ay 
 
 1 . —THE PRIZE MARCH . 
 
 2. —OVERTURE .“ Si J’etais Roi ” . 
 
 3. —VALSE. “ Amoretten Tanz” . 
 
 4. —REMINISCENCES OF HAYDN . W. 
 
 5. —LES RAMEAUX . 
 
 6. —VALSE . “ Rosen aus dem Sliden ” . 
 
 7. —SELECTION. “ Nell Gwynne ”. 
 
 8. —THE P. O. POLKA . 
 
 9. —VALSE .“ The Merry War ” . 
 
 10. —GALOP . “Wally” . 
 
 11. —MARCH.“Farewell”. 
 
 “©ob Save tbe <&ueen.” 
 
 ... Mirath, 
 ... Adam. 
 Gunfl. 
 Winterbottom. 
 ... J. Faure. 
 
 ... Strauss. 
 ... Planquette. 
 
 Bucalossi. 
 ... Strauss. 
 
 Heinsdorff. 
 ... IVaterson. 
 
 ^iday lv©mr2<^ /lay 30^. 
 
 1. —MARCH HEROIC . “ Tel-el-Kebir ” ... 
 
 2. —OVERTURE . “ La Dien et La Bayadere ” 
 
 3—VALSE .. “Parthenia” 
 
 4. —SELECTION . “ Falka ” . 
 
 5. —THE LOST CHORD. 
 
 6. —VALSE . “La Source” . 
 
 7. —REMINISCENCES OF BELLINI . 
 
 8. —GIPSY DANCE . “Romany Rye”. 
 
 9. —VALSE. “ Je T’aime ”. 
 
 10. —LA DANSE DES MATELOTS . Metzger. 
 
 11. —THE KASSASSIN GALOP ... Winterbottom . 
 
 ‘‘©ob Save tbe <$Uieen.” 
 
 | Jatin*day EVemraJ, ^iay 315L 
 
 1. —MARCH ... “Manoverir” •... Fauhvetter. 
 
 2. —OVERTURE ... “ Le Lac des Fees ” ... Adam. 
 
 3. —VALSE...“ Laura,” from the “ Bettelstudent ”... 
 
 Millocker. 
 
 4. —SELECTION ... “Patience” ., 
 
 5. —FINALE. “ Ariele ” ... 
 
 6. —VALSE ... “ Jeunesse Dorde ” 
 
 7. —CHANT DU PAYS AN. 
 
 8. —SELECTION..“ The Lily of YSWarnzy..Benedict. 
 
 9. —VALSE.“ My Queen ”. Bucalossi. 
 
 10. —MARCH “ In the Gloaming” ... Winterbottom. 
 
 11. —GALOP ... “ Grandes Guides ”. Etterlen. 
 
 Sullivan. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Redando. 
 
 W. Fullerton. 
 . ... A uber. 
 
 ... A. Levey. 
 
 Chassaigne. 
 ... Sullivan. 
 
 Waldteiifel. 
 Fred Godfrey. 
 
 . Hutchinson. 
 ... Waldteiifel. 
 
 “ ©ob Save tbe <&ueen.’ 
 
“We have done 
 deeds of Charity. ” 
 Richard III . 
 
 HISS COWEffS SHAKSPEREAH TABLEAUX 
 
 (Arranged by THIL. MORRIS, A.R.A., JOHN O'CONNOR, and L. J. COWEN), 
 
 IN THE •> WEST * THEATRE v EACH •> DAY •> AT •> 5-30. 
 
 The Scenes illustrated will be recited by MISS COWEN. 
 
 11 
 
 MIDSUMMER EIGHT’S DREAM." 
 
 Act I, Scene 1. Act II, Scenes 1 & 2. 
 Lysander - - - - Mr. Quatremaine. 
 
 Helena.Mrs. Arthur Levy. 
 
 Hermia - - - Miss Beatrice Conrad. 
 Puck - -- - Miss Amy Carter. 
 
 t) IIFT f" I know \ Mrs. Weblyn and 
 1 l a Bank” j Miss Agnes Maitland. 
 
 THE TEMPEST." 
 
 Act I, Scene 2. 
 
 Prospero.Mr. Walter Weblyn. 
 
 Miranda .Miss Emma Cowen. 
 
 Ariel ----- - Miss Katie Serjeantson. 
 
 Song { bee H suc™} Mi ss Agnes Maitland. 
 
 Cardinal Wolsey - 
 Cardinal Campeius - 
 Queen Katherine - Mrs. Phil. Morris. 
 
 “HENRY VIII —Act III, Scene 1 
 Mr. L. D. Powle. 
 
 f Mr. Brandon 
 l Thomas. 
 
 Maids of Honour j Mrs. Weblyn, Misses Davies, 
 l Cohen, and Browne. 
 
 Page -------- miss Irene Cohen. 
 
 Song { S?s H L ute A ^ D } Mlss AGNES Maitland - 
 
Exhibition of 
 
 Relics and Articles of Shaksperean Interest, 
 
 - in the - 
 
 Queen’s Room of the Royal Albert Hall, 
 
 Under the 
 
 Direct,on of F. J. Furnivall, Esq., M.A Founder of the New Shakspere Society, 
 
 and Mr. J. W. Jarvis. 7 
 
 c Admission, One Shilling. 
 
m 
 
 “ Many things by 
 season season’d 
 are." — Merchant 
 of Venice. 
 
 
 . v 
 
 
 EXHIBITION OF 
 
 (Relics and Articles of ^haksperean interest. 
 
 Cent by Dr. Dally, 
 
 51, Waterloo Road, Wolverhampton* 
 
 No. 1.—SHAKSTEARE’S TABLE.—This is a small oak reading table of the 
 Elizabethan period, height about 27 inches, and nearly square on the top, 
 with the Coat of Arms and Initial Letters of William Shakspeare. The letters 
 are old Lombardic capitals, which were used as Hall marks about the year 
 1600. The carving on the top is very handsome, and is a beautiful specimen 
 of Art-work of that age. The table has also four small folding leaves, cunningly 
 devised, and four legs. 
 
 No. 2.—TWO OLD MULTONS, or CHEST RAILS, of oak, with names of 
 William Shakspear on the one and Anne Shakspeare on the other, which 
 evidently at a former period belonged to the same piece of furniture. The 
 final e in the first word Shakspeare has been omitted, as there was not room 
 
 for it on the rail; but in the wife’s name the word is in full. Every letter 
 “a” is in old Gothic capitals (a) of the early period, giving it a date about the 
 year 1600, or a little earlier. The face of these rails has been done with a 
 gouge, and the backs shaped up with an adze. 
 
 No. q.—'THREE-QUARTER LENGTH PORTRAIT of one of Shakspeare’s 
 patrons—(40 by 52, by Zucchero )—the Earl of Essex (Robert Devereux). 
 The dress and costume most beautifully painted, the minutest detail being 
 perfect in every respect. 
 
 No. 4._COPY OF THE DEED (from the original in the British Museum) from 
 
 Shakspeare and Trustees to Henry Walker, by which the Blackfriars Estate 
 was mortgaged to the latter, nth March 1612-3. 
 
 No. 5.—A SMALL ROSEWOOD BOX, made at Stratford for sale as a memento 
 of one’s visit to the Home of Shakspeare. Date about 1780. 
 
 ft 
 
* Men’s good is 
 oft interred with 
 their bones.” 
 
 Julius Ccesar. 
 
 Cent by Stephen (Tucker, <£s q., 
 
 Somerset Herald. 
 
 N °' 6 '7afvtfov Y al g?tYami IT ^ 7 *“’ by 6in ’> 0F SHAKESPERE, in 
 
 N °' 7 Tntheheralhs colLcF NTEMI> t °f AN l E ? us MSSl ent RIes 
 
 No. 8. IMPRESSIONS IN WAX FROM THF cfit /• 
 
 SHAKESPERE. 1 HE SEAL < lmtlals ) OF 
 
 Cent b? 3, ^arris Cooper, Csq,, 
 
 Pentland House, 230, Evening Road, Upper Clapton. 
 
 °' 9 "in* t /he°b^innfng a of , ^^ , century m by' B It a k e ? pear ” 
 
 on *• "«*>/4^.°is 
 
 broad ^uare'whke coU^ u ° sdy buttonTd^l^ 
 
 «» e «P»~ 
 
 ago. Never previously exhibited. iweive years 
 
 fcnt by 3 . ID. 3atDis, (Esq., 
 
 Avon House, Manor Road, Holloway, N 
 No. io.-THE ORIGINAL OF THE PLOTS of the Tragedy of “ OTHELLO » 
 
 H^IoLSZ^X “ M “" e f °' M ' a ” re '” ^'* Ui «»™ (“b., 
 
 N °- U ^™ E » S J s ?f h e ?iot P onh AM C US A , ND f T. H r ISBE in “ Midsummer Night’s 
 T j •’ ? l lot of the Comedy of “ Two Gentlemen of Verona ” i« 
 
 found m two little volumes, Monte Mayor’s (George delete Libros de la 
 Diana, con las Historias en vers de Alcida y Sylvano, etc etc ir8o 81 _ 
 
 o 0 un- e h y d the Pr ° PCrty °/ the poet Sou they, who hat written 
 
 iie“gz P “ i ^. this b °° k - - ° fi,s . .. 
 
