Joseph Jefferson

Charles Lamb, in an essay on some old actors, remarks that the casual sight of on old playbill which he had picked up brought back such a flood of memories that he was constrained to 'write them up.' Lamb says : 'These old remembrances makes us feel how we once used to read a play-bill, not as now, peradventure, singling out a favorite performer, and casting, a negligent eye over the rest, but spelling out every name, to the very mutes and servants of the scene.' This was written over 80 years ago, and the words are applicable to-day. There is no greater delight to an old playgoer than in turning over a sheaf of old play-bills and living in the past, and with these dead and gone actors recalling happy days that are no more.

Next, perhaps, to the delight of recalling the actors and actresses of our boyhood days is the present delight of running through old books and papers, musty with age; when in search perhaps of one object you light upon another and are equally a gainer of pleasure. One day recently, to get rid of some cobwebs which had gathered about the brain, I strolled among some of my old familiar friends, the second-hand booksellers of Sydney, and in the shop of Mr. J. Murphy, 22 Castlereagh-street, I came across what was to me an almost priceless treasure, a copy of the play-bill of the opening night of the old Queen's Theatre, Melbourne, now nearly 60 years ago. Mr. Murphy very kindly presented me with the relic, and as it brings back to earth, in memory, some of our ancient favorites, I may be excused for quoting it in extenso.

QUEEN'S THEATRE ROYAL,

QUEEN-STREET, MELBOURNE.

OPENING NIGHT.

THURSDAY EVENING, MAY 1, 1845.

The proprietor having completed his arrangements for the opening of the New Theatre Royal, Queen-street, on the above-named evening, has the honor of announcing to the patrons of the drama —the public of Melbourne and its vicinity—that he had secured all the available talent in the province, and is in communication with neighbouring colonies for the purpose of adding strength to his company.

Previous to the rising of the curtain an opening address will be delivered by Mr. Nesbitt.

ON THURSDAY EVENING, MAY 1, the performances will commence with Tobin's celebrated Comedy (in five acts),

THE HONEYMOON.

Duke Aranga ……………… Mr. Nesbitt

Balthazar ………………….. Mr. Capper

Count Montalban …………. Mr. Boyd

Rolando ………………….... Mr. Cameron

Jacques …………………….. Mr. Lee

Lampedo ………………...… Mr. Cochrane

Campillo …………………... Mr. C. Boyd

Lopez ……………………… Mr. Miller

Servant …………………….. Mr. Jacobs

Juliana ……………………... Mrs. Cameron

Zamora …………………….. Mrs. Knowles

Volanto …………………….. Mrs. Boyd

Hostess …………………….. Mrs. Avins

Villagers …………………… Messrs. Jones and Smith

In Act 4 a rustic dance incidental to the Comedy.

End of the Comedy, an Admired Song by Mrs. Knowles; a Comic Song by Mr. Miller.

To conclude with the laughable Farce of the

UNFINISHED GENTLEMEN ;

or

BELLES, BEAUX, CANTABS AND TIGERS.

Lord Totterley (an

Adonis of 60) ………………. Mr. Capper

Hon. Frisk Flammer ………... Mr. Boyd

Jem Miller (an Incipient tiger

or gentleman's gentleman)….. Mr. Miller

Charles Danvers ……………. Mr. C. Boyd

Bill Downey (an unfinished

gentleman, a polished philoso-

pher) ………………………… Mr. Lee

Bailiffs ………………………. Messrs. Cochrane and Jones

Louisa (with songs) ………..... Mrs. Knowles

Chintz ……………………..… Mrs. Cameron

Doors open at half-past 6. Performance to commence at 7 precisely.

Dress circle 5s, half-price 3s ; upper Circle 4s, half-price 2s ; pit 2s 6d, half price 1s 6d ; gallery 1s 6d, no half price.

Proprietor, Mr. Smith ; stage manager, Mr. Nesbitt; mechanist, Mr. Capper.

Vivat Regina.

* * *

Mrs. Avins was the last of the thespians who opened the "old Queen's" to "Pass over." She died in the Actors' Homes, built by Mr. George Coppin some years ago. Mrs. Avis had been a subscriber to the Dramatic and Musical Fund founded by Mr. Coppin, which gave her a claim on the Homes, of which she availed herself.

Mr. Capper died between the ages of 80 and 90 years. I had the pleasure of meeting the ancient on more than one occasion, long after he had retired from the stage. He was particularly fond of reminiscing both in the newspapers and on the platform and was as full of old lore as the hungriest antiquarian could desire. Mr. Capper wrote a book, about which more at another time.

Six weeks later, the success of Mr. John Thomas Smith's theatre having precipitated matters, Mr. George Coppin, with a company, crossed over from Launceston, under the following agreement ; —

''Theatre, Launceston,

“May 30, 1845.

“We, the undersigned, hereby agree to proceed to Melbourne by the brig Swan, and to perform there under the management of George Coppin, Esq., for a season, and to return to Launceston when required, he paying passages both ways; and we also bind ourselves under a penalty of £25— to be paid to the said George Coppin— that we will not perform at the Melbourne Theatre, or any other place of amusement, unless it is under the management of the said George Coppin, or by his free will and consent.

'”Signed) Mr. and Mrs. Rogers, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Young, Mrs. and Miss Thompson, Messrs. F. B. Watson, E. A. Opie, J. Hambleton, J. Wilks, B. Rae, J. Megson, W. Howson, A. Howson, and A. M'Donald.”

Mr . Opie, or one of the same name, was a scene painter, and Mr. J. Megson was leader of the orchestra.

On arrival Mr, Coppin found that he could not come to terms with Mr. J. T. Smith, who, by the way, was also the proprietor of the St. John's Tavern, next door, and sooner then be "stuck," or allow the monopolist to dictate his own terms, Mr. Coppin engaged the large room at the Royal Hotel, in Collins-street, where afterwards stood the well-known and much-frequented, and where now stands the Union Bank of Australia, with a firm determination to oppose the theatre. John Thomas Smith appears to have taken fright at the energy of the man from Launceston, and came to terms. What these terms were, Mr. Smith announced in his playbill:-

QUEEN'S THEATRE ROYAL,

Queen-street, Melbourne.

The proprietor is happy to announce to his friends and the public generally that he has entered into an agreement with Mr. Coppin and the entire of his Corps Dramatique, to perform alternate nights with the present company for one month only. Trusting the greatest combination of talent ever witnessed in any of the colonies will receive the patronage and support it will ever be his study to deserve.

On Saturday evening, June 21, 1845, the entertainments will commence with Sir E. Lytton Bulwer's celebrated play (In five acts), entitled the

LADY OF LYONS.

Claude Melnotte ………… Mr, Charles Young

Colonel Damas ………….. Mr. Rogers

Beauseant ……………….. Mr. Thompson

Glavis …………………… Mr. Coppin

Mons. Deschappelles Mr. Watson

Pauline ………………….. Mrs. Coppin

Madame Deschappelles … Mrs. Watson

Previous to the play, and during the

evening, the band will play : — Overture, 'Italiana in Algero' (Rossini); overture, 'Fra DiaVolo' (Auber); .quadrille, 'Royal Irish' (Julien).

