The Drama of Yesterday and Today

Front matter

hap Crrag | g go oe } at

VMN

THE DRAMA OF YESTERDAY oe eee fh?

Preface

In attempting to blend in these pages the outlines of the history of the stage for the last fifty years with personal reminiscences, I have endeavoured, to the best of my ability, to avoid anything that might be described as “ acrimonious controversy.’

But, be it history or reminiscence, it was impossible to discard strong reference to what I venture to call “the politics of the drama.” The story of the stage and its brilliantly successful career, step by step, could not be told without insisting on the proved value of free trade in dramatic art, and a wholesome independence in dramatic criticism.

I shall be content, however, if it be acknowledged that no animosity has soiled the record of the past, and that I at least have remembered and tried to recall old scenes, old associations, old friendships, and celebrated players, with all the delightful and happy memories connected with them.

The drama of the Victorian era is without a doubt a most interesting, varied, and most exhaustive study.

viii PREFACE

In it we travel from the time of the patent theatres, special monopolies and protectionist privileges, all supposed to have been instituted in the interests of art, but which unquestionably retarded its progress, to the heroic and heart-breaking struggle for better things at Covent Garden, Drury Lane, and elsewhere with which must be ever connected the honoured name of William Charles Macready.

Luckily for the earnest playgoer, the Shakesperean student, and the enthusiast for the time-honoured classics of the stage, the mantle of Macready, which fell all too soon from his sturdy shoulders, was modestly assumed by his brave and faithful lieutenant, Samuel Phelps, one of the great actors of the century whose noble work at Sadler’s Wells can never be forgotten, and must ever be recorded in his eternal honour.

Loyal rivals and honourable opponents bringing with them the stress and storm and battle-cry of competition have never done the slightest harm to the stage; on the contrary, they have stimulated endeavour and strengthened enterprise. Such rivals were Samuel Phelps, the tough old warrior, and Charles Kean, the scholar, student, and archeologist. Each had his admirers ; each camp was filled with brave defenders of the dramatic faith. But it must never be forgotten that both these devoted soldiers and excellent actors, particularly where comedy was concerned, struggled on without the sheltering assistance of free trade.

A time must come, as has been proved again and again in the history of the drama, when the stage is,

PREFACE 1x comparatively speaking, without a leader. Macready _ had but one able successor, Samuel Phelps. Charles Kean left behind him only a blank, and then ensued an interlude not very creditable or encouraging to any of us. But this regretted period of untidiness, squalor, want of originality, of French translations and comparative despair, was not wholly wasted in that the battle for free trade in dramatic art, after a desperate struggle, was fought and won, I trust for ever, and a path was cleared for those brilliant reactionaries, the Bancrofts, and the human, English school of Robertson.

It was all advance now; foreign art and methods were carefully studied to the advantage of our own; artists from every nation in the world were made welcome in England to the delight of all devoted admirers of the comprehensive drama and art universal.

It was only the strong leader, the student of the new school, the diplomatic reformer, the man of tact, and taste, and influence, and popularity, who was wanted. That man was discovered in Henry Irving, who was at once elected unanimously to the vacant throne.

If, remembering with deep gratitude the drama of yesterday and loving the drama of my own day, | pause here, I do so, believe me, with no feelings of anxiety or lassitude, with no sense of depression or despair. I hope I have proved in these pages that I am no mere “ laudator temporis acti,” as most old playgoers live to be. I trust that my close study of old actors and actresses has enabled me by comparison to give fresh encouragement to the brilliant artist of x PREFACE to-day of whatever age, rank, or station. My love for the dramatic art, new or old, is only equalled by the comprehensive passion of a Juliet :

“¢ My-bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more 1 give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite !”

Still, it is impossible to study such an art without being convinced that it must be in a measure the reflection of the age in which we live, of the temper of the times, and of society as it exists. We are living to-day in a period of transition, in a time when customs are changed, when manners are not so formal, when faith is not so pronounced or alluring, and when the | love of what is beautiful, and ennobling, and true, is not so absolute in the hearts of men and women. The stage, with its searching mirror, cannot afford to neglect the study of these things. And the stage has done it with uncompromising severity at the close of this remarkable century.