 No. 12.—STORY OF THE COMEDY OF “TWELFTH NIGHT,” founded 
 
 “The’Trie?»^Th C °fi l,e t die /’ if" 6 ent ‘u e<1 ‘‘ The Chea ted Ones,” the other 
 i tie 1 rick. —The first of these in the original title reads “Gb Ingannati 
 
 rSoi£, 5 ; h 7 : ,aur ,,G1 ,ne “ ni in ■ 6 •*- r »-* - 
 
 K °' ,3 WIKD«h?- i? F , 1E BLOT OF THE “MERRY WIVES OF 
 C„,io? s wLc»« h V°„^nSs ' "**"*■ NMi " 
 
 Na ' I4 ;rJ HE kT°F Y ? F THE “ MERCHANT OF VENICE” is found in 
 dom em i6o2 b ” aT CC ? a , n<i divers Noble and Famous Personages of Christen¬ 
 dom 1602 Also to be found in “Alexander Silvayn’s Orator.” 4 to 
 
 London. By Adam Islip, i S9 6.-The Story is told at page 400. 4 
 
 N °' I5 ', 7 RA ig8 T l J ° hn) - “MIRROR FOR MAGISTRATES.” 4 to. London. 
 1550. Containing a mine of romantic wealth. Excepting “ Harding’s 
 -hromcle, it contains the first version of the story of Lear and his Daughters 
 
 Shake r s S Dearean h r d ? and ni ’ ?- enry VI » Cymbeline, Julius Caesar an/other 
 
 te * d ^ ,he b “' 
 
 N0 ' 'Vin “Cymbdin A e^’ D PR0GNE -” 4 to. Black letter. N.D. A story alluded 
 
 N °‘ I7 oF E fYL PHUES G , OL , DEN LEGACIE .” 4 to. Black letter. 1594-,623. 
 story J f « aTyoiL Like lt*.’’ LngllSh lan S ua S e 5 a hagment containing the 
 
 N °‘ l8 u^o T ”^?fr RU r iON , ° F - TR0Y -” 4t °- letter. An edition 
 
 unknown to bibliographers. Contains the story of “ Troilus and Cressida.” 
 
 N °‘ ^?,^ E CONTENTION BETWEEN THE TWO FAMOUS 
 
 THEOTTF^-j 1 ^ and yorke —and KING HENRIE 
 
 WriDen W T w!n dlVld on d , mt ° tW ° parts > and new,y corrected and enlarged, 
 circa” 261 o 7 W Shakespeare, Gent. Printed at London, for J. P. ; 
 
 N °- NOBLE KINSMEN.” Presentedatthe Blackfriers by the 
 
 worfh ef nf l? • ser . vants ’ wlt h great applause. Written by the memorable 
 D I1t l h lr time, Mr John Fletcher and William Shakspeare, gent.; 
 p inted at London, by Tho. Cotes, for John Waterson, and are to be sold at 
 the signe of the Crowne, in Paul’s Churchyard. 1634. 
 
c>000<>0^c>&00<>0 H.tu O0OO0O<^O0OO0O 
 
 IOO 
 
 21. —“A PLEASANT COMEDIE OF FAIRE EM:” the Miller’s daughter, 
 of Manchester, with the love of William the Conqueror : as it was many times 
 acted in the honourable Citie of London, by the Right Honourable Lord 
 Strange, his servants. 4to. London, 1631 ; attributed to Shakespeare. 
 
 22. —“THE BIRTH OF MERLIN: or, the Childe hath found his Father;” as 
 it hath several times been acted with great applause. Written by William 
 Shakespear and William Rowley. 4to. London, 1662. 
 
 23• <l HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK,” a Tragedy, as it is now 
 acted by His Majestie’s Servants. Written by William Shakespear. London. 
 8vo. 1713.—The accurate Wm. Hugh’s edition, now as scarce as the 4to 
 editions. 
 
 2 4 -—“ ENGLAND’S PARNASSUS,” or the Choysest Flowers of our Modern 
 Poets. Imprinted at London for N(icholas) L(ing). 8vo. 1600.—Of 
 exceptional Shakespearean interest, as it has passages throughout the book 
 identifying the existence of his plays at this date, and fixing their dates. 
 
 25. —Fraunce (Abraham). “ TPIE LAWYER’S LOGIC exemplifying the 
 precepts of Logic by the practice of Common Lawe ; by Abraham Fraunce, at 
 London. Imprinted by William Howe for Thomas Gubbin and T. Newman. 
 4to. 1588- 'At the Library Association Conference a lecturer, in referring to 
 this book, said “it was one he never expected to see, on account of its great 
 rarity.” Shakespeare, according to Chalmers, is supposed to have acquired his 
 legal knowledge from this book. 
 
 26. —Cornwallis (Sir William). ESSAYS. 4to. London. 1616.—On the 
 subject of Richard III., see last page. 
 
 27. —“ FLOWERS OF ELOQUENT PHRASES OF THE LATIN 
 SPEACH, Nicolas Vdall and John Higgins. London : Thomas Marshe. 
 I 575 -—Each Latin phrase has its translation in English (in black letter). 
 
 28. —Jordan (L.). “ROYAL ARBOR OF LOYAL POESIE. London, 1664. 
 Contains a Prologue on the First Woman appearing on the stage in the 
 play of “ Othello.” * 
 
 29. —Fenton (Geoffrey). (Sec'. State for Ireland). “ GOLDEN EPISTLES.” 
 London: Raph Newberrie, dwelling in Fleete Streate, a little above the 
 Conduite. 4to. 1577. 
 
 30. —Bacon (Sir Francis). “ A DECLARATION OF THE PRACTICES 
 AND TREASONS ATTEMPTED AND COMMITTED BY ROBERT, 
 LATE EARLE OF ESSEX.” London. 4to. 1601.—Remarkable for the 
 cleverly-executed autograph of William Shakespeare. One of the Ireland 
 forgeries. 
 
 No. 31—Crowley (Roberte). “VISION OF PIERCE PLOWMAN.” Now the 
 second time imprinted. 4to. London. 1550. Black letter, very rare. 
 
 No. 32.—“ GREEN’S TU QUOQUE.” 4 to. London. 1614. 
 
 No. 33.—“A BIT FROM THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM,” with additions 
 scribbled on the side of a book cover; a curious evidence of the popularity 
 of that collection. Written temp. Car. I. 
 
 No. 34.—“SPECULUM BRITTANIA.” 4to. London. 1593. —Curious Map 
 of London ; the Globe appears as the Playhouse. 
 
 No. 35 -—“ DICTIONARY FOR CHILDREN.” 4 to. 1586—Evidently 
 
 intended for the minds of old children (or a misnomer); the meanings 
 of words could not have been intended for babes or sucklings. 
 
 No. 36.—Lloid (Lodowick). “THE PILGRIMAGES OF PRINCES.” 4to. 
 1574 - 
 
 No. 37.—Hoplin (Arthur). Gent. “A CONCORDANCE OF YEARES.” 8vo. 
 Printed for the Stationers. 1616. 
 
 No. 3S.—Corbel (Dr. Richard). London. i2mo. 1672. “ACCOUNT OF 
 BOSWORTH FIELD.” See p. 17. “ Mine host was full of ale and 
 
 history. 
 
 No. 39.—Kirkham (Francis) and Cox (Robert). “ THE WITS : OR, SPORT 
 UPON SPORT;” in select pieces of drollery, digestered in scenes by w'ay 
 of dialogue. Part I. 8vo. London, 1662 ; with the unique woodcut showing 
 the interior of the Red Bull. Also Part II., very rare. 8vo. London, 
 1673. These drols and farces were the nearest approach to stage plays during 
 Puritan days. 
 
 No. 40.—MSS. DRAFT of Portion of the Play of “PERICLES,” differing 
 materially with the present text. 4to. N.D. 
 
 No. 41.—“A PECULIAR ILLITERATE LETTER,” addressed to Mr. Jabez 
 Burn, of No. 8, Grate Newport St., St. Martin’s Lane, offering to sell some 
 “ mulbery would ” to that gentlemen to catch the greenhorns. 
 
 No. 42.—A COPY OF QUINEY’S LETTER TO SHAKESPERE : the only one 
 known to exist addressed to the Poet. A fac-simile from the original, formerly 
 the property of R. B. Wheler, Esq., Stratford-on-Avon. 
 
 No. 43.—ALDERMAN HUM’EMS’ (Roydell) BURLESQUE ANNOUNCE¬ 
 MENT OF PICTORIAL GALLERY. Twelve playhouse copies of 
 Shakespeare’s Plays, marked with parts for omission, mostly from the folio 
 edition, 1632. 
 
IOI 
 
 No. 44.—A Photograph, presented by the Artist, W. R. Beverley, Esq., “THE 
 DROP SCENE OF STRATI ORD-ON-AVON THEATRE,” showing the 
 Globe, Blackfriars. 
 
 No. 45.—ENGRAVING, showing interior of Globe during performance. Shakespeare 
 as spectator. 
 
 No. 46.—RELICS and Various Items— 
 
 paintings in ©il. 
 
 1. View—Stratford Church. 
 
 2. ,, Birthplace. 
 
 3. ,, Birthplace before Alterations. 
 
 4. ,, Anne Hathaway’s Cottage. 
 
 5. View—Mary Arden’s House. 
 
 6. ,, New Place. 
 
 7. ,, Globe Theatre. 
 
 8. ,, Fortune Theatre. 
 
 JSunbutg paintings. 
 
 9. Scene from “ Twelfth Night.” | 10. Scene from “Merry Wives.” 
 
 portraits of Shakespeare. 
 
 11. Chandos Small Painting. | 13. Miniature on Ivory. 
 
 12. A Reduced Copy of Leslie’s Portrait, j 14. Miniature in Wedgewood. 
 
 Stratford Town Hall. 
 
 No. 47.—ANTIQUE DOOR KNOCKER, from Old Stratford House. 
 
 No. 48.—KEY CHATELAINE, as used by the Dame Quickley of the day. 
 
 No. 49.—LADY BARNARD’S HIGH-BACK OAK CHAIR, in blackened oak. 
 
 No. 50.—GARRICK RIBBAND and MEDAL, struck for the Jubilee. 
 
 No. 51.—A Pair of fine STAG’S HORNS, from Charlecote Park, mounted on 
 shield. 
 
