Barry Sullivan

My editor has handed me the following very interesting and to me most gratifying letter, and which, being addressed to the editor of the 'Sportsman,' is evidently intended for publication:—

"(To the Editor of the 'Sportsman.')

“Sir, — It is usually understood, I believe, that 'dead men tell no tales,' but in this case, as in others, the exception proves the rule, for according to 'Hayseed,' the present writer of this — to quote his own words— 'died in Sydney some years ago.' Yet in spite of being so heavily handicapped by him, I will, with your permission, 'a tale unfold' in answer to articles appearing in your paper of the 10th and 17th , instant. Under the above heading, the 'Sportsman' of the 10th instant says: 'When Barry Sullivan first appeared in Melbourne he was fairly a frost. He was exceedingly needy in appearance, etc.' Now, sir, the truth is that when Barry Sullivan landed from the good ship City of Melbourne—which brought him to Australia— he, with his son, drove straight to Menzies' Hotel, then in La Trobe-street, Melbourne, where he resided for some months, and right up to his departure for Sydney. Here he stopped at the Royal, and Wilton Hall at Tattersall's, where he committed suicide ; and thereby hangs another tale. Even in those days, old man Menzies' was not in the habit of allowing anyone 'of exceedingly needy appearance' anywhere about his premises, and certainly those whose personal expenses 'never exceeded two or three pounds a week' stood not the ghost of a chance at his hotel. Barry Sullivan appeared the first seven nights in 'Hamlet' following it with 'Richelieu,' 'Richard III,' etc. There were £368 in the first night, and he finished previous to his coming here to £211. Is this the 'frost' you allude to ? Mr. W. H. Campbell's statements are all quite strange to me. Nor do I remember anyone of that name, save the young barber's assistant whom my father put into 'business' (together with a partner), the firm being afterwards pretty well known as 'Campbell and Graham.' The supper alluded to by Mr. Campbell, as being given to Jefferson and Barry Sullivan, I very well remember, but he must be dreaming, surely, when he states 'it fell to my lot to propose Mr. Sullivan's health,' and again, 'of those that made merry that night only Mr. Jefferson, Captain Johnson and myself remain to tell the tale.' Indeed, then where do I (with several more I could name) come in ? James Smith was always very bitter—he never quite forgot the long mongrel ballad published about him, which caused amusement at the time, and which he attributed to the 'Royal's manager.' The first verse I remember ran as follows :-

'I'm young man from the country, librarian I be.

Three hundred pounds and fifty more, a year they give to me ;

My place is but a sinecure, for naught have I to do.

But scribble on the theatres, and damn the actors, too.'

"That James Smith knew that he had failed to put down 'the Royal,' which he had worked so hard ' to accomplish, we have only to quote his own words : 'I have always understood that Barry Sullivan returned home with a small fortune. Quite right, Mr. Smith, he certainly did. In the 'Sportsman' of 17th instant you state that 'Miss Vandenhoff died of a broken heart,' etc. Whereas it is well known at home that consumption carried her off, after a long illness; but there is no 'romance' in consumption.

“In alluding to Miss Kyte, among other things you say : 'The lady had sailed for London a couple of days before Barry Sullivan was cheered off from Sandridge Railway Pier.' Yes, but you forgot to add that he travelled slowly, sailing from Brisbane in the s.s. Souchayo, via the Coral Seas, stopping at Java. Singapore, Calcutta, Egypt, etc., and taking altogether, over six months to reach England.— I am, sir, yours, etc., AMORY SULLIVAN.

"(son, and for 25 years Barry Sullivan's manager), late acting-manager and treasurer of Theatres Royal, Melbourne, Sydney, etc."

* * *

I won't make any apology for "killing" Mr. Amory Sullivan, as it has brought forth such an interesting and instructive letter; but I may say that a few months after Mr. Amory Sullivan's connection with the Theatre Royal, Sydney, ceased, I read with much regret, in a Sydney newspaper, of his death somewhere in Queensland. I believe I have the "cutting" still, and will hunt it up. Needless to say I am much gratified that Mr Amory Sullivan is still in the land of the living ; not to tell tales, but to establish facts. Now, I did not say that Mr. Amory Sullivan died in Sydney. If that gentleman will look up the "Sportsman" of August 10 he will find that my words were, "The later, now dead, was in Sydney a few years ago." Again my words are : "He was exceedingly seedy in appearance." Not 'needy,' Mr. Amory. My opening paragraph on the 10th fully explains why I consider Mr. Sullivan's ,early appearance in Melbourne a ''frost." The fact of there being £368 in the old Theatre Royal on Mr. Sullivan's first night, and £211 on his farewell performance proves, I think, that there was a falling off, my friend ! As I pointed out, the Australian stage was languishing for a star after Brooke left. But money taken at the doors does not make the stage representation brilliant and no one knows that better than Mr. Amory Sullivan.