The Ibsen reaction, with its unloveliness, its want of faith ; its hopeless, despairing, creed ; its worship of the ugly in art; its grim and repulsive reality, regret it as we will, is a solemn and resistless fact. At the outset, some of us, conscientiously and in the interests of the art we loved and had followed with such persistency, tried to laugh it out of court. But the time came when the laugh was on the other side. I own it; I admit it.

We may ascribe it to the change of tone and thought at our public schools and universities, to our godless

PREFACE x1 method of education, to the comparative failure of religion as an influence, to this, that, or the other. But there it is. We cannot get away from it. Society has accepted the satire, and our dramatists of the first class have one after the other broken away from the beautiful, the helpful, and the ideal, and coquetted with the distorted, the tainted, and the poisonous in life. Any appeal to them in the name of art is vain. According to their utilitarian creed, all must be good that pays: and so for the moment our theatres are crowded to excess to see ‘‘snap-shot society dramas” with their pronounced vulgarity, their hideous presentments of men and women, and their cheap satire.

Arguing by analogy, these things cannot last. They are temporary, trivial, and evasive. They are the outcome of a certain phase of civilisation and a period of profound peace and want of action. A national disaster, a war of right and justice, a hideous crime such as has recently been committed in another country which has provoked the magnificent denunciation of the civilised world, bids us all who love the drama to “thank God and take courage.” Deep hidden somewhere under all this superficiality and artificiality will be found the human heart. It may be weak and feeble, but it beats on still. Human nature has been, must be, and will ever be the pulse, the power, and the life-beat of the drama in the land of Wilham Shakespeare.

In conclusion, I have to thank most sincerely Mr. H. Walter Barnett, Mons. Adolphe Beau, all the popular xii PREFACE photographic artists, and others possessing legal copyright, for their kind permission to illustrate my story by pen and pencil, without which favour the book must have lost a most interesting feature.

But my best thanks must be reserved for my old friend, Austin Brereton, associated with me in past, but never forgotten, days of the ‘‘ Theatre Magazine,’ who has given me the fruits of his wide experience and accurate mind in revising the proof sheets of this book ; and has compiled for me its exhaustive index, which I trust will be of great value to students of the present and the future who are and will be as devoted as we are to the art we both admire and love!

CLEMENT Scort.

6th October, 1899,

Chapter I ‘(the Early Forties’ —‘‘ Merrie Islington ” Chapter Iit

‘CmHE EARLY FORTIES”—PLAYS AND ACTORS. .....

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

‘© SADLER’S WELLS AND SAMUEL PHELPS” .......

CHAPTER VI

‘¢ SAMUEL’ PHELPS—A FREE LANCE” ........

PAGE xiv CONTENTS

CHAPTER VII

‘(MHE EARLY STRUGGLE OF CHARLES KEAN -

CHAPTER VIII

‘6H SUCCESS OF CHARLES KEAN ”

CHAPTER IX ‘(THE FAREWELL OF CHARLES KEAN”

CHAPTER X

‘“ BOHEMIA IN DAYS OF OLD”

ee ae) Te ms ua 8

‘CTHE DECADENT DRAMA” ,

CHAPTER XII ‘““HOW I BECAME A DRAMATIC CRITIC” . . , CHAPTER XIII ‘CHARLY DAYS AS A DRAMATIC ORITIO” . . . CHAPTER XIV

“THE DAWN OF THE RENAISSANCE”

@) Leieer ge

PAGE

CONTENTS XV

CHAPTER XV

PAGE

tne SUCCESS OR TOM ROBERTSON(-. 0 © » 6 2 ss 6 wes 492 CHAPTER XVI

POR OTIMR STHP UP THE, LADDER’ . 9. 2 . «6 0. 4 ¢ s 8 «we 532

CHAPTER XVII

‘‘THE REIGN OF THE BANCROFTS ”

nyvz Poeyt i a

Py oats if

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

SSEMENTESCOPT s (st & s,s . at. > Lrontismece

ROBSON AND HORACE WIGAN. GEO. BELMORE (‘‘The Deal Boatman”). Ropson (‘‘Chimney Corner”). FECHTER ANDEWonLAO (me “Ray Blas ye 2 5 3 4).