 No. 52.—NINE MEN’S MORRIS BOARD, made from wood from Charlecote Park. 
 
 No. 53 - BRONZE SHIELD OF HAMMERED METAL. Shakespeare supported 
 by Comedy and Tragedy. 3ft. diameter. 
 
 No. 54.—LARGE BUST, painted stone colour. About 30m. high; with pedestal. 
 
 No. 55.—A SMALL COPY OF THE BUST FROM MONUMENT, painted in 
 colours.—Copy of original in Stratford Church. 
 
 No. 56.—THE SHAKESPEARES’ JUG. A copy by Kerr, Binns, &-> Co., with 
 printed account and history. 
 
 No. 57.—A DRINKING MUG. Round the rim are represented “The Seven Ages,” 
 and portrait. Shakespearean Old China. 18th century. 
 
 No. 58. —GARRICK’S JUBILEE JUG, sold at time. This represents the Mulberry 
 Tree in full fruit. 
 
 No. S 9 -—JUG, representing Sir J. Falstaff in a sitting position, with wine beaker in 
 hand. Very uncommon. 18th century. 
 
 No. 60.—SNUFF BOX. Portrait of Shakespeare on Box. 
 
 No. 61.—A Piece of the Genuine Tree, known as “HERNE’S OAK,” from 
 Windsor Great Park. 
 
 Also a large number, from 100 to 200, engraved portraits of Shakespearean Views, 
 Scenes from Plays, and other interesting items. 
 
 No. 62.—FRAMED OAK RUBBING, from the Tomb of William Shakespeare; 
 also of Anne Shakespeare. 
 
 Cent by 2TTrs. <5. Citmceus Banks, 
 
 122, Graham Road, Dalston. 
 
 No. 63—GARRICK’S POCKET CORKSCREW, in a sheath of the “Shakespeare 
 Mulberry.” Has a tree engraved on the silver thumb-piece. Was given to 
 Mr. Banks in the tercentenary year, by either Mr. John Oxenford or by 
 Mr. Henry Marston. 
 
 No. 64.—A CARVED SNUFF BOX. Shakespeare’s head turned out of the wood 
 of the Stratford-on-Avon “ One Elm,” beneath which the Courts Leet were 
 wont to be held in Shakespeare’s time, and beneath which he may have played 
 when a boy. The tree was cut down as an obstruction to the road. 
 
 No. 65.—A PAIR OF LIBRARY BELLOWS, made of the same wood, by the 
 late Mr. J. C. Onions, of Birmingham, who, at Mr. Banks’s instigation, 
 bought the remains of the tree from the executors of the owner, whose ignorant 
 cook had been, during his illness, burning it for firewood. The bellows are 
 one pair of several made for presentation to the eminent dramatists and others 
 who took part in the Shakespeare Celebration, at Stratford, in 1853. 
 
 No. 66.—Small portions of “ HERNE’S OAK ;” one impressed with the name of 
 the carver to whom Her Majesty the Queen entrusted the remains of the tree 
 (blown down) to be carved into a bust—(I think of the late Prince Consort). 
 The other, a carved paper-knife handle 
 
 No. 67.—BOOK OF THE SONGS AND CHORUSES SUNG AT THE 
 SHAKESPEARE JUBILEE. Dated 1770. 
 
102 
 
 “ Mirth bars a 
 thousand harms.” 
 Taming of the 
 Shrew. 
 
 lent bY 2 llexanber Jttacmillan, €sq., 
 
 29, Bedford Street, Covent Garden, London, W.C. 
 
 No. 68.—A Copy of the Second Edition (in folio) of SHAKESPEARE’S WORKS, 
 with numerous Original Drawings, by various artists of last century; among 
 them six finished drawings, coloured by William Blake, and an early Mulready. 
 
 lent by &X lestocq, <Esq., 
 
 113, Bennerley Road, Wandsworth Common. 
 
 No. 69.—RUBBING from SHAKSPERE’S TOMBSTONE, taken by late 
 Rev. Blane-Mandell. 
 
 No. 70.—RUBBING from the TOMBSTONE of ANNE, wife of William 
 Shakspere, taken by late Rev. Blane-Mandell. 
 
 No. 71.—A large PAPER KNIFE, made from a scion of Shakspere’s Mulberry Tree. 
 
 lent bY ^rebertek Vincent 2 TCartin, <£sq., 
 
 Fairview Villa, Stratford-on-Avon, Warwickshire. 
 
 No. 72._This TABLE is made of Wood from a tree called “The Gospel Elm,” 
 
 which stood for many years as a boundary tree oi the Borough of Stratford-on- 
 Avon. The Oak Wood used in the Views came from old timber procured 
 from the house where Shakspere was born. The Views represent—Shakspere’s 
 Birthplace as restored, The House before the restoration, Bridge Street, 
 with the Middle Row, Ann Hathaway’s Cottage, New Place and the Guild 
 Chapel, Charlecote House, and the Old Church. 
 
 No. 73.—PORTRAIT IN GILT FRAME, judged to be by Gainsborough — 
 Beatrice in “Much Ado about Nothing.”—Scene IV: “I answer to that 
 name (unmasking). What is your will?” Size, 2oin. by i8in. frame. 
 
 lent bY Charles Canning, <£sq., 
 
 No. 7, Ashton Terrace, Bristol. 
 
 No. 74.—An OLD BIBLE (1615), with Preface (dated 1578) and other matter, 
 originally belonging to the Shakspeare Family, with the signature of 
 William Shakspeare, and that of seven others of the Family, variously dated. 
 This Book has been in the possession of owner’s ancestors for more than two 
 hundred years, and is in good condition, and can be seen on application to 
 Charles Canning, Esq., No. 7, Ashton Terrace, Bristol, who offers it for sale. 
 
 No. 75.—An authenticated RELIC of a Piece of the Timber of Shakspeare’s Old 
 House, in which he was born. 
 
 
 No. 76.—CHINA MUG, made for, and used by, David Garrick at the Great 
 Shaksperean Jubilee, held at Stratford-on-Avon in 1769 ; and also part of the 
 Dress Sash, and the pair of Shoe Buckles, worn by Garrick at the same time. 
 
 lent bY 2ttrs. (L pocock, 
 
 74, Ladbroke Grove, Kensington Park. 
 
 No 77.—“ WIIELER’S HISTORY OF STRATFORD,” and other Shakespearean 
 Works. Collected by a lady about 40 years ago. Handsomely bound in vellum. 
 
 lent bY ttX (5♦ Stone, €sq v 
 
 Walditch, Bridport, Dorset. 
 
 No. 78._“ SHAKSPERE’S PLAYS.” Folio 3; in the original calf binding. ■ 
 
 Has the Droeshout Portrait, with Ben Jonson’s verses under. Has also these 
 verses on a separate leaf. The title page is dated 1663 ; but this copy 
 contains “ Pericles ” and the six spurious plays. 
 
 lent bY 3* ©’Connell, €sq., 
 
 6, Laurel Street, Dalston, E. 
 
 No. 79.—PORTRAIT OF SHAKSPERE, said to be by Mark Garrard, court painter 
 ' to Elizabeth and James the I. On canvas, life size to the waist. Boaden, 
 in his Inquiry into the “ Authenticity of the pictures and prints of Shakspeare, 
 alludes to a rumour emanating from a college at Oxford, that Garrard had 
 painted Shakspere, and adds, “ that such a portrait, if found, could be relied 
 upon as truthful.” Mr. Hain Friswell, in his “Life Portraits of Shakspeare, 
 having seen this, admits it to be, to all appearance, a work by Garrard, and 
 that it is very like the Jansen portrait. Comparing it with this latter, it is 
 clear that one must be a copy of the other : as the form, position, features, 
 and arrangement of the hair, are identical. The cut of the dress is the same 
 in both. It is not, however, very likely that the older and established painter 
 would be asked to copy a work by a youth and new-comer ; and the fact of 
 the imitation of figured satin, to be seen in the dress of the Jansen one, instead 
 of gold, as here, is decisive as to which is the original, for, if Garrard was the 
 copyist, it is not likely that he would take the trouble of putting gold where 
 none existed in the original; but the converse, of substituting for gold some 
 other more easily-worked material, would be the course most likely to be 
 adopted. As, in the Jansen picture, the complexion, agreeing with the 
 traditional report, is very fair—and with it the hair and beard agrees. Some 
 ignorant person has nearly covered the head with some dark-brown pamt, 
 which it is intended to remove. 
 
“ My age is as a 
 lusty winter.”— 
 As yon like it. 
 
 No. 
 
 Cent by ZHr* 3oseptj Dromrt, 
 
 Sn ri4TTvrA 9 D^Mp N J E ? RACE > Eaton Square, S.W. 
 
 8 scrSl H “ VeS t f S ’ P ° rtrait of Shaks P ere > *"d quotation on 
 
 uncertain In W IF towers ’” &C ‘ Outside, four Pastoral Scenes. Date 
 uncertain, but it has been more than a century in our family. 
 
 Cent by (Seorge perceval, (£sq. 
 
 No 8, _qHA^qW^°u NT u? TR 5 ET ’ Berkeley Square, W. 
 
 . SHAKSPERE.—Painted on deal panel, in the dress worn by the 
 
 Mr e Samuer a w C oodin antS f' J” a^’ th ‘ S , aS P ' aCed in the hands of *e late 
 m W ° odln > of Bond Street, for restoration. He sent it to 
 Mr Morrill to be parquetted. Mr. Woodin unfortunately painted over a 
 Tbe ^ . n (D ' M ' ^ n ‘ he rl ghtsideof the head, which is even nowpartially visible 
 The National Portrait Gallery exhibited the following Portraits of Shakespeare 
 
 No. 330. No artist named. The property of J. Hey wood Hawkins Esn 
 No°‘ “T. name f galled ‘‘The Chlndos^hakespeare. " ’ ^ 
 
 5°‘ l 39 ' 5° art ! st named- The property of Lord St. Leonards, 
 o. 341 . No artist named. The property of A. Danby Seymour Esa 
 .. 342- No artist named. The property of Her Majesty f Hampton Court. 
 