I am not prepared to fall in with the opinion that the hotel of Archibald Menzies, in Latrobe-street, Melbourne, stood in the front rank. It was in a third-rate neighbourhood, stood a good distance off the street, and was hemmed in by stone buildings which were flush with the alignment line, and had a somewhat dingy appearance. But I will admit that it was a much better stamp of house than the Hope tavern, a dingy two-storied pub which stood on the corner of York-street and Barrack-lane (S.W.), or the Star Hotel, George-street North, Sydney, both of which Mr. Menzies kept before he went to Melbourne. Mr. Menzies left Latrobe-street in the mid-sixties, and built the present Menzies' Hotel at the corner of Bourke and William streets, a house deservedly holding a world-wide reputation.

If Mr Amory Sullivan will look up W. J. Lawrence's biography of his father, published 1893 by W. and G. Baird, 62 Ludgate Hill, E. C., London, he will see a long quotation from a letter of Mr. W. H. Campbell. And let me here interpolate something about Mr. Amory Sullivan's somewhat ungenerous allusion to the ''young barber's assistant of that name whom my father put into business;'' etc, The young barber's assistant" was Mr. John Campbell, who, when Barry Sullivan arrived in Melbourne, was managing the large business carried on by Mr. Bennett next door to the Theatre Royal, Bourke-street East. Mr. Bennett certainly did hairdress and shave, but his main business was that of a theatrical wigmaker and costumier, and Mr. John Campbell and his subsquent partner, Graham, were wigmakers, and I have no doubt, made many wigs for Mr. Barry Sullivan. The two —Campbell and Graham— left Bennett's service and opened for themselves in Swanston-street, and Mr. Barry Sullivan patronised them there, but that he set them up in business I very much doubt. John Campbell, to my certain knowledge, had private property, and I don't think Mr. Graham was without means. Anyhow, from poor Bennett's weakness for strong drinks, and his general neglect of business, the clientele followed Campbell and Graham. After a while Mr. Campbell sold out to his partner, and travelled, like Artemus Ward, with "wax figgurs," Mr. Campbell being himself the maker of the figures. While managing Mr. Bennett's business Mr. Campbell did all the artistic work in Madame Sohier's waxworks exhibition— not bad for a "young barber's assistant.'' Mr. Campbell travelled Tasmania with his 'wax figgurs,' and on reaching Sydney opened his show in Pitt-street in one of Uther's old buildings, where now stands the Imperial Arcade. William Caffyn, cricketer and hairdresser, then in business in George-street, near Elvy's (1871), wanted to go to England, and John Campbell bought him out. Campbell then sold the waxworks show to Johnny Gourlay, the Scotch comedian, and therein hangs another tale. Mr. John Campbell remained some years in George-street, and made money , enough to retire in dignified ease to the suburb of Burwood, Sydney, or at least he lived there— and may still—until he lost his energetic little wife some months ago. Mr. Amory Sullivan will have no difficulty, I think, in interviewing, the "young assistant barber, "John Campbell, any day in the reading room of the School of Arts, or at, I believe, his house in Burwood.

And here it may not be out of place to mention, re W. H. Campbell, that, though the supper was given to Messrs. Sullivan and Jefferson, and while these no doubt great actors have played together and met on and off the stage, I don't think Jefferson in his autobiography makes any mention of Barry Sullivan ! Mr. James Smith is still alive, and well able to take his own part in any controversy re theatricals in Melbourne in the early sixties. I prefer to make no further allusion to the ladies mentioned further than this : Miss Kyte's departure was a "nine days wonder," why she went being best known to herself and her family. Her mother (is it a coincidence?) died last week in Melbourne at a great age. Miss Vandenhoff's illness, perhaps, had nothing to do with the allegation that Mr. Barry Sullivan had neglected her, and that his name was tabooed in the Vandenhoff family. Notwithstanding her "consumption," she might have had a broken heart. Anyhow, Mr. Barry Sullivan's name is not mentioned in George Vandenhoff's book. Again allow me to express my gratification that the curtain has not yet been rung down on Mr. Amory Sullivan.

As Mr. Coppin pointed out, he got no satisfaction from Lord Canterbury, notwithstanding loud professions of honor and a desire to do the correct thing. Certainly Lieutenant and Aide-de-camp Rothwell sent a cheque for three guineas to the Official Assignee of Mr. Roberts' estate years after that unlucky manager filed his schedule. That payment did Mr. Roberts no good, nor yet any of Mr. Roberts' creditors. The house of Canterbury was always impecunious. The eldest son was as a rule, up to his neck in debt, and in trotting round with the Duke of Edinburgh did things generally on the nod. On his return to England he wiped out his debts by a certain process of whitewashing which has been somewhat frequent of late years amongst the British aristocracy. As an evidence of the impecuniosity of the family, it may be mentioned that the dead-head Viscount held a small sinecure worth £200 a year, some petty legal office in London, which he never saw, but for which he drew the salary with surprising regularity. And yet the Governor asserted that he always paid his way into the theatres and other amusements.

About the time that Mr. Coppin was having it out with Lord Canterbury, there was another mild sensation in the Melbourne theatrical world. Thirty years ago there was an eccentric genius in Sydney named WALTER HAMPSON COOPER.