Wreath dance ……………. Mrs. Chas. Young

Song—

'Should He Upbraid 'Me …. Mrs. Rogers

Comic song ……………… Mrs Hambleton

Mr. and Mrs. Charles Young will dance the 'Tarantella,' in the costume of the country.

To be followed by an entirely new interlude (never acted here), called

THE FOUR SISTERS.

An entirely new comic double, Irish Jig by Mr. and Mrs. Charles Young.

The whole to conclude with the very laughable farce of the

TURNPIKE GATE.

Crack the Cobbler …………. Mr. Coppin

Joe Standfast ………………. Mr. Rogers

Nights of performances during the present month Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.

On Monday night will be produced Howard Payne's celebrated tragedy of

BRUTUS,

By the members of the Melbourne Company.

On Tuesday evening will be produced the celebrated comedy of

THE SOLDIER'S DAUGHTER,

And a variety of entertainments by the Launceston Company.

The prices of admission and the time of opening were as on the first night of the theatre.

*************

Sixty years ago the playgoers of Melbourne got enough for their money. Those who recollect Charlie Young as a comedian will try to imagine him as Claude Melnotte, and then the Tarantella and double Irish jig! and the afterwards classic Mrs. Charles Young-Herman Vezin dancing a double Irish jig. I won der what London Haymarket audiences would have thought of it. However, it would appear as if, in the long ago, all thespians engaged for general utility and general usefulness. You won't require the fingers of one hand to count those of these double bills who new remain on earth.

After a time the amalgamation of the companies took place under the sole management of Mr. Coppin, Mr. J. T. Smith (the proprietor) taking a share of the profits for his rent. I have obtained an insight into the methods and cost of working an early-day theatre. Leading actors in 1845 received from 30s to 40s a week, and were satisfied. Ten years afterwards the same class of actor got from £7 to £12 per week. The entire working of the Queen's Theatre in 1845, with the combined companies, in expenses, was under £60 a week. What profits the manager and lessee must have divided !

What accounts we read of the same old Queen's in the golden roaring 'fifties, when red-shirted, sun-browned diggers, 'lucky diggers' lounged in the dress circle, smoked their pipes, called out to their acquaintances in other parts of the house, pelted their favorites on the stage with golden nuggets, and drank champagne at fabulous prices, ate and drank, sang and danced, as if the good times were never to end. And while the theatres crowded nightly with prices quadrupled, the St. John's Tavern adjoining did a roaring trade. John Thomas Smith, a Magistrate and a member of the City Council, raked the shekels into the till in bucketfuls. The daily and nightly saturnalia beggared description. The time and place are apropos for an incident, which occurred in the early days of the Queen's Theatre and St. John's Tavern.

In July 1846, the neighborhood of the theatre was the scene of an alarming riot, which kept Melbourne in some excitement for more than a week, and threatened at one period to end in a

general fight between Orangemen and Roman Catholics. The Orangemen decided to celebrate the anniversary of the Battle of the Boyne by a banquet in the Pastoral Hotel, which stood on the north-east corner of Queen and Little Bourke streets. The building was

decorated for the occasion, and Orange flags were displayed on polls from the windows facing Queen-street. This display aroused the passions of the R.C's., who assembled in hundreds round the Pastoral Hotel, many on both sides being armed. The Mayor, James Frederick Palmer, hurried to the spot. He ordered the door of the hotel to be opened, and entered, for the purpose of putting a stop to the riot ; but the R.C's., now finding the door opened, rushed through the hallway to the staircase, where they

were met by the Orangeman, and a regular battle ensued.

J. F. Palmer was a medical man, who, on arrival in Melbourne, found that the manufacture of gingerbeer and cordials would pay better than would the vending of Epsom salts and jalap. Palmer in after life became Speaker of the mixed Legislative Council, and President of the Legislative Council under Responsible Government. The doctor was squat, fat man, with a pair of calves that would have been the envy of Dr. Dill Macky to-day.

The crowd in front fired into the hotel, and 'Yellow-bellies' quickly responded. At this moment Father Geoghegan arrived and attempted to restrain his parishioners. As the good old padre (he was the first priest in Melbourne, and became Bishop of Adelaide); was in some danger of getting an ounce of lead, John O'Shannassy and a Mr. Hurley went over to his rescue, when Hurley got a bullet in the shoulder. Another man, drinking a glass of ale in the bar of the St. John's Tavern was badly wounded in the cheek, the shot having crashed through the bar window. The riot now was at its height; the doors, windows, and the furniture of the Pastoral Hotel were demolished ; the one party attacking the building and endeavoring to force an entrance, the other , defending every inch of ground. Fortunately some soldiers appeared upon the scene, and temporary peace was secured.

The R.C/s were induced to disperse by the promise of Dr. Palmer, and his brother magistrates that the Orange dinner should not total place. Three or four persons were badly wounded in the riots. Several of the Orange party were taken into custody and bound over to keep the peace. Mr. William Hinds, a grocer of Queen-street, was charged with firing the shot which wounded Mr. Hurley, and was committed for trial. The town was alarmed the whole of the night by skirmishes between detachments of both factions. On the following day the rival

greens and yellows assembled in different parts of the town. The whole of the hotels were closed by order of the authorities. Many of the shops were shut, and a dense fog, perhaps opportunely settled down upon the town. The police and military were called out, and having formed in Market-street, proceeded to an hotel in Flinders-street, where fifty Orangemen were assembled, but who quickly dispersed when the military and police appeared. They next proceeded to the top of Flinders-street, where afterwards stood the Stork Hotel, where some eighty Roman Catholics were assembled. After some hesitation these were persuaded to go to their several homes. The town was put under martial law for the night, and the soldiers bivouacked in Collins-street, opposite the Royal Exchange Hotel, which stood where the Bank of New South Wales stood thirty years ago. This riot gave birth to the Party Processions Act, prohibiting any party flag from being explayed under any circumstances in the colony of New South Wales, an Act more honored in the breech than in the observance.