 According to the Catalogue of the National Portrait Gallery, Daniel Mytens painted- 
 No. 291 . Sir Jonathan Tralawny ; and 
 o. 300. Sir Philip Sydney, Kt., who was born 1554, died 1586. 
 
 The present Portrait certainly represents the poet as a younger man than any of the 
 
 Cent by OTrs. 3relanb, 
 
 No. 82 -THIS SHaSs F P 0 E R REAN L ^MULBERRYTEA-CHEST was purchased 
 % ‘Vf ^ ,and - Oxford, at the sale of Dr. Joseph Smifh, of St 
 Stratfoul X on rd A l* ^ I77 ° - _ Shaks P ere planted this tree on his ground at 
 
 undent ’ 1742 Ga f lck > Martin - and °there were entertained 
 
 "fl C . Shakspere s house was afterwards sold to a clergyman of the name 
 of Gastrel, who cut the tree down for fuel: but a silversmith, Mr. Thos 
 
 memorials 0/ £ ^t’. P ^ ^ ^ ° f ^ manufaCtUred it into 
 
 Cent by 2Hrs. Harriet tDoIlen, 
 
 xr o . 54 , St. Oswald’s Road, West Brompton. S W 
 
 83 ;-,T E LIKENESB 0F SHAKSPERE.-An old print, in gilt frame 
 
 fn iritf d Ver ’a 121 ”' by j I5m ' In my P ossessiol i thirty-five years. Bought 
 in Stratford-on-Avon, and mounted and framed by me, H. W. S 
 
 
 - , , .-- , - * u.mci which ouaKspere sat. 
 
 A fine specimen and genuine. Bought thirty-five years ago of the descendant 
 oi one of the poet s retainers, by me, H. W. 
 
 No. 85.—OLD ENGRAVING: or Drawing in Indian Ink—from “As You Like 
 t Celia and Rosalind, the latter in male attire. Supposed to be ioo 
 
 yearsold ‘ Cent by 3saac Carr T , <£sq v 
 
 58, York Road, Northampton. 
 
 No. 86.—SMALL BUST OF SHAKSPERE, having on the base the following 
 faintly traced inscriptionCarved from the Mulbery Tree planted by 
 Shakefpear. —Two hundred years and upwards. The carver evidently had 
 very little material, so had to make the most of it. The bust, although very 
 small, is formed of four or live pieces joined together. 
 
 No, 
 
 Cent by 3 . <L $aUa, €sq., 
 
 25, Waylen Street, Reading, Berks. 
 
 87 ' 71 BR c AS ' S , SHIELD or PANEL, with raised Head of Shakespeare, 
 of birth and death. 
 
 Date 
 
 Cent by Hobt. Breese, (Esq., 
 
 Magdalen Street, Norwich. 
 
 No. 88.—WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, sitting on Chair. Light-brown hair, 
 brown dress, white collar and cuffs, glove on left hand. Desk, with books, 
 loho, and papers, on which his hands rest, with pen, as writing “The 
 Merchant of Venice, some letters of which can be traced ; face turned three- 
 quarter left from it; age about twenty-seven; canvas, 26m. by 2oin.—This 
 portrait is thought to be contemporary with him, and is interesting, it having 
 hitherto been unknown to the public. 
 
 Cent by (Eeorge 2lbam Burn, <£sq», 
 
 1, Doughty Street, Mecklenburgh Square, London. 
 
 No. ^ 9 -—ORIGINAL PORTRAIT OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE, painted in 
 UH on Canvas The name of the Artist is not known—most probably a 
 oreign Master.—The portrait is (or is, in the opinion of its owner) an un¬ 
 doubtedly genuine representation of some original, although its pedigree can 
 only be traced back about seventy years. It is presumed that it may have been 
 painted for the Earl of Southampton, in the dress which, perhaps, the poet 
 wore when he may have read “ Henry IV.” before Queen Elizabeth. The 
 picture is most rich in brilliancy, force, and colour, and is a portrait of great 
 value. V an Sommer has been suggested as the painter of it. 
 
GE c R^AL r D <£M. ‘BU'RZK- 
 
 Cent b\ Xttrs, prances ZHarstjaU, 
 
 St. Aubyn’s, Tiverton. 
 
 » AiM/-TT7i>j'r CARVED WRITING BOX, or INKSTAND, made 
 
 s£ . 0f ^~4 <*gtes*srsrzr 
 js £ &ssa» v- *• «- 
 
 TAT CFT OF OLD SHAKSPERE BED HANGINGS, in Ancient Needle 
 
 N °- 9 wT,k I» Homipun Li„“-Thi S has also W preserved » .ho same to.Hr. 
 and has never been out of Stratford-on-Avon until now. 
 
 Cent b\ Hen, <E. 3- Seln^n, 
 
 Pluckley Rectory, Kent. 
 
 m THF COURT OF OBERON AND TITANIA IN FAIRYLAND. 
 
 N °- 92 bTawn whh°p U en and InSan ink, by the late Reverend Edward Selwyn, 
 Rector of Hemingford Abbots, Hunts. 
 
 Cent b\> 3ot|n €liot fjobgkin, £S.U 
 
 Ireland. (Original proof, corrected for the press.) Dated Mar. 4 , 1795 - 
 No. 94 .—ADMISSION TICKET TO THE EXHIBITION. (Probably umque ) 
 
 m nf_T FTTER FROM SAMUEL IRELAND TO MR. DENT (dated 
 
 9S Ap STS, hiviting him to meet a Committee of Investigation. 
 
 nt MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS AND LEGAL INSTRUMENTS, under 
 
 N0 ' ’Vetadof WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. Fo. Lend™. . 7 ^—^ 
 fac-similes of the spurious documents. (To be openea at me 
 fo'gld Se“i of ICSei. to aE„. Hathei.eway, aad f.c-.m.le of the lock 
 
 of hair.) __ _ 
 
i°5 
 
 No. 97.—Place upon this, on the opposite page, the box opened, containing the lock 
 of hair which IV. H. Ireland asserted to have been given by Shakspeare to 
 Ann Hathaway, and which is fac-siniiled on the first page. 
 
 No. 98.—THE CONFESSION OF WILLIAM HENRY IRELAND. 8vo. 
 1805. Open at page 83, which gives a description of the fabrication of the lock 
 and letter. 
 
 No. 99.—Miscellaneous Papers and Legal Instruments under the hand and seal of 
 Shakspeare, d^c. 8vo. London, 1796. W. H. Ireland’s own copy, inter¬ 
 leaved with one of his confessions, and illustrated with forgeries by his own 
 hand (open at the page which gives tracings of three genuine signatures of 
 Shakspeare, and three forgeries above them). 
 
 No. 100.—THE FORGED AGREEMENT BETWEEN SHAKSPEARE 
 AND CONDELLE, on vellum, with signatures and seals of both parties to 
 the deed (the original). 
 
 No. 101.—SHAKSPEARE’S DEED OF GIFT TO IRELAND (the original 
 forgery on vellum), with Shakspeare’s signature and seal. 
 
 No. 102.—Miscellaneous Papers, iSr^c., under the hand and seal of Shakspeare. Svo. 
 1796 (open at the page which gives a transcript of the above document). 
 
 No. 103.—RARE CARICATURE (Ap. 2, 1796), entitled “ The Oaken Chest, or 
 the Gold Mines of Ireland.” A farce, deriding the forgeries, and especially 
 facetious upon the lock of Shakspeare’s hair. 
 
 No. 104.—COPY-BOOK OF SAMUEL IRELAND. 1759. 
 
 Cent by Samuel Comfort!}, €sq v 
 
 234, Coventry Road, Small Heath, Birmingham. 
 
 No. 105.—THE BASKERVILLE ORIGINAL PORTRAIT OF SHAKSPERE, 
 age about 290 years. It was found under the flooring boards of Baskerville 
 House, Birmingham. It is painted in oil on copper plate. 
 
 Cent by perry, Csq., 
 
 4, The Embankment, Chelsea, S.W. 
 
 No. 106.—A BUST OF SHAKSPERE, carved in wood ; an amalgamated portrait, 
 derived from three or four of the most authentic, without being a copy of any 
 particular one. Designed and executed by the lender. 
 
 Cent by 3°*? n Durham, Csq*, 
 
 Kingston-on-Thames. 
 
 No. 107.—Shakspere’s Tobacco Stopper; the history, so far as it is in my possession, 
 is set out in the following certificate:— 
 
 “ I hereby positively affirm that the Tobacco Stopper which I sold for three 
 guineas, to Mr. Elton Idamond, was handed down to me as the original belonging 
 to W. Shakespear. Mary Hornsby. A.D. 1802.” 
 
 Cent by Colonel Shakespear, 
 
 25, St. George Street, S.W. 
 
 No. 108.—A small CARVED BOX, with Coat of Arms, “ A Spear of the Field,” 
 said’to have belonged to the Poet. 
 
 No: 109.—A copy of a HOT WATER JUG, which belonged to the Poet. 
 
 No. no. —A COAT OF ARMS ON PARCHMENT, said to be original. 
 Date about 1600. 
 
 Cent by 3°h n Habone, Csq., 
 
 Birmingham. 
 