_ J. L. TOOLE (‘‘ Dinorah under Difficulties”). LIONEL BROUGH.

WALTER LACY. HARRY MONTAGUE ......

LOUISE KEELEY. BOB KEELEY. MR. AND MRS. KEELEY JOHN OXENFORD (Oritic of The Times). H. J. BYRON. J. PAL- MRA ERS ISOPS ON ao iccts) ft. ce) tol (le eee gee ais

MRS. DION BOUCICAULT. DION BOUCICAULT. MISS HERBERT (‘‘Isle of St. Tropez”). atrrep wigan (‘‘Isle of St.

CHARLES MATHEWS (in his entertainment at the Bijou Theatre, Haymarket). .....

SAMUEL PHELPS, OF SADLER’S WELIS ..... .

MARIE LITTON. ADA CAVENDISH. MISS HEATH (Mrs. Wilson Barrett). PATTIE OLIVER .

J. L. TOOLE (Caleb Plummer). BUCKSTONE .

CHARLES KEAN (Richard the Second). .......-

CHARLES KEAN (Louis the Eleventh). waureR Lacy (John of Gaunt, ‘‘ Richard the Second”). . .

CHARLES KEAN AND ELLEN TERRY (Leontos, Mamillius— ‘‘Winter’s Tale ”’)

Lyp14 Foote (‘‘ Ticket of Leave Man”). MISS BUFTON. MRS. SCOTT SIDDONS. Lyps1£A THOMPSON (‘‘Middy Ashore ”).

MARIE WILTON (‘‘ Myles-na-Coppaleen ”’)

VOL, I

PAGE

To face 36

9 62 29 ” 76

» 9 86

,. 282 xvill LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS |

PAGE PAUL BEDFORD. GEO. BELMORE. TOOLE, MATHEWS, AND PHELPS. TOOLE AND BEDFORD. ......... . .10 face 359 BE. A. SOTHERN. JOSEPH JEFFERSON. ...... =. +... + 95 99 OF EDWARD ASKEW SOTHERN (as Lord Dundreary in ‘‘ Our American Cousin’)... 5 <a. 6. byte set ee Sane ett ADELATDE NEILSON' , .u ..5h) Acca) tree oe ea) Ceeeetny Si ce FECHTER (Hamlet, Iago, Robert Macaire, Ruy Blas) .... ,, ,, 460 KATE TERRY. ELLEN TERRY. KATE TERRY ........ 4, 5, 404 STELLA COLAS. LYDIA THOMPSON (‘‘I couldn’t help it.” By John Oxenford). mrs. BANCROFT (as Lady Teazle). . . ,, ,, 482 NELLY FARREN. MRS. CHARLES MATHEWS. 4H. NEVILLE (‘*Ticket of Leave Man”). MR. AND MRS. MATHEWS .. ,, ,, 528

GEORGE VINING. HENRY COMPTON. F. ROBSON. SAM EMERY (**Bel:- Demonia”), .o.5 , ib. <. 6 © eta cicoe alee

THE DRAMA OF YESTERDAY

=

THE DRAMA OF YESTERDAY

CHAPTER I ‘‘ THE EARLY FORTIES ”

“ Look here upon this picture, and on this.”

The 6th of October, 1841!