As a journalist and playwright Mr. Cooper held a fairly distinguished position. He studied for the Bar, and was called, held a few briefs, chiefly in criminal cases, and was elected to the Legislative Assembly for East Macquarie. He sat in but one Parliament, a lapsus linguae getting him his quietus. He said, in debate, that all the outfit a free selector needed was a harness cask and bullet mould, and although East Macquarie was not much of a selectors' electorate, the biting sarcasm told, and at the ballot at the succeeding election Mr. Cooper was promptly fired out.

In his leisure time Mr. Cooper wrote a drama, 'Foiled,' and toured with it himself. At Sandhurst, Victoria, he struck a snag. His company was a good one, and included Stuart O'Brien, Nat Douglass, and others. The experiment at Sandhurst did not turn out well. It turned out well so far as the theatregoers were concerned, and so far as the critics were concerned, and as one cynic at the time said, it possibly turned out good for the author, but that the actors were satisfied was quite another matter. The transaction at Sandhurst had a very ugly appearance as far as the author-manager was concerned. For while the author-manager was on his way back to Sydney, certain bits of paper given to members of the company as payment for salaries were returned with the mystic letters 'N.S.F.' It may be assumed that the actors were not quite enraptured with their employer.

In answer to some sharp strictures in the press, Mr. Cooper explained that he did not assume the position of an author-manager; that 'Foiled' was not a success at Sandhurst, and that he did not obtain the services of any person without paying for them. Briefly, Mr. Cooper put the case thus :— 'Being on the point of returning to Sydney, I met Mr. Stanley, of the Sandhurst Theatre, who wished to produce 'Foiled' at that place. Not being certain that Mr. Stanley would have a company strong enough at that place, I delayed giving a decision on Mr. Stanley's offer, In the meantime it was suggested to me that as the company then playing at the Princess' Opera House was about to break up, I might arrange with certain members of that company—let them have the drama, travel with it, play it where they pleased, pay their own salaries and expenses out of the money accruing out of its representation, and divide the profits, if there were any, equally with me. I spoke first to Mr. Douglass on this matter. He agreed to the arrangement, and went with me to Mr. O'Brien, who, after we had some conversation, agreed to join in the enterprise. Mr. Stanley's offer was discussed, and Mr. O'Brien was for taking the theatre at Sandhurst, and taking a complete company to play 'Foiled' there. As, however, the Princess' Company would not be free to leave Mr. Bayliss for a fortnight, it was decided that I should go to Sandhurst to arrange with Mr. Stanley. I did so simply because Mr. O'Brien was unable to go. If Mr. O'Brien had been free to quit Melbourne, he would have gone to Sandhurst and I would have gone to Sydney, leaving the whole thing in his hands. Bear in mind that Messrs. O'Brien, Douglass and Co. were to take 'Foiled' and my other pieces, pay their own salaries, etc., out of the receipts, and divide the profits with me. I, in fact, let them my pieces on sharing terms. I was not author-manager of the company, Mr. O'Brien and Mr. Douglass had no more right to claim a salary from me

than you have; but I admit that in the cases of Miss Shepparde and Mrs. Jones I have made myself to a certain extent liable. Now, how did I act? First of all I paid the travelling expenses of Mr. O'Brien, Mr. Douglass, Miss Shepparde, and Mrs. Jones from Melbourne to Sandhurst. Then at the close of the first week I handed over to Mr. O'Brien the whole of the money, in cash, paid me by Mr. Stanley, without deducting the expenses paid out of pocket, and, at Mr. O'Brien's request, I gave him certain post-dated cheques to meet the company's expenses in case the second week at Sandhurst should not prove remunerative. All this I did, though, mark you, neither Mr. O'Brien nor Mr. Douglass had a claim upon me to the extent of a farthing; and for doing this, out of a pure desire to save these people annoyance, I am pilloried in the 'Australasian.' By the terms of our agreement, even the railway fares from Melbourne to Sandhurst should have came out of the proceeds of the piece, and not out of my pocket.

'I came down to Melbourne, and there I found that a cheque given me for some scrip (a cheque for £54) was valueless, and that consequently I would not have funds to meet the cheques given to Mr. O'Brien. I wrote at once and told him so; and there the matter ought to have ended as far as I was concerned, for those cheques were advanced as a loan, and not given by me as manager of the company responsible for their salaries. The receipts for the week in Sandhurst amounted to £127 16s 6d. Of this I received from Mr. Stanley £20 18s, and of that sum Mr. O'Brien received £18 2s 6d. I had no money left at all. I had not even sufficient to pay the passage of myself and wife to Sydney. You say truly that Mr. O'Brien holds my dishonored cheques; but you might have said, also, that Mr. O'Brien had no right to demand from me the money those cheques represent, and that he knew a week before he presented them that they would be dishonored.'