 No. 111.—The SHAKESPEARE BROOCH' 
 
 The Brooch, which is of silver, origin¬ 
 ally contained twenty-two crystals, and 
 a coronet of three red and two blue 
 stones. It was found in the year 1828 
 by Joseph Smith, a labouring man, who 
 was engaged upon some excavations on the 
 site of New Place, Stratford. He gave 
 it to his children to play with, and 
 presently, when the dirt had wornoff, he 
 found the name W. Shakespeare upon back 
 
 it, and another word which he said 
 looked like Lova, but which on scraping, to make it plain, became quite 
 obliterated. Captain Saunders, and also Mr. R. B. Wheler, of Stratford, 
 both eminent antiquaries, wanted to buy it, Captain Saunders offering £7 
 for it, but Smith, although so poor, would not sell it. Saunders wrote a notice, 
 accompanied by two engravings, of it for the Mirror of September 26th 1829, 
 
in which he stated that “ the Brooch was considered, by the most competent 
 judges and antiquaries, in and near Stratford, to have been the personal 
 property of Shakespeare.” Smith occasionally made money by showing the 
 Brooch to visitors, but having ten children, and being very poor, he once 
 claimed parish relief, which was refused while he possessed so valuable a 
 property as the Brooch. He left his family for a fortnight, and on 
 his return underwent three months’ imprisonment for desertion, which 
 would have been remitted had he consented to sell the Brooch. A 
 resident of Stratford advanced money to Smith from time to time upon 
 it, and it was exhibited for their joint benefit at his house, then the 
 Coach and Horses, in Henley Street. On one occasion a lady, an actress, 
 called to see it, and pressing it enthusiastically to her bosom, exclaiming, 
 “Oh, my Shakespeare!” she broke it into two pieces. It was clumsily 
 soldered by a tinsmith of Stratford, as is now apparent. Smith, never 
 being able to repay the loans, eventually gave up all claim to it. 
 After lying quiet for some years, it was bought by its present 
 possessor. In 1864, Mr. J. H. Pollen, of the South Kensington 
 Museum, testified his opinion of its antiquity, and Mr. J. W. Tonks, of 
 Birmingham, who has made antique jewellery a special study, says, “ the 
 ‘ cutting ’ is of a primitive mode, not generally practised after the Restoration, 
 when French fashions were introduced, and the style of the * setting ’ is that 
 of the 16th century. The Brooch has every appearance of an antiquity 
 bringing it at least as early as the time of Shakespeare.” The interlaced 
 middle members of the letter W and the joining of the three letters HAK, 
 will be noticed as being peculiarities of the 16th and early part of the 
 17th centuries. It appears from all the circumstances connected with the 
 Brooch, that it was once unquestionably owned by William Shakespeare 
 himself. It is possible, however, that the word supposed to be Lova might 
 have been Love from and that therefore the Brooch was a present from 
 Shakespeare to his wife or daughter. This seems to be the only 
 reasonable way of accounting for the long, now blank, space preceding the 
 W, which certainly once contained something about love. On comparison with 
 the drawings of the Luckenbooth Brooches of the 16th century, in the 
 Museum of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, Edinburgh, placed in juxta 
 position to the Brooch, it will be seen to bear a striking resemblance 
 to some of them. Without doubt those “Luckenbooth” Brooches were of French 
 manufacture, the sale of them being chiefly in Edinburgh—whence their name. 
 In a recent number of Shakespeariana (Philadelphia), so eminent an authority 
 as Mr. J. Parker Norris says, “ Mr. Rabone’s Brooch is a most interesting 
 relic, and deserves far more attention than it has hitherto received.” 
 
 Cent by Hen. 3 osc pl? EDoobfaH €bsmortfy, ZTUL, &S.21., 
 
 Molash Vicarage, by Ashford, Kent. 
 
 No. 112.—ORIGINAL WATER-COLOUR DRAWING, by Sir Francis Grose, 
 the Antiquary (14I by 8£ins.), of Duncinnan Hill, near Perth; illustration 
 of “Macbeth,’’datedjuly 9th 1790. (Warrantedauthenticandgenuine.—J.W.E. 
 
 No. 113.— ORIGINAL WATER-COI.OUR STUDY of “Lady Macbeth laying 
 the daggers beside the sleeping grooms,” by the late David Scott, R.S.A. 
 fob. 1849). Study for a larger exhibited work: illustration of “Macbeth.” j 
 
 No. 114.—ORIGINAL WATER-COLOUR DRAWING of the Roman Forum, 
 etc., being the first-known drawing permitted to be taken after the 
 exhumation of the Forum pavement under Garibaldi. In illustration of 
 Shakespeare's Roman Plays, drawn by the exhibitor, J. W. Ebsworth, j 
 and wholly untouched since. Exhibited at the Royal Scottish Academy. 
 
 No. 115.—TWO FAC-SIMILE COPPER-PLATES, engraved by the exhibitor, 
 
 J. W. Ebsworth, after Drollenies : (A) Early representation of Theatre 
 
 (Red Bull), with Shakespeare characters: (B) Early representation 
 (1656) of Shakespeare, Johnson Chapman, etc. 
 
 PLAYBILLS. 
 
 Cent by tDilliam tynberson, €sq., 
 
 4, Hilo rove Road, London, N.W. 
 
 “ Ss gou lifce it.” | 
 
 No. 116.—DRURY LANE, Sept. 18th 1755; “Rosalind,” Miss Macklin; 
 
 “Cselia,” Mrs. Clive; “Amiens,” Mr. Beard.—DRURY LANE, April 30th * 
 1785 ; “ Rosalind,” Mrs. Siddons (for this night only). 
 
 “ 'King Ibentg tbe Eigbtb.” I 
 
 (Not acted these twenty years ). 
 
 DRURY LANE, Nov. 25th 1788; “Queen Katherine,” Mrs. Siddons. 
 
 “ flberrg HClives ot HHUnbsor.” 
 
 DRURY LANE, May 3rd 1779 ;“Falstaff,”Mr. Henderson; “ Mrs. Ford,” 
 
I “ All were woven so 
 I strangely.” 
 j Henry VIII. 
 
 n 
 
 n 
 
 mi 
 
 r _ 107 
 
 £ »d tVf “ fTi&Tm;” #K 
 
 s“phi" £,bS"“ Kr| - DRURY LiN ^ »->'• “ 
 
 “dbacbetb.” 
 
 N °' 'Sfctoh™ M? M RD f N !« !,h ‘ “ “.cbeth.» Mr,. Woffington ■ 
 Kemble (first appearance in that character); “ Lady Macbeth,’’ Mrs! Siddons' 
 
 “ IRtcbarb hi.” 
 
 N °. 118.—DRURY LANE, Nov. 6th 1783; “King Richard” Mr T Kemble 
 (first appearance m that character).—COVENT GARDEN Sent 
 “Kmg Richard,” Mr. Harley (from the TheatreRoyd ^ch leing 7 ^’ 
 
 Rmhard, Mr. Quick (being his first appearance in that character on that 
 
 “IRomeo attb Juliet.” 
 
 No. 119. COVENT GARDEN, 26th Mav i7c^ • “ T?r»m^ if A/r -d 
 
 “Juliet,” Mrs. Cibber.-DRURY LANE, ^th* October* 1 17c 7 ^‘ Rimm ” 
 Mr Gamck; “Juliet ” Miss Pritchard (being the first timPof her^Mear 
 ance upon any stage).-DRURY LANE, May nth 1780 “Romeo” 
 Mr. J. Kemble; “Juliet,” Mrs. Siddons (first appearance in that character). 
 
 ‘“Rina Jobn.” 
 
 N °' I2 Kemhl R Vr R T LANE ’ P ec - Ioth 1783; “King John,” Mr J 
 Kemble (first appearance m that character).—“ Constance ” Mrs Siddons 
 (first appearance in that character). Constance, Mrs. Siddons 
 
 “Ggntbellne.” 
 
 a D pp™L“S clZcT ” 87 ’ “ In ’ < ’ e " V ' M,S ' Sidd ™ («* 
 
 “Ring Xeat.” 
 
 DRURY LANE, March 22nd, 1779,” “King Lear” Mr 
 
 (first appearance in that character). * S ’ Henderson 
 
 “dfteaeure for dfteasure.” 
 
 N °' J5 ‘5 0 ? ob " Date," 
 
 Mr. Quin. DRURY LANE, Nov. 3rd 1783, “Isabella,” Mrs. Siddons 
 
 No. 
 
 n 1 i“w T ir cnaracterj.—UKUKY LANE, Dec. 20th 170a 
 he Duke, Mr. J. Kemble (first appearance in that character). 9 *’ 
 
 “HBUnter's Gale.” 
 
 I ^-~ E ?^ E t NT GARDEN, May 19th 1783, Mr. Henderson, Mrs Yates 
 c^c., (first time of their appearing in any of those characters). ’ 
 
 “ Ring Rents tbe ffourtb.” 
 
 2. v F„ N ,L“™i. April ,0,h ' *“'■ Sh »*~ <«« >pp— 
 
 ‘“Ring Renrg tbe ffourtb.” 
 
 dWi URY LA ^ E ’ Ja u- 2 ?‘ h I779 ‘ “ This morning, about eight o’clock 
 died my most worthy friend and patron David GarrirL- Fen ’ 
 
 which melancholy occasion, fresh bills were put up that there wouldT 
 
 He W3S f he bes < performer that the world ever 
 produced. I shall never look his like again.—Wm Hopkins ” t Tn tv, 
 
 SSTST z&t** s “ ge M,n?ser of 
 
 “/Bbercbant of IDenlce.” 
 
 NO ' I2 D^Ty LANF A T RDEN ’^ DeC b 2ndl7S5: “ Portia >” Mrs. Woffington.— 
 xjkukv LANE, Jan. 22nd 1784; “ Shvlock ” Mr T F.mhU /u- J . 
 
 “ P Shvlook e ”M ‘hr c b aracter )--COVENT GARDEN; M®y 7th '789 
 Shylock, Macklin (his last appearance on the stage). 7 7 9 ’ 
 
 “Ibamlet.” 
 