The old Princess' Theatre, in Spring street, was built in 1854 by Mr. G. B. W. Lewis, who married Rose Edouin. It was of corrugated iron, and called Astley's Amphitheatre; and therein, with a good stud of trained horses, gave the uproarious diggers the delight of a circus. In 1857 John Black, who built the Theatre Royal in Bourke-street, bought the place, and, by adding a stage, etc., converted it into the Princess' Theatre, wherein Joseph Jefferson made

his first appearance. Of the great American actor-manager more hereafter. While George Coppin was building the Olympic — or 'iron pot'— John Black was building the Theatre Royal. That was in 1855. Mr. Black, in three years, made a huge fortune— or 'pile,' as the diggers named it— as a carrier between Melbourne and the diggings. His long line of drags and wagons were the means of supplying thousands of diggers with the necessaries of life, as much as £100 a ton being paid as freight to Bendigo, 100 miles from Melbourne. Mr. Black's great ambition was to own a theatre, and a fine building he erected. It was the first building lighted with gas in the city. The streets were then lighted with oil lamps, though a company had been formed, and was building its works on the Yarra. Mr. Black, however, built his own retorts, and made his own gas. Black thought that he could manage a theatre as well as he did his horse and bullock teams, but he found to his cost that the two enterprises took a totally different stamp of man to control. After a year of small successes and some heavy failures he leased the theatre to George Coppin, who immediately transferred G. V. Brooke and his company from the 'iron pot' to the Bourke-street establishment. The Theatre Royal was opened with 'The School for Scandal,' Mr. G. H. Rogers being the Sir Peter Teazle. The old Royal had many ups and downs from the first day that John Black opened it, and numerous owners, mortgagees, lessees and managers tried their luck in it. Few, outside the actual covenanting parties, knew who really did own the Royal. Fred. Bayne, the solicitor, had some big interest in it in the late fifties, as he claimed and got the free use of a stage box. The dress circle entrance was on a different leasehold, and at one time complications were threatened. In the late fifties Brooke and Coppin were lessees. The pair dissolving partnership, Brooke retained the Royal, Coppin taking the old Olympic and the Cremorne Gardens. Brooke at this time should have been worth £50,000. Henry Edwards and George Faucett Rowe became managers after Bob Heir had resigned. Brooke went travelling, and things got messed up generally. Then Ambrose Kyte, with a rent roll of about £10,000 a year, came in, lending the management money and getting the lease as security. He put Barry Sullivan in, and for some years the Royal was the best-conducted theatre in the Southern Hemisphere.

(To be continued.)

Coming back to Joseph Jefferson for a while. The American comedian sailed from San Francisco for Sydney on September 10, 1861. In those days there were no fine steamers to make the voyage a pleasure trip, but Mr. Jefferson possessed the happy knack of making himself comfortable anywhere; and though the good ship Nimrod took 64 days to do the trip between the Golden Gate and Port Jackson Heads, the comedian had a very fine time of it. His chief occupation, besides reading and sketching, was a humorous attempt, he tells us, to divert a cheerful, pleasant Roman Catholic priest Father O'Grady, from celibacy: "I told him he was altogether too good a fellow for a single man, and assured that he would never know what true happiness was until he had a wife by his side and half a dozen children by his knee. Our theological arguments on the quarter-deck were a source of great amusement to ourselves and the passengers. Father O'Grady, when he got excited, would walk up and down the deck, tossing his long arms wildly about, as if he were making signals of distress." Nothing in their theological arguments, however, disturbed the friendship of the pair. Jefferson was (and is still, I hope) too mild and gentle to disturb the peace of anyone. I verily believe that the American comedian is "pigeon-livered and lacks gall." (This is meant to be complimentary.)

******************

Mr. Jefferson gives an amusing description, in an article published some years ago in the 'Century Magazine,' of his first encounter with Australian theatrical managers. Old Sydneyites will remember the individual, whose portrait is not drawn in colors too flattering: “He was an undersized, round-shouldered little Cockney Rolamo. Where he got that remarkably Italian appellation I cannot say; but if his ancestors belonged to the 'land of song' they must have strayed into the very heart of Whitechapel just previous to the birth of their son and heir, as his dialect was strongly impregnated with the drawling twang of that locality. It was recorded of him that he was never known to put an 'h' in the right place, and his talent for reversing the 'w' and 'v' amounted almost to genius. He had originally been lamplighter in the theatre, but by his industry and intelligence he rose to be its manager, and he was in the zenith of his fame when I arrived in Australia. After my introduction by my agent to Mr. Rolamo as the coming man, who was to make his (the manager's) fortune, that worthy cast a patronising eye over me, but did not seem at all overwhelmed, taking my arrival with provoking coolness. This chilling atmosphere pervaded the office until my agent unrolled some highly inflammable printed matter, the novel character of which seemed to attract the great man's attention, and condescending to address me, he said: 'You see, Mr. Jeffries - oh, I beg pardon, Jimmison I mean— with all due respect to you, there 'as been so many blawsted Yankee comics over 'ere that we are kind o' sick on 'em. You may a hextra good lot for all I know, but lately the queerest mummers we've 'ad 'ave come from Amerikee. This printed stuff you've got looks spicy— in fact I don't know as I ever see spicier - but it don't prove nothink, does it?' " Jefferson's agent broke in with the assurance that the comedian was quite legitimate and not a mummer. “ 'Legitimate!' exclaimed the manager. 'Well, that's the worst rot of all. The legitimate would wentilate my theatre on the first night; and as for that dismal old guy, 'Amlet, I wouldn't 'ave 'im at no price.' “

Jefferson assured the big man that Hamlet was not in his list of characters, and that as far as he was concerned the reputation of Mr. Rolamo's 'theatre' would not suffer through his productions of Shakespeare's plays). “I admitted his perfect right to protect himself against fraud, and that as I was a stranger, I proposed first to show him what my material consisted of, and wound up by offering to rent his theatre and company, paying him a good bonus to relinquish the management into our hands for a month, and that if we could agree upon terms his money should be paid in advance. At this proposal the hard features of Mr. Rolamo softened into an oily sweetness that was lovely to behold. He gently put out both hands to grasp mine; his eyes fairly beamed on me with affection, and his heart seemed so touched that it quite choked his utterance. 'My dear lad' said he, 'that's the way I like to hear a cove talk, for I always believes in a cove wot believes in hisself.' ”

*********

Mr. Jefferson explains that he found the acting much better than he expected, “in fact, throughout the colonies, I was invariably impressed by this dramatic excellence.” Mr. Jefferson's explanation of this is that actors who had originally come from England to 'star,' remained to make their homes in the colonies, and settled down into the different stock companies. He, however, had no cause to complain of the support given him; on the contrary, he felt that he had his work cut out for him if he were to stand out prominently amidst such surroundings.

********

Of his first appearance in Sydney, Mr. Jefferson says: - “I found the company obliging, and, as I expected, thoroughly competent. Matters progressed favorably, the pieces for the first week were rehearsed, and all things were duly prepared for the opening. The house was quite good on that night, and the audience generous and sympathetic. They seemed to appreciate what a thorough stranger I was, and as a stranger, gave me welcome.” When the curtain fell, Jefferson was congratulated by the company and Mr. Rolamo, who, the comedian fancied, was a little annoyed that he had not made better terms with the star, as he said, " ‘I say, do you know I took you for a green 'un when I first meet you, as you had a kind of innocent look about you that took me in; but you're sharp, do you know that ?’ “

Jefferson didn't think that he was particularly sharp, but thanked the manager for the delicacy of the compliment, and hoped that he might live to deserve it. From Jefferson's own story, he does not consider himself to have been "a frost" in Sydney, though many old memories amongst us say that he was. Perhaps Mr. Jefferson does not care to admit it right off. I personally know that he was not a frost in Melbourne, where he “ran” for 164 consecutive nights at the old Princess.