It is clear, therefore, from Mr. Cooper's explanation, that he made no money by the production of 'Foiled' at Sandhurst. But though Walter Cooper disclaimed any managerial responsibility in connection with the performance of the play there, he took a considerable share in the arrangements, and his connection looked very like management. When the intention of producing 'Foiled' at Sandhurst was first spoken of, it was stated that Mr. Cooper was going to travel with the company to the other colonies, in the same way that Fred Younge travelled with his 'Caste' company. The project was mentioned in several of the newspapers, and as Mr. Cooper was in Victoria at the time, he had every opportunity of correcting this statement if he had thought proper. Mr. Cooper could not wonder, therefore, that something more than a merely general impression prevailed as to his being in the position of manager to what might be termed the 'Foiled' Company. Such being the impression, it is nothing surprising that, coupling his sudden departure from Melbourne with the dishonoring of the cheques given by him to a member of the company, the conclusion should have been arrived at that he had left the colony to escape his managerial responsibilities. As one of the earliest efforts at Australasian dramatic authorship, Mr. Cooper's venture was hailed with satisfaction, and the public, for the time, was gratified that he had cleared himself.

But Mr. Stuart O'Brien and others had something to say in reply to Mr. Cooper. Dating from the Theatre Royal, Ballarat, January 9, 1872, Mr. O'Brien writes :-

'Sir,— I am sorry to contradict Mr. Cooper's statements, but, in justice to Mr. Douglass and myself, I must do so. Mr. Cooper's engagement with us was to pay us our Melbourne salaries under any circumstances. He did so for the first week, and handed me cheques for the following week, to be paid by me to Mrs. Jones, Miss Shepparde, Mr. Douglass and Mr. O'Brien. If the receipts of 'Foiled' reached, as they did in Melbourne (say) £100, the profits were to be divided, after salaries and expenses— Mr. Cooper one half, Mr. Douglass and self the other half.

'I enclose you Mr. Cooper's letters. You will find by one of them he states that there will be money enough in the bank to meet the cheques he gave me. They were no loan, as Mr. Cooper and I had taken the Adelaide theatre between us, and his cheques for £20 and £15 were from him to me as his partner, and to pay his share of the expenses to Adelaide.

'Mr. Cooper's last words to me were : 'If the salaries come in, do not use the cheques, and pay into my credit any balance that may be left.' There was £7 10s, I think, coming to Mr. Cooper from Mr. Stanley, which Mr. Stanley paid me in two of Mr. Cooper's dishonored cheques amounting to £10 4s 6d.

'On coming to Melbourne our cheques were presented at the bank and returned N.S.F., and I may say that I had every confidence in Mr. Cooper's statement that he had funds in the City Bank of Sydney; otherwise I would not have involved myself as I have done.'

Mr. Douglass, writing from the same place, says : 'Allow me to endorse every word of the above, and at the same time to express my sorrow that this matter should have been made public. In justice to ourselves, Mr. O'Brien and myself have no other course open than this: stating the truth.'

Mr. O'Brien produced several letters and documents to corroborate his statement. In a letter from Mr. Cooper to Mr O’Brien, under date November 21, is the following, relating to the arrangements for the tour alleged to have been in contemplation:— 'We can play here (Sandhurst) for a fortnight, then go to Castlemaine, and then go to Ballarat or to Hobart Town for the Christmas. After Hobert Town we may visit Ballarat or Adelaide. I leave you to arrange these matters, and, of course, will leave all future arrangements in your hands. My part of the business will be simply to go forward as agent, and bill the places where we intend to open.' In a letter dated November 22, Cooper says : 'Bayliss has not got the Ballarat theatre. We had better secure it, and also the Hobart Town theatre for Christmas. Do you think it worth while playing in Castlemaine?' In one letter dated November 30, speaking of the arrangements, Cooper says: 'I am to find you, Douglass, Miss Shepparde, no one else. Now, I don't want to break my word with Appleton, though the engagement was only a contingent sort of affair.' A document in Mr. Cooper's handwriting, dated December 9, contains the following: 'Received from Mr. Cooper, cheques postdated for £6, £5, £5, and £7, salaries of Miss Jones, Miss Shepparde, Mr. Douglass, and Mr. O'Brien, to December 16 next; also one bank cheque to be filled in for a sum not exceeding £35, for company's expenses.— F. Stuart O'Brien.' These cheques were dishonored, and on December 19 Mr Cooper wrote to Mr. O'Brien regretting the unfortunate turn things had taken, and offering to give him the play of 'Foiled' as compensation for his losses. He says: 'I think, if I place 'Foiled' in your hands, make it over to you as your sole property, you may be able to square yourself and me too. I therefore make the piece over to you for the nominal sum of £100— that is to say 'Foiled' is your property, if you like to have it for that price, with the option of paying me the money when it suits your convenience, and if it never suits your convenience never to pay me. This is the only reparation I can make you, I hope you will be able to arrange for me with the other people, whose money I will pay as soon as I can.'

From this it must be gathered that Mr. Cooper did intend to travel with a 'Foiled' company; that he did make himself responsible for the salaries, and that not being able to pay them, he offered reparation to Mr. O'Brien, and promised to pay the others as soon as possible. Cooper returned suddenly to Sydney, and brought upon himself a lot of odium.