 No. 124. DRURY LANE, Sept. 30th 1783 • (Mr T c 
 
 London).—DRURY LANE^ May 15th 1786 - K “Shelif”appearance m 
 °" W ' ”‘ g 
 
 &§&£•, sggsi- 
 
 Aug. 12th 1806 ! '‘RoS^Mr^S characters). HAYMARKET, 
 
 “^IBucb Sbo about iRotblng ” 
 
 (first appearance in that character). Beatrice, Mrs. Jordan 
 
io8 
 
 “ ©tbcllo.” 
 
 No. 127.—COVENT GARDEN, Sept. 24th 1783 ; “Othello,” Mr. Stephen 
 Kemble (from the Theatre Royal, Dublin, being his first appearance on this 
 stage)—DRURY LANE, March 8tli 1785; “Othello,” Mr. J. Kemble; 
 “Desdemona,” Mrs. Siddons (being their first appearances in those 
 characters). 
 
 “twelfth IRigbt.” 
 
 COVENT GARDEN, May 7th 1783 ; “Malvolio,” Mr. Henderson (first 
 appearance in that character); “Viola,” Mrs, Robinson (first appearance in 
 that character. 
 
 “•King t>enrg tbc jfourtb.” 
 
 No. 128.—COVENT GARDEN, Oct. 22nd 1785 ; Henderson’s last appearance as 
 “Falstaff.” COVENT GARDEN, Nov. 8th 1785: “This was the last time 
 Mr. Henderson acted.— W. H.” (Wm. Hopkins.) 
 
 No. 129—Y R PLAY HOUSE BILL FOR STARCHING, No. Ye 18, 1715. 
 To the performers of Drury Lane Theatre, with autographs of C. Cibber, 
 Rob. Wilks, and B. Booth. 
 
“ Borrow 
 one another’s 
 !o ve.”-Antony 
 and Cleopatra 
 
 109 
 
 PROGRAMME 
 
 OF 
 
 RGAN 
 
 
 
 At 2-30 p.m. 
 
 r. PRELUDIUM . .. 
 
 2 ‘ 0VE JT UR , E to Shakspere’s Play of “A Midsummer ) .. , 7 , 
 
 Nights Dream”. \ Mendelssohn. 
 
 3. AVE MARIA (Transcription) . Arcadelt. 
 
 4. PRELUDE and FUGUE, in D Minor . j. b. Bach 
 
 5. GRAND MARCH, from the Music to 1 
 
 Shakspere’s Play of “ King John ” ... J Au S usiu H. Tamplin. 
 
 (First time of performance.) 
 
 6. ADAGIO, from Sonata in F Minor ... /. Rheinberger (Op. 63). 
 
 7. OVERTURE ... “Merry Wives of Windsor” ... Otto Nicolai. 
 
 ffii? Hugustus %. Hampltn, Esq., 
 
 For THURSDAY, May 2gth. 
 
 At 6-0 p.m. 
 
 1. PRELUDIUM . 
 
 * 
 
 2. FANTASIA, on Subjects from Music to “Macbeth ?Matthew Locke. 
 
 3. CONCERTO, for Organ, in B Flat . Handel. 
 
 4. GRAND MARCH, from the Music to ) 
 
 Shakspere’s Play of “ King John ” ... J Au S ustus L. Tamplin. 
 
 5. AVE MARIA ... . Schub£rt 
 
 6. INTRODUCTION—Variations and Finale, “Where the) 
 
 Bee sucks ”. > Arne. 
 
 7. OVERTURE.“ Die Felsenmuhle ” . Beissiger. 
 
At 2-30 p.m. 
 
 FRIDA Y, May joth. 
 
 1. PRELUDIUM 
 
 2. OVERTURE. “ Egmont ” 
 
 3. FANTASIA on Music to “ Macbeth ” 
 
 4. CONCERT FUGUE, in G Major . 
 
 5. SCHERZO ... “ Midsummer Night’s Dream” 
 
 6. ANDANTE PIACEVOLE. 
 
 ... Beethoven. 
 Matthew Locke. 
 ...J. L. Krebs. 
 Mendelssohn. 
 
 “ Deserve not 
 punishment/’ 
 Love's 
 Labour Lost. 
 
 E. Fleury 
 
 7. GRAND MARCH, from Music to Shakspere’s) . . , _ ® 
 
 Play of “ King John ” . ... J AugustusL. Tamplin. jg 
 
 9 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 At 6-0 p.m. 
 
 1. PRELUDIUM. 
 
 2. OVERTURE ... “ Merry Wives of Windsor ” 
 
 3. PRELUDE and FUGUE, in G Major. 
 
 4. “O SALUTARIS ”. 
 
 5. “THE BETTER LAND” (by special desire) 
 
 6. GRAND MARCH, fromMusic to Shakspere’s) . 
 
 Play of “ King John ”.. \ Augustus L. Tamplin. 
 
 ■■ 
 
 ... Otto Nicolai. 
 ... J. S. Bach. 
 
 Hoffmann. 
 ...EH. Cowen. 
 
 7. MARCHE INDIENNE ... “ L’Africaine ” 
 
 ■ nr /• ... ijnmcamc . Meyerbeer. 
 
 At 2-30 p.m. 
 
 1. PRELUDIUM . 
 
 2. OVERTURE.“ Die Felsenmuhle ” 
 
 3. PHANTASIE, Wolfram’s “Tannhauser” 
 
 4. GRAND MARCH, from the Music to ) a , T 'r t 
 Shakspere’s Play of “King John” ... ) Au Z ustus L - Tamplin. 
 
 . Handel. 
 
 F. Liszt. 
 
 SA TURD A Y, May jisl. 
 
 Reissiger. 
 
 Wagner. 
 
 5. CONCERTO, in F Major . 
 
 6. ORGAN (Transcription)...“ Etude” 
 
 7. INTRODUCTION—Variations and Finale, “Where the) . 
 
 Bee sucks” . J Arne. 
 
 At 6 p.m. 
 
 PRELUDIUM . 
 
 FANTASIA, on Music to “Macbeth" ... . 
 
 “ THE BETTER LAND ” (by special desire) 
 
 TOCCATA and FUGE, in D Minor. 
 
 ( Minuet ) 
 
 SUITE < Sicilienne >. 
 
 (. Gavotte ) 
 
 Matthew Locke. 
 F. H. Cowen. 
 ... J. S. Bach. 
 
 Hoffman. 
 
 * 
 
 OVERTURE ...“A Midsummer Night’s Dream ” Mendelssohn. 
 GRAND MARCH, from the Music to) . . T ... 
 
 Shakspere’s Play of “ King John ” ... J Au S ustus L - T ™P hn - 
 
' Graces speak that 
 which none else 
 can utter.” 
 
 Antony and 
 Cleopatra. 
 
HE Scene is Arden. Through the forest glades 
 Stray Rosalind and gentle Celia, 
 
 Their faithful fool-philosopher, and Jaques 
 Chiding the time in melancholy strain; 
 
 While ’neatli the greenwood tree the Shepherd pipes, 
 And, as they nimbly chase the dappled deer, 
 
 Ring lusty shouts of courtly foresters. 
 
 “ Wounds in¬ 
 visible love’s 
 arrows make." 
 As you like it. 
 
 Scene: THE FOREST OF ARDEN (“in Arcady”). 
 
 
 11 2 
 
 i-—“Jits You Hike It. 
 
 Characters— 
 
 ORLANDO 
 
 <5>®<=XHK=)CM=>€>G>G>€><=> 
 
 Stallbol&er— mrs. molesworth. 
 
 TRepresenteh bg- 
 
 MRS. MOLESWORTH 
 
 (Sons of Sir Rowland de Bois) 
 
 JAQUES 
 TOUCHSTONE (a Clown) 
 
 SHEPHERDS, See., Sec. 
 
 ROSALIND (Daughter to the banished Duke) 
 CELIA (Daughter to Frederick) 
 ri-ICEBE (a Shepherdess) 
 
 AUDREY (a Country Girl) 
 
 THE LADY FITZWARINE 
 CHICHESTER. 
 
 LADY CLIFFORD. 
 
 LADY LEITH BUCHANAN. 
 
 LORD FITZWARINE CHICHESTER. 
 
 C. VIVIAN, ESQ. 
 
 F. STONE, ESQ. 
 
 BROWN MARTIN, ESQ. 
 
 BAGOT MOI.ESWORTH, ESQ. 
 

 
 
 
 11 Teach children 
 
 thei 
 
 r behaviours.’ 
 
 Merry tVives. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Scene: THE GARTER INN (England). 
 
 'HE Garter Inn, with such good fare, I trow, 
 
 As might have satisfied portly Sir John, 
 
 When Royal Windsor lacked not merry wives 
 To make it mirthful, Datchet Mead can tell, 
 
 And Herne the Hunter’s oak what cheer they gave. 
 Approach ye then this ancient hostelry. 
 
 And take good comfort of mine host, and think, 
 
 With sweet remembrance, of the sweet Anne Page. 
 
 “©HE ffiERRY OIlVES OF (JJClNDSOR.” 
 
 ®<=XH><*X5>0<=>€>SX5X5>®©<=>0<*>€>®<3 , <5>®£><EX=>0<i><=>S<=>®<5>® 
 
 Stallholder— the lady brooke. 
 
 Characters: 
 
 SIR JOHN FALSTAFF 
 HOST OF THE “GARTER” 
 MISTRESS PAGE 
 MISTRESS FORD 
 ANNE PAGE 
 
 IRepresenteo bp: 
 
 THE LADY BROOKE. 
 