And now behold the closing hours of a century that has, without a doubt, done more for the elevation of dramatic art, the dignity of the theatre, the social position of the actor and actress, and the upholding of the doctrine of free trade, where amusements of the people are concerned, than any century that has preceded it. We, who love the drama, the dramatists, the players, the very atmosphere of the playhouse,—we, who have spent a lifetime in the service of an art, once fallen from its niche in the temple of the beautiful, the pure, and the true—but now happily restored—we, who have been in the forefront of many a battle, fought in a good cause, and luckily, as it has turned out, a successful one, —have excellent reason to be proud of the Victorian Era of dramatic art.

Why then do I choose this exact date in 1841 that I have already quoted? Was it that it precedes by a very few weeks the date of the birth of that eminent patron

VOL. I B of the theatre, that cordial, genial and irrepressible playgoer, that best friend to the “poor player,” who ever welcomed, recognised and assisted his art; that august personage with the faultless memory, who has seen every great actor and actress, from William Charles Macready to Henry Irving, that patron of the play in the highest, noblest, and least submissive sense, his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales ?

Was it that, about this time, were produced in London close upon sixty years ago, two plays that have, in spite of the buffets of time, and change, and circumstance, remained stage classics to this hour ; thereby upholding my contention, that a good play with heart and life and humour in it, never failed, and never will fail, except through the fault of its interpreters? I allude, of course, to Bulwer Lytton’s ‘ Money,” presented at the Haymarket Theatre on the 8th of December, 1840, and to Dion Boucicault’s ‘‘ London Assurance,” which first flashed into notice on the 4th of March, 1841, and started into life one of the brightest and most workmanlike dramatists of our time, who, in addition to his remarkable technical skill as a playwright, proved himself to be an Irish comedian almost without a rival, as all acknowledge who have known Tyrone Power and his predecessors. As a matter of fact, though it is not generally known, the first piece written by Dion Boucicault, under the nom de plume of Lee Morton, was a drama in four acts produced at the Brighton Theatre, October 1, 1834, entitled “A Legend of the Devil’s Dyke,” in which he acted, and, as it is reported, made a dreadful failure as Teddy Rodent, a low comedy rateatcher !

I have heard these famous plays, born when I was born, stage classics to this hour, called old fashioned, out of date, and sneered at as the kind of stage work that should be kindly forgotten and forgiven. But with a Marie Bancroft or Mrs. John Wood for Lady Franklin; with a John §.

Clarke, George Honey, or Arthur Cecil for Graves; a Coghlan or Forbes Robertson for Alfred Evelyn; a John Hare for Sir John Vesey; a Kate Rorke or Lena Ashwell for Clara Douglas; a Squire Bancroft for Sir Frederick Blount; and a David James for Stout ; the old and despised “ Money” would be as popular to-day as yesterday.

Do you think that “ London Assurance” would fail with a Farren for a Sir Harcourt Courtley, a Charles Mathews for Dazzle, and a Nisbett for Lady Gay ? Perish the thought !

Why, then, the 6th of October, 18412 Well, as I am anxious to tell my story my own way, and with the light of my own experience,—as I desire to give a general survey of the dramatic scene as it has passed before my eyes as a stage-struck lad, an enthusiastic pittite, a very serious amateur, and a possibly too earnest critic,—I naturally begin at my own beginning. This date has a peculiar and personal interest to me ; for on Wednesday, the 6th of October, 1841, I was born.

It may be interesting, in order to make a start, to give a kind of universal investigation of the dramatic field, a bird’s-eye view of London, its playhouses and its players, on that particular date in the early forties when I opened my eyes in Christ Church Parsonage, New North Road, Hoxton, then surrounded by fields, market gardens, and hedges of may and hawthorn ; in the immediate neighbourhood of Canonbury, in whose square lived Samuel Phelps; and close to pretty Highbury, Islington, Hackney, and Dalston, to whose suburban retreats, tea-gardens, bowling-greens, and skittle-alleys the citizens of London repaired with genuine pleasure and delight :

B 2 the old people to talk of the glorious past over their churchwarden pipes and mugs of ale; the young folk, to make love and drink weak “tea in the arbour.”