There was a partnership subsequently between, if I remember rightly, J. J. Bartlett, Mr. Cooper, and a gentleman who belonged to a minstrel company. After producing certain of Mr. Cooper's plays in Sydney and other New South Wales towns, the party intended touring the United States. I think, however, this also ended in failure, as did most of Mr. Cooper's ventures. The unfortunate gentleman, after many domestic troubles, joined the great majority at an early age.

Mr. Bartlett, whose wife was a Miss Moon, sister of a distinguished musician of the sixties and seventies, came to Australia in the early sixties, having with him, they then being children, Bland and May Holt. Bartlett entered into theatrical management with Mr. William Dind, in the Prince of Wales' Opera House, Castlereagh-street, but the fire of January, 1872, dissolved the partnership and began the series of mishaps which ended Mr. Bartlett's career

upon the stage of this life.

In the articles re Barry Sullivan ('Sportsman,' September 7, 1904) the name of Mr, Wilton cropped up, he being the gentleman who held the lease of the Theatre Royal, Melbourne, when Mr. Sullivan arrived. This gentleman came to Sydney with Mr. Sullivan, and, as mentioned in Mr. Amory Sullivan's letter, committed suicide at Tattersall's Hotel, Pitt-street. Mr. Wilton had a son, H. D. Wilton, who, late in 1871, died at Church-street, South Shore, Blackpool, England, at the early age of 29 years. In Australia he had acted as agent for Lady Don, and returned with that lady to England. Young and volatile, he did not take that care of himself which a man of more mature years would. It is to his credit, that he stood by Lady Don in all her troubles incidental on the management of the Newcastle Theatre, and his death was not only acutely, felt by Lady Don, but by a large circle of friends and acquaintances.

The end of 1871 and the beginning of 1872 were eventful years in matters theatrical in Melbourne. Added to those mentioned in recent articles, the Theatre Royal went down by fire in January, 1872, a few weeks after the Prince of Wales' Opera House in Castlereagh-street met a similar fate.

(To be continued.)

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.)

When Barry Sullivan first appeared in Melbourne, in 1862, he was fairly a frost. He was exceedingly seedy in appearance, and, having followed closely upon Brooke, was looked upon in the light of an interloper. He was introduced to Australia by Mr. Wilton, who had pioneered G. V. Brooke six years previously. The company at the old Royal was not the best that could be gathered in— added to which the theatre was in a state of sad repair, unclean and bedraggled-looking. Again, Mr. Sullivan's chief support was ; an ambitious rival, Henry Neil Warner, who did not treat the stranger as generously as he should have done. I am afraid the critics, too, were not as lenient to the newcomer as they might have been. That Sullivan felt the criticisms keenly may be gathered from the fact that on one occasion, as 'Richelieu,' he altered the text to suit his purpose— 'Beneath the rule of men entirely 'just,' the pen is mightier than the sword.' I heard him utter the lines, but they brought no responsive answer from the audience. Again, on another occasion, when hissing was prevalent, he stepped to the front and angrily exclaimed 'What do you want ? Don't think that I came here to make a name ; I brought it with me.' Mr. Barry Sullivan brought some of the trouble on to his own head. The people of Melbourne were used to seeing the leading lady share the call with the leading actor, but Sullivan always strutted before the curtain in answer to the call, which was not always for him. On such occasions the call would be for Mrs. Heir a vociferous one—when that lady would be led on by her husband, though often he was not in the cast. In after years I have seen Barry Sullivan, in the pink of fashion, leaning on the arm of Ambrose Kyte, chatting gaily with Mr. James Smith, the then recognised critic of the 'Argus,' and opposite the 'Argus' office too! and that after 'having a deadly quarrel with the critic.

Sullivan is said to have been born in Birmingham, of parents in very humble life. He was always reticent as to his early career. On one occasion he unbent just a trifle, at a national banquet given him in Dublin in December 1878, when he said : 'It may not be considered out of place if I mention, here the fact that I commenced the art which I have the honor to profess, not on the first rung of the ladder, but on the very ground. While yet a boy I stood alone in the world, without father, mother or friend, without means, and master only of 'a little Latin and less Greek.'

Sullivan was quite Homerian in a sense, inasmuch that at his death several cities claimed the honor of his birth. His parents were Irish, and he has often expressed himself as 'Irish to the heart's core,' and certainly his brogue was corroborative of his Irish origin. Some claim that Sullivan was born in Cork county, one faction standing up for Clonakilty, another for Dunmanway. It has, however, been placed beyond doubt that Thomas Barry Sullivan first saw the light on Shakespeare's birthday, April 23, 1824, in Birmingham, county of Warwick, the county which gave the immortal Will a birthplace. However, the Sullivans made Cork their home, while the future tragedian was yet a child. There he was found in 1838 a poor, ill-educated lad on the foot-board of life, as an assistant in a drapery store, a new establishment opened by one Swinburne, in Winthrop-street. From there he went to Todd's, another drapery house.