 MRS. EDWARD BROOKE 
 
 MISS BROOKE 
 
 MISS JUNIUS-STALLARD 
 
 MISS GERALDINE JUNIUS-STALLARD 
 
 MISS ESTELLE SMITH 
 
 S. STUART GRANT, Esq. 
 H. SHERIDAN, Esq. 
 EDWARD BROOKE, Esq. 
 
 MISTRESS QUICKLY 
 ( Servant to Dr. Cains) 
 
“ Great business 
 must be wrought 
 ere noon.’* 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 
 Scene .- THE CAVE AND CAULDRON (Scotland). 
 
 *71 LL hail! About the cauldron go, and find 
 W—| Promise more fair, and charms more powerful 
 
 _/ Than those which mocked the tyrant’s hope, and let 
 The cry be still, “you come,” ye shall not rue 
 This lady’s hospitality, nor hear 
 The King of Scotland crying “ Hold enough,” 
 
 Though all the world should come to Dunsinane, 
 
 Or seek their fortunes in the witches’ cave. 
 
 III.—“CDACBETH, 
 
 <=>€X=>e>®<=X=><EXE>€>€X=><H>€> 
 
 Stallholders —the lady Alfred Churchill 
 
 AND 
 
 LADY WINNINGTON. 
 
 
 | 
 
 IRepresenteO bg— 
 
 Characters— 
 
 1 
 
 THE LADY ALFRED CHURCHILL 
 
 LADY WINNINGTON 
 
 MISS SPENCER CHURCHILL 
 
 LADY MACBETH 
 
 1 
 
 MISS VIOLET SPENCER CHURCHILL 
 
 HECATE 
 
 1 
 
 MRS. ASHTON 
 
 TPIREE WITCHES 
 
 I 
 
 
 MACBETH 
 
 | 
 
 THE HONBLE. VICTOR SPENCER 
 
 LENNOX 
 
 | 
 
 JAMES BAILLIE, Esq., of Dockfour 
 
 ARTHUR HAY, Esq. 
 
 GERALD STREATFIELD, Esq. 
 
 GRANVILLE MILNER, Esq. 
 
Scene: A STREET (London). 
 
 ARK where the crook-back Gloster limps along 
 \ I / In the deep shadow of the jutting eaves. 
 
 Anon come joyless Margaret and Anne, 
 
 Too easy victim of a pliant tongue, 
 
 With Queen Elizabeth, from out the past, 
 
 Like the dim ghosts which haunted Richard’s sleep. 
 Their quarrel o’er, for nobler claims they strive 
 Than those of York and Lancaster. Your aid 
 Shall bid their rival roses bloom again. 
 
 xl 5 
 
 IV.—“RICHARD HI.” 
 
 Stallbolbers— mrs. aveling, mrs. a. w. edis, 
 
 MRS. FANCOURT BARNES, and MRS. WILSON. 
 
 Characters— 
 
 RICHARD (Duke of Gloucester) 
 
 ELIZABETH (Queen to King Edward IV.) 
 MARGARET (Widow of King Edward VI.) 
 
 DUCHESS OF YORK (Mother to King 
 Edward IV.) 
 
 LADY ANNE (Widow of Edward, Prince of 
 Wales, Son to King Henry VI.) 
 
 A YOUNG DAUGHTER OF CLARENCE 
 (Margaret Plantagenet) 
 
 &c., &c. 
 
 IRepresenteb b£— 
 
 MRS. AVELING 
 MRS. EDIS 
 
 MRS. FANCOURT BARNES 
 
 THE LADY MARY HAWORTH 
 
 MRS. WILSON 
 
 MISS WILSON 
 
 MISS JEFFCOCK 
 
 MISS CLARKE 
 
 MISS ALICE CLARKE 
 
 MISS DEBAC 
 
 MRS. HUNTER 
 
 MISS PORTER 
 
 MISS ROSITA PORTER 
 
 MISS LILIAN PORTER 
 
 MISS MARIE WILLIAMSON 
 
 MISS SIMPSON 
 
 MISS EDIS 
 
 $ 
 
 PHILIP JEFFCOCK, ESQ. 
 W. MAC NAY, ESQ. 
 
SCENE: CAPULET’S GARDEN (Italy). 
 
 W HO knows not fair Verona and it’s tale 
 
 Of ill-starred lovers ? If you see them here 
 With gay Mercutio and his Prince of cats, 
 V hile Juliet’s nurse sits basking by the wall 
 In amicable converse, do not dream 
 Queen Mab hath been with you. The Capulets 
 And Montagu’s have made a truce, to give 
 You welcome to their sunny Italy. 
 
 “ To be valiant 
 is to stand to it.” 
 Romeo Juliet. 
 
 v. —“ j^omeo and Juliet.” 
 
 
 Stailbolbers— mrs. graham and lady fordyce. 
 Characters: TRepresenteb bp : 
 
 ROMEO (Son to Montagu) . . . - . CAPTAIN GILES, R.A. 
 
 FRIAR LAURENCE. J- STANTON LART, ESQ. 
 
 LADY MONTAGUE.MRS. J. GRAHAM 
 
 LADY CAPULET.MRS. W. H. CROSSLAND 
 
 JULIET (Daughter to Capulet) .... MRS. LART 
 
 (LADY FORDYCE 
 
 ATTENDANTS { 
 
 (LADY WOODS 
 
| J ARD-by the battlements of Angiers frown 
 ' j j On France and England’s angry chivalry. 
 
 Here Elinor, the Dauphin, Blanch of Spain, 
 Philip, and John, with Austria’s recreant duke, 
 Hubert of England, Pandulph fresh from Rome, 
 Assume once more their mortal shapes, as when 
 Constance for Arthur sued to them in vain. 
 
 To you they offer gentler recompense, 
 
 With true effects of grace and courtesy 
 
 “England we love ; 
 and for that Eng¬ 
 land’s sake, with 
 burthen of our 
 armour, here we 
 sweat.” — King 
 Johtiy Act 2 , sc. x. 
 
 vi.— “King John." 
 
 Act 3. Scene i. 
 
 “ ‘BEFORE THE WALLS OF ANGIERS." 
 
 QUEEN ELEANOR - - - - MRS. CRATGIE. 
 
 KING JOHN - • HENRY BROWN, Esq. | CONSTANCE - - - - Mrs. TURRILl. 
 
 PHILIP(King\ MICHAELPVrWEEDIE ,E SQ . BLANCH.- Miss CROSBY 
 
 of France) -J 
 
 HUBERT DE BURGH - F. GILES, Esq. j PRINCE ARTHUR - MasterH.ALLENDER 
 
 AND 
 
 CARDINAL PANDULPH - - - CAPTAIN DAVIS. 
 
 The other Characters represented by— PI. PI. The Princess IPei.len Randhir Singh, 
 and Mesdames Blandy-Jenkins, Billing, Campion, Davis, Gilmore, 
 
 Hall, Hamilton, A. Long, M. Long, Phipson, C. Plucknett, and 
 Satterthwaite; and Messrs. C. Crosby (Arch-duke of Austria), Hamilton, 
 Hovell (Faulconbridge), PI. Satterthwaite (Lewis, the Dauphin), &C., &c., &c. 
 
 »////////////////////«W/W"/« 
 
 _ The Tableau arranged by GEORGE ELGAR HICKS, ESQ. 
 
 “ This England never did, nor never shall I ’“** ““ ™ C ’ 
 
 “ Lye at the proud foot of a conqueror. I If England to itself do . Act V., Scene 7. 
 
 “ Come the three corners o( the world in arms, 
 
t\A EA.SURE for Measure, whal ye give shall be 
 / \ The measure of due gratitude to you. 
 
 * Not Mariana shall aweary be 
 
 Of begging favour. Patient Isabel, 
 
 In this no novice, too is skilled to plead, 
 
 As erst she did before the Friar-Duke; 
 
 Then for a brother’s, now a sister’s aid, 
 
 And they have motions much import your good, 
 Should you to them a willing ear incline. 
 
 Scene: THE CITY GATE, Vienna (Austria). 
 
 “Live in thy heart 
 and tongue/’ 
 
 Measjtre for 
 Measure. 
 
 118 
 
 V 
 
 VII.—“MEASURE FOR ihEASURE.” 
 
 ®€><=><=><=><=><5t©€><=H=>€>€><E>€>€><=>®€> 
 
 Stallbolher—' the baroness von bissing. 
 
 © 
 
 Characters— 
 
 VINCENTIO (the Duke) 
 ANGELO (Deputy) 
 
 CLAUDIO (young gentleman) 
 LUCIO (a fantastic) 
 
 ISABELLA (sister to Claudio) 
 MARIANA (betrothed to Angelo) 
 JULIET (beloved of Claudio) 
 FRANCISCA (a nun) 
 
 &c., &c. 
 
 IRepresenteh bg— 
 
 THE BARONESS VON BISSING 
 MRS. GRIMSHAW 
 MRS. KINCHANT 
 MISS LEYLAND 
 MISS WOODWARD 
 MISS SNELGROVE 
 MISS MACNAMARA 
 &c., &c. 
 
 THE BARON VON BISSING 
 SIR DUNCAN CAMPBELL, BART. 
 VERNON SHAW KENNEDY, ESQ. 
 LIONEL TROWER, ESQ. 
 
 SIDNEY SNELGROVE, ESQ. 
 
 T. BOURKE ARMITAGE, ESQ. 
 
 F. W. SCHWAGER, ESQ. 
 
 A. GRAVES, ESQ. 
 
(*) 
 
 M 
 
 “ She was as ten¬ 
 der as infancy.” 
 Winter s Tale. 
 
 
 rDS 
 
 
 
 ZT 
 
 SCENE: ATRIUM IN PAULINA’S HOUSE. 
 
 1 ERE is an art which does mend nature, but 
 [ J The art itself is nature. To the words 
 fa Paulina breathes, which bid the stone descend, 
 Add yours of welcome, lest Hermione, 
 
 Despite her spell, remain a statue still, 
 
 And Perdita, without your suffrages, 
 
 Be lost indeed. A brace of kings await 
 Your countenance, and rogue Autolycus 
 Would fain be plying his accustomed trade. 
 