It has often been urged, with placid and defiant indifference to fact, and, if not deliberately stated, at least ingenuously suggested in the interests of the favourites of the hour, that literature and the drama were never synonymous terms until a very recent period ; and that the art of acting in this country is an absolutely modern product, sown probably, but indefinitely, by steady old Paul, but watered by young and self-advertising Apollos.

Now let us come to “cues,” as the actors say. The close of the Victorian Era sparkles with fiction—let us condescend to facts. Two days before I was born, viz.,— on Monday, the 4th of October, 1841, Macready, who had scored a genuine success as Alfred Evelyn in “ Money ” —in fact he played it at the Haymarket that very night—announced that Drury Lane would reopen under his management on the 27th of December, 1841, after all arrangements were satisfactorily completed. He declared his aim to be the task of ‘ advancing the Drama as a Branch of National Literature and Art,” and the early production of the plays of Shakespeare unaltered, un-Colley Cibberized, unadulterated, and with the original text.

This is nothing more nor less than the aim of the student managers of to-day, be they Irvings, Trees, or Alexanders. They were doing it sixty years ago.

We frequently applaud the pupils: but do not let us forget the pioneers. The strenuous efforts of a Macready, a Phelps, and a Charles Kean are often forgotten in an age of self-advertisement, wherein certain excellent, ambitious, and right-minded actor managers gain credit for originating and laying down a new plan of action;

whereas in reality they sometimes follow in the actual footsteps of their predecessors and with the self-same ambition produce the self-same plays, Shakespearean or otherwise, in precisely the self-same order ; but with this difference—the modern manager is assisted by the aid of modern science, modern mechanism, modern luxury, modern scenic appliance and modern dress. Thus their

CHRIST CHURCH PARSONAGE, NEW NORTH ROAD, HOXTON. Birthplace of Clement Scott, October 6th, 1841, fame is trumpeted forth as masters of art; but in many cases they are merely disciples, worthily following those who have preceded them.

As regards the advantages possessed by modern managers in producing plays, how few know—and of those who know how many have forgotten—that candles were used to light the Haymarket Theatre as late as the year 1843, the terms of the then lease prohibiting the introduction of gas. I learned this from Walter Lacy, and it was confirmed by the veteran and excellent actor Henry Howe, who in the year 1880 sent me a bill of the Haymarket Theatre, dated Friday, the 28th of April, 1843, which settles two important questions as to the use of gas, and the other modern innovation of orchestra stalls, an improvement that was cordially detested by Charles Mathews, who never ceased to inveigh against the chattering and ogling that they encouraged.

This is what the old Haymarket bill says :

“During the recess the theatre has undergone extensive alterations, the proscenium has been entirely remodelled, and the whole of the interior redecorated in the most costly and elegant style. By a curtailment of a useless portion of the stage or front of the curtain, and — advancing the orchestra and lights nearer the actors and scenic effects, the lessee, Mr. Benjamin Webster, has been enabled to appropriate the portion so obtained to form a certain number of orchestra stalls which can be retained for the parties taking them the whole of the evening. Hor the comfort of those visiting the pit, backs have been placed to all the seats. Among the most important improvements is the introduction for the first time of gas as the medium of light. A brilliant centre chandelier has been erected, and no expense spared to render this establishment deserving its high character, and the support of the patrons of the drama,” |

On that evening the “School for Scandal” was played, with old Farren as Sir Peter. In the cast were Strickland, Brindal, Tom Stuart, Charles Mathews, Madame Vestris, and Mrs. Glover. This was followed by “ Patter versus Clatter,’ in which Charles Mathews appeared ; and “The Bashful Irishman,” with Henry

Howe as Captain Pester, the part of Terence O’Gallagher falling to Mr. Leonard, the substitute for Tyrone Power, father of my good friend Harold Power, who had left for America, and, alas, never returned, having been drowned at sea in the President. The story of Tyrone Power's death was well told by his friend Paul Bedford.