It was while in this establishment, a lad of 15, he was described as having a 'handsome Irish face, already showing in its lineaments the dawning of character and resolution, a sparse, elegant figure, and a profusion of jet-black ringlets.' So, at least thought the local players, into whose good graces he won his way. Finding that he had a tenor, light, but pleasing, he was invited to appear for one night at the old theatre in George's- street (Cork), for the benefit of one of the Misses Smith, the charming duetists, recognised as nieces of Kitty, the fascinating Countess of Essex, known on the stage as Kitty Stephens. Barry Sullivan appeared as Young Meadows in the once comic opera ''Love in a Village," that being his first appearance on the stage. His success was beyond a doubt, and manager Seymour at once engaged him to play 'leading, singing, walking gentleman.' In the spring of 1840 a Dublin tragedian named Paumier visited Cork and became manager of the George's street theatre. Under him Sullivan gained many valuable hints in fencing and dramatic elocution, which he found of great value in after life. During an engagement of operatic stars, Mr. and Mrs. Wood, the George's-street theatre was burned down, a calamity which caused Paumier to leave for England. Sullivan now found his former manager, Seymour, who had converted a hall in Cook-street into a theatre, naming it The Victoria. 'The ghost seldom walked,' a circumstance attributed by Seymour to the visit of a travelling booth managed by one Collins, who, with a good company, attractive melodramas, and low prices, did a roaring trade. Sullivan went over to Collins and obtained permission to appear in a round of legitimate characters. The venture was successful, money poured in, and Collins grew so joyful that he set about erecting a large wooden building as a theatre. With the old booth his luck went out, and Barry returned to the old 'Royal Victoria Theatre.'

During the winter of 1840, Barry Sullivan had the felicity of supporting Ellen Tree, then in the heyday of her youth, beauty and power, in Cork. Paul Bedford was in the company at this time and played Blueskin to Sullivan's Darrell in 'Jack Sheppard.' When things were quiet in Cork, the players migrated to Waterford, Limerick, and other neighboring towns. About this time the first and only instance of Barry Sullivan ever getting 'tight' occurred at Clonmel. He was Dewelskin the Smuggler in 'Rory O'More,' and in the scrimmage lost control of himself and ill-used one of the attacking party, and, grieving over this, he decided to abandon strong drink. "And," says a biographer, "he had strength of character, and religiously kept his resolution to the end." That is scarcely correct, however, as to my personal knowledge Sullivan always had a pint of Dublin stout with his supper every night.

At a banquet given Sullivan in Cork, in December 1878, in replying to the toast of his health, the tragedian said, among other things : 'I was going to the theatre, and as I was passing through the principal street, Denny street, there was a cry of fire. I went down with the other boys— for I was only a big boy at the time— to look at the fire, and presently I saw a very beautiful girl looking out of a window above, and with her a gentleman with a white head. ' To make a long story short, I went through the flames and saved those two. Suddenly I remembered that I was wanted at the theatre, which was in the Market House, and I really did not think that I had done anything worth remembering. Two or three days afterwards, however, it became known that the boy, the individual, the young man, who had saved the lives of this lady and gentle man - I remember they were Mr. Primrose and Miss Primrose, his daughter - it was discovered that it was young Sullivan, the vulgar little player, who had done this. Up to that time our theatre had been doing very badly, but from, this time forward we had crowded houses, I tell you.' A similar incident is recorded of G. V. Brooke.

In 1842 Barry Sullivan was supporting Charles Kean in Edinburgh, and 20 years after Barry Sullivan was at the Royal in Bourke-street, Melbourne, with a magnificent company, while Charles Kean, with a good company, was playing at the Haymarket Theatre on the opposite side of the street ! Barry Sullivan played Gaston to the star's "Richelieu," and in this connection may be mentioned an incident. In 1857 Barry Sullivan was playing 'Richelieu' in Edinburgh, and the Gaston of the night was Henry Irving ! It would be impossible (and quite unnecessary) to follow Sullivan in his upward career In England, Scotland, Ireland, and America, in these columns. His colonial career touches us more nearly.

On G. V. Brooke's return to England in 1861 the larger cities of Australasia had, for the first time, an opening for a first-class tragedian. Barry Sullivan took the tide at the flood, and entering into negotiations with Mr. J. Wilton, who at that time had the lease of the Theatre Royal, agreed to make his de but at that house. I think Barry Sullivan come to Australia "on his own." Mr. W. H. Campbell, recently residing in San Francisco, but in the fifties or sixties a resident of Melbourne, recalling matters theatrical, wrote thus to a friend :_ "I frequently met and was pretty well acquainted with 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 had ever set foot in the colonies, but he had left for good before Sullivan's arrival there. The contrast between the two men, both Irishmen, as they were, was very striking. Brooke was good natured, convivial, careless, and had moments of superb inspiration. Sullivan, on the other hand, was practical, energetic, 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 Joseph Jefferson, Fanny Cathcart (Mrs. Heir-Darrell) Heir, and a galaxy of lesser talent, playing at the Princess. I think, they opened in 'Money,' Barry Sullivan as Evelyn, Jefferson as Graves. A little supper was tendered these gentlemen and the two captains commanding the ships which brought them out to Australia. Of those who made merry that night, only Mr. Jefferson, Captain D.H. Johnson, R.N.R., and myself remain to tell the tale. H. B. Donaldson, of Sandridge, was there, and my fellow-survivors doubtless remember how he and the genial C. Throckmorton went through the farcical comedy of marrying the landlord's daughter over the broom stick, for the special entertainment of our theatrical guests.