****************

At the expiration of the Sydney engagement Mr. Jefferson voyaged to Melbourne — no rail then. George Faucett who afterwards added Rowe to his name, had the old Princess Theatre all to himself and a ''shocking bad hat" sort of concern it was. If I am not mistaken George Faucett got the 'old barn' on a long lease at a low rent, but he pegged away at it, and eventually won. Jefferson made the same terms with Faucett as he had with the gentleman whom he names Rolamo. He admits that his success in Melbourne was more flattering than it had been in Sydney. "The audiences were numerous and fashionable, and the articles in the daily papers referring to our plays and acting were of the highest literary character." A just tribute to the critics' acumen and literary ability of Messrs. James Smith, James Edward Neild, and William M. Akhurst, the two former being still with us.

**************

At the conclusion of his Melbourne engagement Jefferson went into the mining and provincial towns, where his success was as genuine as it had been in the metropolis. He tells an amusing story of his experiences in one of the mining townships, where the bill-poster and bell-ringer were generally one and the same individual. On the way from his hotel to the theatre Jefferson came across a knot of people, in the midst being a little fat man in a seedy suit of black, swinging and ringing a big brass bell, gesticulating violently, pausing in his swings and calling out in stentorian tones : "Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Ladies and gentlemen, now or never is your only chance to see the greatest living wonder of the age— Joseph Jefferson, the great hactor from America. His powers of producing tears and smiles at vun and the same time is so great that he caused the Hemperer of Roushia to weep on his weddin' night, and made her Gracious Majesty the Queen bust out laughin' at the funeral of Prince Albert. He is the bosom friend of the President of Amerikee, and the hidol of 'is 'Ighness the Prince of

Wales. "

*************

Jefferson said that he always had a horror of orators, but the orator on the barrel top in the mining township added horror to his previous experience. The actor rushed to the theatre and demanded of the manager, the meaning of the exhibition. The manager explained that it was the usual thing in mining towns, that G. V. Brooke and other great men had been so 'belled' and 'tolled,' and that he, the said manager, thought that Mr. Jefferson would have liked it. “Like it!” said Jeff, “If it is not stopped at once I will not act to-night.” So the little fat man was ordered to cease his harangue and come down from the barrel. But the bellringer wouldn't budge; he wasn't half through, and it would injure his business and ruin his reputation to be cut off “in the heye of the public,” and "he'd be blowed" if he'd stir until he had finished. The manager appealed to Jefferson to let him go on. “Now, mark me,” said Jeff, “If he rings that bell again or opens his mouth, I don't act.” That settled it. The little fat man stood with his arms folded, a la Napoleon, glaring defiance at the manager and his satellites; but they seized him, and a desperate struggle ensued. The tall white hat of the ''town bell" was completely smashed over his eyes, and in stamping violently in his rage the head of the barrel burst in, letting him through until only the fat head appeared at the top. They tipped the barrel over and rolled him off inside, to the great amusement of the bystanders, who had been roaring with laughter all the time.

In Tasmania Jefferson tells of a singular incident. He acted the 'Ticket of Leave Man' for the first time in Hobart Town, and there was much excitement in the city when it was announced. "At least 100 ticket of leave men were in the pit on the first night of its production. Before the curtain rose I looked through at this terrible audience; the faces in the pit were a study. Men with low foreheads and small, peering, ferret-looking eyes, some with flat noses, and square, cruel jaws and sinister expressions — leering, low and cunning — all wearing a sullen, dogged look, as though they would tear the benches from the pit and gut the theatre of its scenery if one of their kind was hold up to public scorn upon the stage. This shows the power of the drama. An author might write an article abusing them, or an artist paint a picture showing up the hideous deformity of their features — all this they could bear and even laugh at. But put one of their ilk on the stage in human form, surrounded by the sympathetic story of a play, and they would no more submit to an ill-usage of him than they would to a personal attack upon themselves.”

***********

“The first act of the play produced but little excitement. These men seemed to enjoy the humorous and pathetic side of the story with great relish, but when I came upon the stage in the second act, revealing the emaciated features of a returned convict, with sunken eyes and closely shaved head, there was a painful stillness in the house. The whole pit seemed to lean forward and strain their eyes upon the scene; and as Bob Brierley revealed to his sweetheart 'the secrets of the prison house,' there were little murmurs of recognition and shakings of the head, as though they fully recognised the local allusions that they so well remembered; deep drawn sighs for the sufferings that Bob had gone through, and little smothered laughs at some of the old, well remembered inconveniences of prison life; but then, Bob was a hero, and their sympathies were caught by the nobleness of his character and innocence of crime, as though each of these villains recognised how persecuted he and Bob had been.”

*************

As the play proceeded their enthusiasm increased. Wherever Bob was hounded by a detective, or ill-treated by the old Jew, they would howl their indignation at the actors; and when he came out unscathed at the end of the play, a monument of persecuted innocence, they cheered to the echo. This performance rendered Jefferson very popular with a certain section of Hobart Town society 40 years ago, and he was often accosted in the streets by "old hands," who told him the woes and sufferings they had undergone. In fact, they looked upon him quite as an "old pal." Jefferson admits that these courtesies were very flattering, but the inconvenience of being poked in the ribs, and being told that they knew him, as much as to say, “Ohl pal, all right, we know — you've been there,” became somewhat frequent and irksome. The life that Jefferson retreated to on his retirement from the stage was that of a country gentleman, his favorite amusements being hunting, fishing, and sketching from nature.

***************

In the days when Jefferson was delighting Australian audiences with 'Bob Brierley,' when Mrs. Woolridge was the Mrs. Willoughby, when Julia Mathews was the Sam, H. R. Redwood or Lachlan M'Gowan the Melter Moss, Ned Holloway the Jim Dalton, Annie Lockhart the May, Marcus Clark had not produced his story of Van Demonian and Norfolk Island convictism— 'His Natural Life'— and the 'Ticket of Leave Man' was about the only item of the sort presented upon the stage. Yet I remember the late Mr. J. J. Welsh telling me that when a company with which he was connected, playing at Launceston, billed ''Margaret Catchpole," a lady, representing a certain family, waited upon the management, and, as a favour, asked that the play be withdrawn, and the manager obligingly complied with the request. To-day, of course, in Hobart the play-going public does not get its writers wrung by the performances of the 'Ticket of Leave Man' or 'His Natural Life,' or any personally objectionable play.