“ After the completion of his second tour of the States, which had resulted far more profitably than the former one, he was on the eve of departure for the home country, having taken his berth aboard a fast-going clipper ship, the same craft that had brought him safely from old Albion; ‘but,’ as the poet observes, ‘there is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune’; and my friend had experienced that prediction to the full: but what a sad reverse of fortune the ebb of that same tide brought with it, as the following incident will demonstrate. At that same period the celebrated and world-renowned President steamer was on the eve of departure. Power accompanied a friend to the office who was anxious to secure a berth for the voyage, but was disappointed, for every available space had been disposed of. My friend Power, in overhauling the log-book of passengers, discovered the name of Lord Fitzroy Lennox, whose sire was the late Duke of Richmond, and the intimate friend and patron of the Doomed Irish Boy, Rory O’More, who inquired of the official at the booking-oftice if there would be any chance of one of the secured berths being given up? ‘The reply was in the negative; at which information my friend was greatly disappointed ; but an event occurred on his way from the office that put him in tip-top spirits. Good fortune threw in his path Mr. Joseph Wood, who, in

8 THE DRAMA OF YESTERDAY CHAP. iT RO TR OR a IO 2 conjunction with his wife, née the celebrated Miss Paton, had just completed a most profitable operatic tour of the States. Power said, ‘Joe, my dear fellow, I see by the log-book of the President that you nave secured a berth aboard that noble craft.’ ‘I have, replied Joseph ; ‘and I wish I could find any one that would take it off my hands.’ ‘I will,’ said Power, ‘and thank you for the bargain.’ He at the same time told Joseph that he had secured a first-rate cabin aboard a sailing ship, and, if agreeable, they would exchange quarters. The proposition was joyfully accepted by both. They shook the hands of friendship for the last time, wishing each other a prosperous voyage, and parted : little did they imagine, at the separation, that their eyes were never again destined to gaze on each other’s manly form; alas, such is the mutability of human affairs. But, gentle reader, no doubt you will wonder at the change of sentiment that came o'er my operatic friend Wood. He considered that it would not be agreeable to his wife to be associated with a branch of that noble family with one of whose members she had formed her first matrimonial alliance, and who was uncle to the lost and lamented young lord who met the fate of all the dear souls that voyaged in that monster ship.”

Tyrone Power’s last appearance on the stage was on the 9th of March, 1841, at the Park Theatre, New York, as Gerald Pepper, in S. Lover’s drama, “The White Horse of the Pepper’s” and Morgan Rattler in his own farce, ‘How to Pay the Rent.” The President steamed from New York, on the 21st of March, 1841, and was last seen on the 24th labouring against heavy rolling seas, but was never heard of afterwards. There were 109 persons on board.

I may later on discuss the value of orchestra stalls at half a guinea each with their well-dressed, occasionally talkative, and frequently inanimate occupants, as against the good old pit, full of fire and enthusiasm, which, in many theatres in my early days of playgoing, reached right up to the orchestra. Charles Mathews, as I have already said, and other actors, never wearied of telling me how they loved to play to the pit, how the listlessness of the stalls continually distracted them, or how one talkative couple was able to disturb and unnerve a sensitive artist.

Theatrical tradition dies hard ; it must have remained longer than elsewhere at the Haymarket Theatre in the consulship of Benjamin Webster and John Baldwin Buckstone. As we have seen, it was in Webster’s day when the “candle snuffer” disappeared, and gas brightened the dear old oblong theatre, where, as late as 1860, the critics and the most favoured patrons were always accommodated in the front row of the dress circle, and this, after all, is the best possible place from which any play can be seen. I myself like to look across or to look down—not to look up—at the spectacle and the scene.