 119 
 
 VIII—“CECINTER'S ©ALE.” 
 
 <sX=XS><r><EXE>©©"G><sMH>G><=><HM=XEXE>© 
 
 Stallholder— mrs. coghlan mc.hardy. 
 
 Characters: 
 
 IRepresented bg: 
 
 LEONTES (King of Sicilia) .... 
 POLIXENES (King of Bohemia) . 
 
 FLORIZEL (his Son). 
 
 GILBART SMITH, ESQ. 
 
 AUTOLYCUS (a Rogue) .... 
 
 ALFRED THOMPSON, ESQ. 
 
 HERMIONE (Queen to Leontes) . 
 
 MRS. COGHLAN MC.HARDY 
 
 PERDITA (Daughter to Leontes dr* Hermione) 
 
 MISS MC.HARDY 
 
 PAULINA (Wife to Antigonus) . 
 
 MRS. FINCH NOYES 
 
 EMILIA (a Lady). 
 
 MISS MARTIN 
 
 PAGES (attending Hermione) 
 
 ( MISS BELL 
 
 | MISS LILIAN MC.HARDY 
 
 MOPSA - - - 
 
 MISS PATTON-BETHUNE 
 
 DORCAS 
 
 MISS SYBIL JOHNS 
 
 SHEPHERDESS - - 
 
 MISS E. BOEHM 
 
 SHEPHERDESS 
 
 MISS KUHLING 
 
Scene: IN THE GRAND SQUARE OF ST. MARK. Venice 
 
 (Italy). 
 
 1 7 OR a good cause what abler advocates 
 | Than Lady Portia and her lawyer’s clerk, 
 With Jessica, the daughter of the Jew ? 
 What casket could contain treasure more rare 
 Than doth this ancient city of the sea, 
 
 These brides of Venice ? If they had such power 
 To tame the stubborn Shylock, and subdue, 
 
 With ready wit, Bassanio and his friends, 
 
 ’Tis like they equally prevail with you. 
 
 “fflHE MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Stallholders— mrs. Frederick cox and 
 
 LADY AUCKLAND. 
 
 Characters: 
 
 PORTIA .... 
 NERISSA .... 
 JESSICA .... 
 ist VENETIAN LADY 
 2 nd VENETIAN LADY 
 3 rd VENETIAN LADY . 
 
 4 th VENETIAN LADY . 
 
 A VENETIAN ATTENDANT 
 ANTONIO 
 
 BASSANIO .... 
 GRATIANO 
 
 SALANIO .... 
 SALLARINO ... 
 LORENZO .... 
 SHYLOCK 
 
 A JESTER .... 
 
 IRepresented bp: 
 
 MISS COX. 
 
 MISS MABEL COX. 
 
 MISS ISABEL LANGLEY. 
 
 LADY AUCKLAND. 
 
 MRS. ST. AUBYN PLAYER. 
 
 THE HON. DULCIBELLA EDEN. 
 MISS BEATRICE HAMMERSLEY. 
 MISS MABEL HAMMERSLEY. 
 ALBERT STOPFORD, ESQ. 
 REGINALD COX, ESQ. 
 
 G. LE MARCHANT, ESQ. 
 HORACE COX, ESQ. 
 
 PHILIP COXE, ESQ. 
 
 W. LESLIE, ESQ. 
 
 E. BROCKLEHURST, ESQ. 
 ALGERNON COX, ESQ. 
 
<{ Confess your¬ 
 self to Heaven.” 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Scene: THE BATTLEMENTS, Elsinore (Denmark). 
 
 I N customary suit of solemn black, 
 
 The Prince of Denmark claims your homage here ; 
 For this, that in our English blood is still 
 Some smack of Danish, and his history 
 Touches our own. For fair Ophelia, 
 
 Sweets to the sweet were merely courtesy ; 
 
 A queen did give no less—ye should give more. 
 
 Be ye remembered in her orisons, 
 
 And earn her thanks for timely help to those 
 Who, in this harsh world, draw their breath in pain. 
 
 121 
 
 X.—“ bamlet.” 
 
 
 —MISS HORNSBY. 
 
 Stallbolber- 
 Cbaracters: 
 
 CLAUDIUS (King of Denmark) 
 HAMLET (Nephew to Claudius) 
 HORATIO (Friend to Hamlet) 
 POLONIUS (Lord Chamberlain) 
 GERTRUDE (Queen of Denmark) . 
 OPHELIA (Daughter to Polonius) . 
 PLAY QUEEN . . . . 
 
 LADIES OF THE COURT . 
 
 IRepresenteb bs: 
 
 H. GODFREY, Esq. 
 
 C. STEUART, Esq. 
 
 B. ROBERTSON, Esq. 
 
 H. MELVILLE SIMMONS, Esq. 
 
 MRS. HENRY 
 
 MISS HORNSBY 
 
 MISS KATE PHILLIPS 
 
 /THE LADY ANNE SHERSON 
 MADAME GOSCII 
 - MISS ROBERTSON 
 MISS SHERSON 
 
 '•MISS VIOLET DUNN GARDNER 
 

 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 -. 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 
 “ Look, what 
 will serve, is 
 fit.” 
 
 Much Ado. 
 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 
 SCENE: LEONATO’S GARDEN (Sicily). 
 
 VI GARDEN in Messina, where, beneath 
 ^-f—\ Fair honeysuckles, ripened by the sun, 
 
 I I Turk Hejo, Margaret, and Ursula, 
 qJ With Lady Beatrice (once their victim, now 
 Fellow conspirator), on plots intent, 
 
 Framing a thousand pretty stratagems 
 With which t’ensnare unwary Benedicks; 
 
 For, be assured, that this, their Much Ado, 
 
 Is not for nothing, but for comfort sweet 
 To those in need of comfort, and your help, 
 
 As are sweet-seasoned showers to the ground. 
 
 122 
 
 “XI—fflUCH jECDO ABOUT I^OTHING.” 
 
 <=K=K=H=K=H=><E>€>€>e><E>e>€> 
 
 Stallbotoer— mrs. 
 
 J. S. WOOD. ! 
 
 Characters— 
 
 IRepresentefc b£— 
 
 HERO ....... 
 
 MRS. J. S. WOOD 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 MRS. CHAS. T. BURNETT 
 
 MARGARET. 
 
 MISS BURNETT 
 
 URSULA . 
 
 MISS ASHBY 
 
 GENTLEWOMEN ATTENDANTS . 
 
 l MISS ALICE SHERIDAN 
 ( MISS EMBLING SCOTT 
 
 BENEDICK. 
 
 CHAS. T. BURNETT, ESQ. 
 
 CLAUDIO. 
 
 RUPERT SCOTT, ESQ. 
 
 LEONATO . 
 
 THOS. SIMPSON, ESQ. 
 
| €}XTRA * SHOWS. 
 
 Cffe stir 
 
 Lady DUKE 
 
 Miss DUKE 
 
 Miss ALICE REED 
 
 of tffe Slioto: 
 
 Miss ADELAIDE DUKE 
 
 HORACE JOHNSON, Esq. 
 
 CHAS. BERESFORD, Esq. 
 
 2Xn 2lngte in 
 
 Mrs. PORTER 
 
 Miss LETHBRIDGE 
 
 Miss A. LETHBRIDGE 
 
 Miss Me CALL 
 
 tfye 2It>on: 
 
 Miss JANET BYRD Mc.CALL 
 
 Chevalier De RIECHEL 
 
 CHAS. HARE, Esq. 
 
 Captain J. E. BAZLEY. ; 
 
 ^1 -Me j3bow=CBoo 
 
 I Y* HE following Ladies, attired in the Costume of a Serving i 
 
 P V0 SHO W-BOOK, under the direction of GEO. A. WATSON, E 
 
 -1 Black and Gold Pianoforte , by Messrs. Collard and Collard, and r l 
 
 %, Board, Mrs. E. H. * Dawson, Miss 
 
 Cellini, Miss Ada * Debac, Miss Edith 
 
 Cooper, Miss ♦ Impey, Mrs. Hastings 
 
 Cooper, Miss Constance • Jellibrand, Miss Edith 
 
 ft + {Sellers. *-<- 
 
 Laid of Shaksfeare’s time, will de 
 sq. They will also sell the Book of I 
 r ickets for the various Entertainments 
 
 King, Miss 
 
 Molesworth, Hon. Miss 
 Oppenheim, Miss Annie 
 Oppenheim, Miss Rosetta 
 
 vote themselves to selling the 
 tables, and Raffle Tickets for the 
 
 Watney, Mrs. 
 
 Watson, Miss Einie 
 
 Yeeles, Miss 
 
 Yeeles, Miss Lena 
 
 | £affle Office. 
 
 ( F. W. MACAN, Esq. 
 
 ■1 Under the Management of < „ „ 
 
 * S ( G. F. POSTLETHWAITE, Esq. 
 
 All the Raffles will be conducted at this Office, and the Names of Winners posted up. 
 
 parcels Office. 
 
 For the convenience of Visitors Parcels will be 
 taken care of at 2d. each . 
 
 m 
 
 IVi#9§V 
 
 I Cleopatra. 
 
 Immmmmrnmmf 
 
TOO 
 
 124 
 
 \!/ 
 
 /l\ 
 
 \<d 
 
 • • 
 
 End. )!\ 
 
 T HESE our actors, as I foretold you, 
 
 Are melted into air—into thin air; 
 
 And, like the baseless fabric of this 'Vision, 
 The cloud-cap t Towers, the gorgeous Talaces, 
 
 The solemn Temples, the great Globe itself, 
 
 Yea, all which it inherit shall dissolve: 
 
 And, like this insubstantial Tageant faded, 
 
 Leave not a rack behind 
 
 TEcMEEST.