*************

Apropos “Ned” Holloway ("Jim Dalton"). This old identity goes back so far in theatrical annals that one wonders where and when he commenced. Fifty years ago he was a noteworthy actor, and with his wife travelled every inch of Australia where an actor or a company could show. As far back as 1862 Mr. “Ned” Holloway (no relative of the other Holloways) and his wife played in the Prince of Wales Theatre, Bathurst. Not many remember that little theatre. It stood close to the old Club House Hotel, and in it were given some excellent dramatic representations. In those days there was an excellent travelling population, which made Bathurst its head centre for a time. You had to “go round by Bathurst” to reach Hill End, Tambaroora, etc., and hotels and theatres flourished. There was another and a larger theatre round in Durham-street, which a few years ago stood as it did — stage, galleries, etc.— in the days of G. V. Brooke, though the building was used as a hay and corn store. The railway killed the glory of old Bathurst, though a brilliant effort was recently made to regild the city through the Federal Capital. As to Ned Holloway, he travelled to the Lachlan diggings, and had with him the late Shiel Barry, an Irish comedian of merit, who afterwards became famous in London and Dublin. Long before that, however, Mr. Holloway had come to the point in his profession, having performed in Victoria in the early fifties. Mr. Holloway is an ancient, but by no means played out. The old man's vitality is amazing, and that voice — well, I don't know another like it. The Holloways made money, and Ned's ambition, years ago, was a farm on the Hawkesbury (Mrs. Holloway was a native of that neighbourhood, I think), where he and his wife could settle down and end their days in peace after life's fitful fever. But the wife died, to Ned's great regret and loss, and the old man kept battling on. He formed for years one of Alfred Dampier's company, but I have lost sight of him for some time. Like the late Clarence Holt, Ned Holloway in his early days aspired to be the T. P. Cooke of the colonies, his favourite sailor character being William, in 'Black-eyed Susan.' There is a yarn in the profession that after Clarence Holt returned to Victoria in the early sixties he gave glowing accounts of his success at Drury Lane, accounts which fired the ambition of Ned Holloway, who expressed the intention of taking a trip to the "big smoke." "I would," gently insinuated Holt, ''and," he added kindly, "I'll give you a note to the management. Everything Australian goes down in London. You'll get a show! Open at Drury Lane in 'Black-eyed Susan.' It's a popular favourite. The house will be crammed. You speak outside; it's a good 'take.' Bound on the stage, the applause will be immense, and when you open your mouth you'll be so bally well hissed that you'll wish yourself back in Australia." But then Clarence Holt was not esteemed a generous man to brother professionals.

(To be continued.)

In a previous article ('Sportsman, 27/7/'04) I made mention of Avonia Jones' interest in Wilkes Booth, the assassin of Abraham Lincoln. As the letter, written to a friend in Melbourne, immediately after the tragedy, is extremely interesting I venture to give it. The letter is dated from Portland, State of Maine, May 1, 1865. In it Miss Jones says :— 'You have heard ere this that Abraham Lincoln is dead ; killed by one who believed that he was avenging the South ; but you do not know that the hand which struck the blow was that of one of my most intimate friends. I enclose you his portrait, and tell me if you think that such a face is that of an in famous assassin, as he is now branded. I have known John Wilkes Booth since he was four years old. He and his brother Edwin, three years his senior, were my childish playmates, and many happy hours we have spent together. John was over impetuous, enthusiastic and hot headed ; but kind-hearted, generous, and good-tempered. He was two years older than I am, and all three of us, as we grew up, retained a warm interest in each other's welfare, the success of either being a common delight. Edwin and I continued a constant correspondence, and I was mainly instrumental in bringing about his marriage with a dear friend since dead. Having no brother of my own, the Booths became such to me ; and when John and I met again, after a long absence, 10 months ago, the old fraternal relation was immediately resumed. Last winter, when I was performing in Washington, I saw a great deal of him. He played Romeo for my farewell benefit— it was his last performance on the stage, and a splendid piece of acting it was. . . He was intensely enthusiastic in the cause of the South, and told me in confidence that he had sent all his wardrobe to Nassau, and that as soon as the South met with any reverses he should go there, but would make all the money he could first, because the Confederates needed money as well as men. He had not acted for many months, but had been making a large fortune in oil speculations. One day I read him your letter, in which you alluded to Charlotte Corday. I remember now the look that passed over his face, and his wonder that such a woman had not arisen here. The last time I saw him was on the day I came from Baltimore to secure Colonel Nixon's exchange (which Miss Jones had obtained by her personal intercession with Mr. Stanton, the Secretary of War). I ran after him to tell him the good news, at which he was overjoyed. He took me to the cars, kissed me, and bade me good-bye, and I never saw him more. Mother woke me early on the 15th of April with the news that President Lincoln had been assassinated. I simply felt shocked: but when she told me that he had fallen by the hand of John Wilkes Booth, all my thoughts centred in my old playmate and his family. Edwin Booth was playing an engagement at the Boston Theatre, and my first anxiety was on his account. I felt that I must go at once and see him. Mother and sister strenuously opposed it, for they did not want me mixed up in the affair owing to the intensely excited state of public feeling ; but at such a time how could I abstain from proving the genuineness and sincerity of my friendship? I went immediately to Boston, and, oh, how grateful he was ! I found him completely crushed by the blow, for, apart from his horror at John's act, it has ruined his career, which was a most brilliant one. And he seemed greatly troubled about the effect which the news would have upon his mother, who made an idol of John. I wanted to go back to New York, and the proposition was eagerly responded to; but when I reached that city I found that Mrs. Booth had gone on to Philadelphia to her daughter there, so that she might be near when John was captured. ... On the night of the assassination John managed to escape and was not discovered for a fortnight. He had fractured his leg in springing from the private box on to the stage of Ford's Theatre at Washington, rode 30 miles on horseback before the limb was set, and then had to limp on crutches into Virginia, where his friends represented him to be a wounded Marylander on his way home. At last he was tracked near Port Royal, and surrounded in a barn. When called upon to surrender he said that he never would while life remained. He was heavily armed, and as his 'brave' pursuers were afraid to enter and seize him, they set the barn on fire. It set my heart on fire to hear how, after his companion surrendered, he stood with his back against a burning hay-mow, calmly leaning on his crutch, while the flames hissed and crackled round him, determined to sell his life dearly. The roof above gave way, and he involuntarily looked up. At that moment a valiant sergeant fired at and mortally wounded him. He lived about three hours afterwards, and his last message to his mother was, 'Tell her I died for my country.' They brought his body to Washing ton, whither Edwin went to beg for it, but his request was refused. The remains of poor John were sewn up in a blanket — they would not allow even the rough box that had been made for them to be used, and he was buried, as the official announcement says, 'where no mortal eye can ever see him.' "

While admiring Miss Jones' loyalty to the friend of her childhood, one can scarcely sympathise with her in what she calls the cowardly acts of the soldiers pursuing the murderer of the popular President, seeing that Wilkes Booth shot Lincoln in the presence of his wife, and without a moment of warning. The murder may by some be looked upon as political and patriotic, but it was cowardly, nevertheless. However, that's only my opinion.