But it was at the Haymarket, in the days of Buckstone, and, indeed, later even than that, that there might have been seen the old courteous ceremonial of welcoming Royalty by the manager, scrupulously attired in evening dress and white kid gloves, bearing in either hand a lighted wax candle, and walking backwards, occasionally with some difficulty, to the Royal box. Thus her Majesty, the Prince Consort—at one time a devoted playgoer—and the Royal children—were always ushered into the theatre; and at no playhouse was this custom more religiously observed than at the little theatre in the Haymarket, which has ever been, and still remains, one of the most popular houses in London, and, I may add, the best theatrical property.

But all this time you will be wondering what plays were performed in London on this much-insisted date, the 6th of October, 1841, my very first of the forties. What are they doing at the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden—the last old Covent Garden Theatre, remember —that was burned down, well, within memory, after a fancy ball inaugurated by Professor Anderson, a wizard, a juggler, an amateur actor, and one of the showlest advertisers of the time, a kind of baby Barnum lke E. T. Smith, but one who had no association with art in any respect whatever ?

Yes, Covent Garden fell, when I was old enough to - understand what the destruction of an historic playhouse meant, and I was amongst the visitors on the opening night of its successor, the present Covent Garden Opera House, in the days of Louisa Pyne and William Harrison, father of our clever poet and reciter, Clifford Harrison. I also saw Her Majesty’s Theatre—then the Opera House in the Haymarket—burned to the ground, the grand house identified with Lumley, the impresario, distinguished for its splendid auditorium of a horseshoe shape, and the celebrated amber satin curtains, and the centre avenue of ‘‘ Fops’ Alley,” as it was called, the theatre where my dear mother was nearly crushed to death witnessing the début of Jenny Lind ; the theatre which is charged with delightful memories of Piccolomini in “La Fille du Régiment ;” and that exquisite tenor, Giuglini, who, if ever man did, “sang like an angel”; and the majestic Titiens, for whose Leonora in “Fidelio” I poured out all the half-crowns I could find for a gallery seat.

Now here is a surprising fact! Of all the theatres in

I “THE EARLY FORTIES” II existence when I was born, how many do you think are still standing, comparatively unchanged and unaltered ? Only three! The Theatre Royal, Drury Lane; the Lyceum Theatre ; and the Marylebone Theatre. Every other playhouse has been reconstructed, altered, patched, improved, destroyed, deserted, or burned to the ground. I saw the last Surrey Theatre disappear in flames from the windows of the Arundel Club, in Salisbury Street, Strand. Fire and the necessary mania for rebuilding have played havoc with the London theatres of the early forties.

Let us get back to Covent Garden in 1841. They are playing a drama written by Mark Lemon, called “ Vanity, or What will the World Say?” a title that was accidentally reproduced in this year of 1899 by Mr. George Pleydell Bancroft, the youngest of our dramatists, and son of a highly gifted mother and father, who have had so much to do with the brilliant success of the modern theatre, and the social status of the modern actor.

At Covent Garden, just when I opened my eyes in this wonderful world, | might have seen in one cast Charles Mathews, and old Farren, Mrs. Glover, Mrs. Orger, and Mrs. Humby—lI dare not repeat the Listonian jingle—and Diddear, and James Vining, and dear old Granby, who migrated to the Theatre Royal, Dublin, where he was an enormous favourite, as recently as the era of Johnny Toole.

Such experienced actors as old Granby taught the youngsters how to act, and he was one of the very finest specimens of the old stock companies that could be readily quoted to-day. He was an actor and an artist who went to the provinces with his acquired experience, and who remained there to aid his more youthful and weaker brethren. That was the real school of acting, when novices, and fledglings who could not fly were taken in hand by rare actors like old Granby. There was no nonsense or affectation in those days. The public might have been exacting, but it knew what was good. A merely pretty face, or a photographer's model, or a society schoolgirl, would not have done for the playgoers of the early forties. Actors and actresses in those unjustly abused times were bound to know how to speak, how to elocute, how to deliver their sentences, how to move, how to fence, how to dance, and how to carry their talents over the footlights. They had no society to help them, to take them up, or to spoil them. They were hardworking people, artists if they succeeded - —never amateurs.