'It fell to my lot to propose Mr. Sullivan's health. In doing so I alluded to a keen, fussy controversy 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 method in regard to them being at variance with those formerly practised. My endeavour was to throw oil on the troubled waters and bring the unhappy dispute to an end. So I ventured to suggest to our friend the desirability of a compromise, or such concession as might please the ladies and satisfy popular prejudice and clamour.

"Jumping up, the tragedian replied in these words, 'Do you think, sir,' addressing me personally, 'that I will concede ? No, sir! Never, sir! ! Not for a moment, sir ! ! ! Do you mean to say that I, Barry Sullivan, must stoop down to the people of Melbourne ? No, sir ! Far from it. I'll bring them up to me.' And he carried 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 Guiness' Dublin porter. He was fond of praise, though impatient of adverse criticism. 'Did you see my Don Caesar?' he asked me on the street a few days after the production of 'Don Caesar de Bazan.' He fished for a compliment and received a well-merited one."

The trouble with the ladies alluded to was that which was deemed discourteous, in not ''leading a lady on" in answer to a call or sharing the call with her. Sullivan, however, in after years, got on very well with the ladies ; he always had a double company and paid good salaries. The Cafe Royal alluded to above was the Cafe de Paris, run by Spiers and Pond, and occupied the frontage to Bourke-street, the theatre being built at the rear. I have, as one of my treasures, a picture of the old building, with a group of actors and actresses in front, in the group being G. V. Brooke, Robert Heir and his wife, Dick Stewart, and many other thespians long 'gone over.' In a basket phaeton, harnessed to two ponies, sits Christopher Pond, a fine, stalwart man, popular and prized. Sullivan's supper was not always broiled steak or chop. I remember on one occasion having business with him, after the theatre had closed, when his supper consisted of a lump of soused fish and the usual half-pint of Guinness' stout.

In 1863 Barry Sullivan came to Sydney and met with great success. On his return to Melbourne he secured a lease of the Theatre Royal from Ambrose Kyte, the first time in his life that he accepted the responsibility of management. He secured Hennings as scenic artist and H. R. Harwood as nominal stage manager, and on March 7, 1863, commenced a series of Shakespearian revivals. Then came the Keans, and the rivalry between the Keans and Barry Sullivan gave Melbourne the most brilliant theatrical season it ever enjoyed. The Keans were supported by a specially gathered company, each member of which was asked by Mr. Coppin to sink himself and his rank 'for the occasion only,' out of compliment to the distinguished visitors. Kean and wife brought with them J. F. Cathcart and — Everett, with Miss Chapman (a relative of Mrs. Kean). Henry Edwards, and other stock leaders of the day agreed to play "second fiddles" to the Keans and their company, it is an open secret that Charles Kean was disappointed with his Australian trip. He was, in fact, played out, and, but for the great assistance of his wife, would have been a dead frost. Old Londoners, who recollected his princely revivals of the Shakespearian drama, flocked to see him; but, divested of their spectacular effects, the plays, at the Haymarket, Melbourne, were as unlike the plays at the Princess', London, as Charles Kean was unlike his father, the great Edmund Kean.

Of Barry Sullivan, James Smith, who is regarded as the Nestor of Australian dramatic critics, and who has been associated with press work in Melbourne for over 50 years, thus wrote-: — 'As a man I did not like him. He was cold, hard, and repellent, and his vanity amounted to disease. He Seriously believed that the British stage had only produced thro j 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 almost childish. I could never detect any of the fire of genius in his performances ; but he professed great talent, and that 'infinite capacity for taking pains' which comes 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 detail connected with a theatre, from 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 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 his, 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 (1892), a company scarcely less complete and efficient than Daly's. Every piece he produced he had handsomely mounted, thoroughly, rehearsed, and effectively 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."

While in Melbourne Mr. Barry Sullivan's right-hand man in management was Mr. Son Amory. The latter, now dead,-was in Sidney, a few years ago, when I had some pleasant chats about old times and old people, of which and whom more at another time.

(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.)

At Spiers and Pond's 'Hall by the Sea’, at Margate, when the 'Special Bohemian' of the 'Orchestra' arrived at his destination ('Sportsman,' September 28, 1904), he found 'A crowd, a Tricon playing, surrounded with gas jets, looking as if Spiers and Pond were practising hard to set the Thames on fire, more gas devices and jets over the facade (for which word I am indebted to the 'Standard'), and a large poster, which informed me that Claribel's Ballads were to be sung every night.