What memories crowd around Joseph Jefferson. ('Sportsman,' August 10, '04.) It has been said that he was 'discovered' in Melbourne. He arrived in that city, via Sydney, from California, in 1861 with a flourish of trumpets, advance agents, and mammoth posters. He opened in the wooden band-box; known now as the old Princess', in 'Rip Van Winkle,' and made his mark at once. He had not been playing many nights before Spring-street was deemed almost too small for the cab and carriage traffic which invaded the locality. The theatre was crowded in every part, and the playgoer who had not seen 'Rip' and Joe Jefferson was considered as benighted. Supporting Jefferson on his first appear ance were Mr. and Mrs. Robert Heir, Mrs. Alfred Phillips, Mr. J. C. Lambert, Clarence Holt (father of Bland of the same name), Richard Stewart, Fitzgerald, a stalwart Irish-American actor of the melodramatic order, and dear old sour-surly Jimmy Milne. Rip Van Winkle was perhaps Jefferson's character, and memory lingers on the many splendid points in it. His next best character was Asa Trenchard in 'Our American Cousin,' a part of which he was the original performer. Jefferson and Southern— the latter an Englishman—were stock actors at £10 a week each at Laura Keene's theatre in New York in 1857-58, when Tom Taylor wrote 'Our American Cousin' for the manageress. Jefferson was cast for Asa Trenchard a rough Kentucky backwoodsman, a character which Jefferson completely remodelled, and Southern for Lord Dundreary. The latter character was 'so shadowy and vapid,' as one critic styled it, that Southern threw it up, rather than risk what little reputation he had acquired. As this would have entailed his dismissal from the company and a severance of pleasant companionship, 'Jefferson filled in the outlines of the character with a number of oddities of gestures, gait, and gag, so as really to give it a certain amount of prominence, and to render it highly diverting. Thus amended, Southern consented to play it, made it a success, added to it new features from time to time, and when he carries the play with him to London — John Baldwin Buckstone being the Asa Trenchard— Lord Dundreary made a tremendous hit, and the unfortunate actor amassed considerable wealth by his incessant repetition of a part which he had originally rejected."

The late Richard Stewart was the Lord Dundreary of the Melbourne Princess', and right well old Dick played it.

I have seen Jefferson in over 20 of his characters, and could never tire of him. Salem Scudder in the 'Octoroon' (which had been introduced at the Princess' by Madame Duret and Mr. J. H. Le Roy, before Jefferson's advent, George Fawcett Rowe being the Salem Scudder), Solon Shingle, Bob Acres, Dogberry, Bottom the Weaver, Cornet Ollapod, Dr. Pangloss, Newman Noggs, Mazeppa (burlesque), Caleb Plummer ('Cricket on the Hearth'), Mr. Golightly ('Lend Me Five Shillings'), Graves ('Money'), Tobias Shortcut, and some others. 'Midsummer Night's Dream' was the first Shakespearian production Mr. Jefferson attempted, and the company at the Princess', who had been well drilled by G. V. Brooke and William Hoskins in the bard of Avon's plays, were rather sceptical of the American's ability to interpret 'Sweet Will.' They tittered a little, especially the ladies, at rehearsal, but Jefferson, in a quiet way, said, "Ah ! you may laugh, ladies, but you will find that my 'Bottom' will fill the house.'' And his 'Bottom' did fill the house for many nights.

If Jefferson had not been a great actor, he would have been a great painter, as it is, pictures from his brush are much valued. Unlike most of those of whom I have written, Joseph Jefferson is still on top in rural retirement in the United States.

Apropos Barry Sullivan ("Sportsman" 10/8/04), a correspondent, with the best intentions, draws my attention to a couple of omissions in the actor's personal history. I am not so sure that we have anything to do with the private history of Thespians. If we did meddle with such in the first half of the last century I am afraid we would cause much scandal, and perhaps be not always on the side of truth. It is, however, a fact that in his very readable book of reminiscences George Vandenhoff (himself an actor of much merit, and son of the great actor, John Vandenhoff, who died in 1861) makes no mention of Barry Sullivan whatever. Whether the story be one of romance or base desertion I am not prepared to say, but gossip says that Sullivan treated the lady shamefully. Miss Vandenhoff, sister of George, was a leading actress, a very pretty woman and supported her father in all his pieces. The romantic part of the story is that Miss Vandenhoff died broken-hearted, and that the name of Barry Sullivan was tabooed in the family. The story of Miss Kyte is well known in Melbourne, but no one outside the family circle ever quite got the actual facts. Mr. Ambrose Kyte, when lessee of the Theatre Royal, was a man of ample means and of humble origin. I have heard him on a public platform, when seeking a seat in Parliament declare that on his arrival in Port Phillip in 1840, an immigrant from Tipperary, he worked for ten shillings a week and saved four shillings out of it. His first venture was that of keeping a hay and corn store in Bourke-street, opposite the Eastern (or Paddy's) Market, where he afterwards built the row of fine houses and shops known as Kyte's Buildings, , one of which, by the way, was occupied for years by Mrs. Williams' waxworks exhibition— the first of the kind, I think in the Colonies-which were afterwards known as Kreitmayer's, Mrs. Williams having married the professor, though I quite forgot what Kreitmayer did "profess." Mr. Kyte's luck was always in, until close up to his death, when the tide turned. Anyhow he was a great friend of Sullivan's, and without doubt may be considered as a factor in the actor's fortune. Just before Sullivan's departure for England a banquet was given him, at which Ambrose Kyte presided, and at which eulogistic speeches were made. While the banquet was in progress and the speeches were being made, Miss Kyte was silently packing up her trunks preparatory to making a midnight flit. Any how, she left her home, much to the consternation of her friends. Some time elapsed, when it was discovered that the lady had sailed for London, a couple of

days before Barry Sullivan was cheered off from Sandridge Railway Pier. Mr Kyte was very prompt. He despatched his wife to London by the first steamer, and intercepted the lady before any damage was done. Mr. Sullivan's friends asserted that the actor knew nothing of the young lady's escapade, but there had been whispers of an engagement to marry and-well, you know people will talk. The romantic young lady returned with her mother to the paternal roof, and if everything did not end happily as in the story books, well, everything should have ended happily.

To Mr. Ambrose Kyte Australia is mainly indebted for the Burke and Wills' Exploring Expedition, his donation of £1000 being the nucleus of the fund which assisted the expedition on its unlucky journey.

Just to correct a typographical error. When conducting the Theatre Royal Melbourne, Barry Sullivan's right-hand man was his son, Amory Sullivan. At the beginning of his reign Mr. Sullivan would be heard to inquire if anyone had seen his son Amory. Towards the close of his reign Mr. Sullivan never inquired for his "son Amory." It was Mr Amory Sullivan who was always in request and some people did say that Mr. Barry Sullivan was trying to pass off his son Amory as his younger brother! Mr. James Smith alluded to Sullivan's bad temper ("Sportsman," 10/8/'04), but some actors would rouse the temper of the Angel Gabriel. Here is an instance : In 'As You Like It,' at a provincial theatre in an English midland county, Sullivan, of course, was the melancholy Jacques. Touchstone was represented by one of those clowns who disobey Hamlet, and speak more than is set down for them. This particular clown was under the impression that he could improve on Shakespeare. In the wrestling scene, when the wrestler was thrown, he (the clown) had to say, in relation to being out of breathe, "He cannot speak, my Lord !" In order to obtain a cheap laugh this clown said, "He says he cannot speak, my Lord!" which, of course, made the unthinking laugh and the judicious grieve. When the act drop fell Sullivan went over to where the would-be wit and comedian was standing, and said, "Touchstone was a fool, but not a damned fool, as you have made him. You have obtained a laugh, sir, but you have spoilt your part '' Had Mr. William Hoskins been about a simple 'damn' would not have sufficed.

Sullivan had the misfortune on the sixtieth night of the run of Colley Cibbers' adaptation of Richard III., to receive an unlucky sword thrust in the left eye, Mr. Sinclair, the Richmond, having made a mistake in the preconcerted business of the great fight in the final act. For some time the recovery of the sight of the eye was despaired of, but after lying twenty days and nights in utter darkness, Richard was himself again, seemingly all right, at least.

In this engagement at Drury Lane Sullivan performed Macbeth and Richard III on alternate nights during the engagement, the latter with 'new historical scenery' by William Beverley, and 'historically correct costumes' designed by Alfred Maltby from researches among acknowledged authorities.

(To be continued.)

As Mr. Amory Sullivan ('Sportsman,' 7/9/'04) is evidently unacquainted with Mr. W. H. Campbell, I may be permitted to quote the latter gentleman's letter to Mr. Lawrence, Mr. Barry Sullivan's biographer, in full. There is nothing uncomplimentary to the great actor in the letter, and I cannot conceive that Mr. W. H. Campbell can be an impostor, though Mr. Amory Sullivan fails to remember him.

Thus the biographer : "His (Barry Sullivan's) success was by no means assured at the outset, however, as the colonial players were not sufficiently off with the old love to be on with the new. In other words, they still retained wistful yearnings towards the prodigal who was fated

never to return. But Sullivan was not of that fibre to become disheartened under momentary coldness. It was an up-hill fight, but he conquered by sheer tenacity and strength of will.

"Mr. W. H. Campbell, a prosperous Ulster man, at present (1893) residing in San Francisco, writes as follows in an interesting communication to the author:

— 'I frequently met and was very well acquainted with both G. V. Brooke and Barry Sullivan during the golden early days of Victoria, better known then as Port Phillip, the Australia Felix of the veteran pioneer John Pascoe Fawkner. Brooke was undoubtedly the most popular actor who ever set foot in the colonies, but he left for good before Sullivan's arrival there. The contrast between the two men, Irishmen as they were, was very striking. Brooke was good-natured, convivial, careless, and had moments of supreme inspiration. Sullivan, on the other hand, was practical, abstemious, methodical. He was for the most part painfully aware of his importance, had immense vim, aimed high, and succeeded in reaching the grand goal of his ambition."

" 'The days when genteel comedy was at its best in Melbourne found Sullivan, with Joe Jefferson, Fanny Cathcart, Heir, and a galaxy of lesser talent playing at the Princess'. I think they opened in 'Money;' Barry as Evelyn, Jefferson as Graves. A little supper was tendered those gentlemen and the two captains commanding the ships which brought them out to Australia. Of those that made merry that night only Mr. Jefferson, Captain D. H. Johnson, R.N.R., and myself remain to tell the tale. H. B. Donaldson, Sandridge, was there, and my fellow survivors doubtless remember how he and the genial C. L. Throckmorton went through the farcical ceremony of marrying the landlord's daughter over the broomstick for the special entertainment of our theatrical guests."

" 'It fell to my lot to propose Mr. Sullivan's health, and in doing so I alluded to a keen, fussy controversy then going on in the newspapers over a dispute between the tragedian and the management of the Royal, in which the ladies of the company were involved, owing to Sullivan's methods in regard to them being at variance with those formerly practised. My endeavor was to throw oil upon the troubled waters, and bring the unhappy dispute to an end, so I ventured to suggest to our friend the desirability of compromise, or such concession as

might please the ladies and satisfy popular clamor and prejudice."

" 'Jumping up, the tragedian replied in these characteristic words : "Do you think, sir," addressing me personally, "that I will concede ? No, sir ! Never, sir ! Never for a moment, sir ! Do you mean to say that I, Barry Sullivan, must stoop to the people of Melbourne ? No, sir! Far from it. I'll bring them up to me !" And he carried out his point, as he always did, by sheer pluck, energy and 'go.' "

" 'Though very abstemious, Mr. Sullivan was not a total abstainer. I, on many occasions, supped with him at Spiers and Pond's Cafe Royal, when he invariably partook of a broiled steak or chop, accompanied by a pint or half a pint of Guinness' Dublin porter. He was fond of praise, - though impatient of adverse criticism. 'Did you see my Don Caesar ?' he asked me on the street one day, after the production of 'Don Caesar de Bazan.' He fished for a compliment, and received a well-merited one.' "

Mr. W. H. Campbell renewed his acquaintance with Mr. Barry Sullivan, in San Francisco, early in 1876, whither he had gone to open the new Baldwin Theatre. Thus Mr. Campbell anent this interview : "Strolling up Market-street one afternoon I met Barry Sullivan, who invited me into the Baldwin Theatre, where a rehearsal was going on. As we chatted quietly in the back stalls his quick ear detected some mistake in the recital of the piece. 'What's that? What's that ? Horrible. That will never do, never do,' he muttered. Then he called out lustily, 'Stop ! stop ! Hold on, will you, there?' Like a flash he left my side, bounding over seats, footlights, and every impediment, and was on the stage amidst the performers before I could realise what was the matter. A good deal of his financial success he attributed, by the way, to his son, Mr. T. S. Amory Sullivan, whom he described to me as a very capable business man, who attended closely to details."

Surely Mr. Amory Sullivan must remember this Mr. W. H. Campbell.

In 1885 there appeared a pamphlet entitled, 'The Truth About the Stage.' It created some sensation owing tp its extreme pessimism, and was attributed to the late Hal Louther. In the pamphlet is the paragraph : "My own experience of this eminent tragedian (Sullivan) contrasted agreeably with the lying reports of my stage companions. If I had been fortunate enough to meet Mr. Sullivan at the commencement of my career, I should have been saved many years of toil and degradation. .... I have known his finest dramatic situations ruined by young actors who, through nervousness, have either forgotten some particular piece of business, or failed to give the proper cue. At the end of the act, when some poor fellow had gone to the tragedian's dressing-room to apologise for his shortcomings, instead of black looks and a curse; he received kind words of encouragement. On one occasion, when a persevering young actor ruined a grand scene in a Shakespearian play , I heard Mr. Sullivan interrupt his apology, when the curtain fell, with the following words : 'My dear boy, you did your best. You were a little nervous. You will do better next time.' "

Barry Sullivan's biographer says :— "It is satisfactory to find that Mr. W. H. Campbell's personal estimate of the Sullivan of the sixties agrees in the main with the impression left upon the mind of Mr. James Smith, the Nestor of Australian dramatic critics, who has now been associated with the fortunes of the 'Argus' for fully 40 years.' (This was written in 1893.) In a communication to the author, written some 12 months ago, apropos of our hero's career in the colonies, this accomplished journalist says, inter alia : 'As a man I did not like him. He was hard, cold and repellent, and his vanity amounted to a disease. He seriously believed that the British stage had produced only three great actors— David Garrick, W. C. Macready, and himself. His self-love was as irritable as it was irritating, and his jealousy of other actors was almost childish. I could never detect any of the fire of genius in his performances; he possessed great talent and that 'infinite capacity for taking pains' which come very near genius. Short of that, he was one of the best all-round actors I ever saw, equally good in tragedy, comedy, Irish drama and farce. He was, also, an admirable, manager. He was master of all the duties and details connected with a theatre, from those of the call boy upwards. He was very frugal, perhaps penurious. For instance, he would see that no candle ends were wasted behind the scenes. And no doubt he was in the right, for colonials are naturally wasteful and unthrifty; and poor Brooke's loss of the fortune he had made here was in part attributable to his carelessness and toleration of extravagance and pillage in his subordinates. In spite of his jealousy. Barry Sullivan, while managing the Theatre Royal in this city (Melbourne), surrounded himself with an excellent stock company — such a company, indeed, as could not be organised now — a company scarcely less complete and efficient than Daly's. Every piece he produced was handsomely mounted, thoroughly rehearsed, and effectually played, and I have always understood that he went home with a small fortune. I do not suppose his personal expenses ever exceeded £2 or £3 a week. His temper was as vile as Macready's without being conscious of and penitent for it, as that actor was. I wrote an advance criticism of some performance of Sullivan's, and a day or two afterwards I got into the compartment of a railway carriage on a suburban line, when he opened out upon me in a torrent of vulgar abuse in the presence of half a dozen other occupants of the compartment. His object was evidently to provoke me to strike him. But I preserved my own self-control, and ironically complimented him on his gentlemanly conduct and demeanor ; and he looked and acted like a man possessed by an evil spirit. Only a few months bfore he had dined at my house in company with Joseph Jefferson and Sir Charles Gavan Duffy. "

''Sullivan's reign at the Theatre Royal, Melbourne, was certainly not the least brilliant episode in the history of that theatre. He was one of the most hard working of managers and actors. He never spared himself, and he did not spare others. Indeed, he could not have succeeded or have fulfilled his duty to the public had he been indulgent or remiss. There was a good deal of person al magnetism in the man ; he could be almost winsome in his manners, but you felt that it was the attractiveness of the 'well-graced actor.' "

Mr. Amory Sullivan will admit that this is not a biased opinion given by one whom Mr. Amory Sullivan conceives was prejudiced against his father.

In connection with the name of Mr. W. C. Macready, I may mention that while Mr. Barry Sullivan was at the heyday of his success in the management of the Royal, a son of W. C. Macready turned up in Melbourne. The young man had been an officer in the army in India, led a fast life, left the army, and became stranded in the City by the Yarra. He appealed to Sullivan, and that gentleman gave him a ''show.' Young Macready appeared for two nights as Captain Absolute, in the ''Rivals." The piece was well mounted, and the support excellent. I saw the actor's debut. In face and figure he recalled the picture of his father, but there all comparison ended. He preached, mouthed and ranted by turns. There was an excellent house the first night, but on the second night a half-filled house ended Mr. Macready's engagement. He got lower in the social scale, and dropped to the grade of "a super," content to carry on a banner. Finally he left the stage in awful disgrace. I forget which Melbourne theatre he was at at the time, but in a state of delirium tremens be appeared among the company one night in a state of nudity. A blanket was thrown over the unfortunate man, he was removed, and the stage door barred against him in the future. I forget what became of him.

Mr. James Smith, "the Nestor of Australian dramatic critics," was born near Maidstone, in the county of Kent, and took to literary pursuits before he was out of his teens. He contributed occasionally to London "Punch," which brought him into contact with Douglas Jerrold, with whom he was associated in the "Illuminated Magazine," for which he wrote regularly. At the age of 20 he was editor of a country newspaper, and a year or two later had the chair of the Salisbury "Journal." This post he held from 1849 to 1854, in which latter year he came to Australia. In 1856 he joined the "Argus" staff as leader-writer, fine art and dramatic critic, and has been almost uninterruptedly connected with that paper ever since. He it was who advocated the institution of a National Gallery, and was one of the founders and the second editor of Melbourne "Punch." He was also editor of the "Evening Mail," the first afternoon paper published in Melbourne. From 1863 to 1868 he was Librarian at the Parliament Houses, an appointment conferred upon him by, I believe, the late Sir John O'Shannassy. His appointment created some jealousy, and one or two members, notably William Fraser, of Creswick, took exception to his appointment. Without doubt Mr. James Smith contributed to the newspapers while Parliamentary Librarian, but I doubt if he slated the actors as Mr. Amory Sullivan's quoted doggerel suggests. While Mr. Smith was Librarian he remodelled, classified and catalogued the library. He has lectured in public for 40 odd years, and in 1860 wrote and staged a drama entitled "Garabaldi." It was produced at the Prince of Wales' Theatre in Lonsdale-street — the same old building known in the early fifties as Rowe's Hippodrome, and later on as the Lyceum, when the Marsh Troupe occupied it, and yet again the Prince of Wales Theatre, when Richard Younge was stage manager, and M'Kean Buchanan, the spluttering American tragedian, was the star. To be just to Mr. Buchanan, there was one character in which he was in comparable— Sir Harcourt Courtly in Boucicault's "London Assurance." Mr. Smith also produced a successful farce —" A Broil at the Cafe" — the scene of which was laid at Spiers and Pond's Cafe de Paris, the piece being produced at the Royal. Mr. Smith has been a prolific writer, and a well read one. G. V. Brooke and James Smith were bound together by strong personal ties, and when Brooke, having made his final appearance at the Royal, was induced to give a short series of readings at the Old Exhibition Building, in William street, James Smith and Mr. and Mrs. Robert Heir assisted. I cannot, at this distance of time, conceive that Mr. James Smith and Mr. Barry Sullivan were unfriendly, as I have seen them together on more than one occasion. Many instances are recorded in which Barry Sullivan showed temper. Without question his conduct of the Theatre Royal was on the highest grade. In his day Melbourne was scandalised by a set of society poodles, who carried their va garies into the dress circle and private boxes of the Theatre Royal. One lady, the wife of one of the gentlemen mentioned by Mr. W. H. Campbell, carried on high jinks, and one night, with some military officers, so scandalised the pit that the denizens of that part of the house loudly called for Mr. Sullivan, who did not happen to be engaged on the stage that night. Mr. Sullivan, seeing how "the land lay," immediately entered the box and removed the occupants, amidst the cheers of the house. On another occasion he marched majestically before a well-dressed snob, whom he was removing from the dress circle, when the snob kicked the tragedian under the coat tails. Sullivan spun round like a teetotum— it was at the stairs— and asked, "You kicked me, sir?" 'I did ! " was the reply. Sullivan hit out with his right, and with one well-directed blow sent the cad reeling to the bottom of the stairs. In the early seventies. Mr. Barry Sullivan made an appearance at the Liverpool Police Court on a charge of having assaulted a stage carpenter, of which more anon.

(To be continued.)