***

'On being restored to consciousness'—he does not say how he became unconscious, I have my suspicions — 'I found the concert had commenced. M. Jullian was the conductor; and the programme included the names of Madame Parepa, Mdlle. Liebhart, Miss Eyles, Miss Rose Herssee, Mr. Farquharson, Mr. Weiss, and Mr. Perron (vocalists), Miss Kathleen Ryan, Miss Kate Gordon, and Herr Strauss. Herr Meyer Lutz was the accompanist, The hall was crammed, and the concert went off like one of Spiers and Pond's champagne corks. The orchestra is first-rate, and Jullian conducts with all the chic of his father before him. I never heard popular music more popularly played than the lighter selections on Saturday. As for the singing, we had the pompous Parepa, who was not half so much to my Bohemian taste as the graceful and unpretending Rose Hersee, who sang 'Where the Bee Sucks' in a way that electrified Margate right through the hall and out and across the road, right down to the bathing machines. Then there was Fraulein Liebhardt, who was vociferously recalled for her 'Lover and the Bird' (especially the 'Bird'), and the chivalrous-looking Weiss, who kept his 'Watch at the Fore’, although it was long past that hour, and, of course, his watch must have been awfully slow, although the song wasn't; and there was the terrific basso from the colonies called Farquharson, who accompanied capitally on the piano and sang the 'Wolf' with the most hilarious hilarity. (At this point I had an interview with Spiers and Pond in the refreshment room.) George Perren was then on with Mr. Weiss, and, as by this time the place had been formally opened, the duet was appropriately 'Hall's Well,' after which Miss Kathleen Ryan played a lot of Weber on the piano, and a flutter went through many a manly Margate heart to behold that clever and fascinating young lady, with the large dark eyes, and the power of the wrist, not to mention— (Spiers and Pond have just sent for me). To resume, Miss Kate Gordon also gave us a touch of her very excellent quality on a somewhat obdurate Broadwood, and Miss Eyles having contributed 'The Lady of the Lea,' which the programme informed us was composed by 'Claribel' (Ha! ha! I now see how her songs are to be done every night!), and Spiers and Pond having executed a most successful duet together in the shape of a bow from the orchestra, exhausted nature could do no more, and I rushed off to sup with a noble and intimate friend at No. 4 Royal Crescent. When I emerged from the hall a very beautiful experiment in lights was going on under the direction of my talented and affable friend, Mr. George Dolby. It appeared that whenever the transparencies at the hall were lit up, all the Margate lights, including the pier lights, went down. It had an indescribably beautiful effect, and, as such, reflects great credit on Spiers and Pond. Our old friend Dolby did not seem to see it in the same light, and made severe remarks upon the Gas Company. Mr. Thorne (local assistant of Mr. Hingston, the manager), having been despatched to sit on the gasometer, peace and harmony were restored, and your old Bohemian speedily found his weary form reposing elegantly on a sofa, at No. 4, above distantly referred to. There was hock, much hock, a beautiful balcony, and cigars; also fair women, and a murmurous sea in front. I like the lot, my noble friend , ———.

'Come! (said your own Bohemian to the company generally) unto these yellow Margate sands, with yellow Margate boots on at 4s 6d, and there take hands. Where the wild waves tumble o'er— and in which I shall bathe to-morrow, probably in the afternoon, drinking in the meantime a cup of kindness yet (with a slice of lemon in it) to Spier's and Pond, than whom I——'

(Here our correspondent's letter becomes luckily illegible. We are, however, enabled from other and more trustworthy sources to state that the Margate Hall-by-the-Sea is likely to prove a well-merited success.— Ed.)

***

The old Melbourne Royal and the historic cafe are doomed. After a life of half a century, with a fire midway, the old building, I believe, goes. The history of the Melbourne Theatre Royal will include the history of the best days of the Victorian stage, when the acting was acknowledged to be at his best, and without the adjunct of pretty scenery and elaborate properties. The theatre was built by John Black, a name unknown in theatricals until then, but well known on the road between Melbourne and Sandhurst as a carrier in the early fifties, at a time when carriage meant £100 per ton. Out of his pile Mr. Black built the Royal, and lost his pile. It was opened in 1855 with the 'School for Scandal.' The old Queen's was then open, and doing well, G. V. Brooke being the attraction. The Queen-street house was good enough for the prehistoric days of Melbourne, but with the discovery of gold and the advent of thousands of gold-seekers, and the success of thousands of these in gold finding, the 'playhouse' erected by John Thomas Smith in the forties was found to be inadequate to the public wants.

When George Coppin (whom God preserve) went to England in search of talent, and found G. V. Brooke, he also bethought him that, being such an expensive star-— £300 a week— and he dependent upon one small theatre, was not, in colonial parlance, good enough. Accordingly he made his way to Birmingham, and entered into a contract with Messrs Bellhouse and Co. to build him in sections an iron theatre, capable of holding £300. Mr. Coppin's first agreement with G. V. Brooke was, I believe, for 200 nights at £50, or a total of £10,000. The theatre was named the Olympic, out of compliment to the theatre so named in which, in 1847, G. V. Brooke made his first London appearance. The Melbournites, however, dubbed it the 'Iron Pot,' though it was as pretty and cozy a theatre as anyone could wish. Brooke, however, did not open it; that honor was bestowed on the Wizard Jacobs, as Brooke was playing elsewhere. In 1856 George Coppin became possessed of the Royal. In that year Brooke and Coppin entered into partnership, before, I think, the original engagement was concluded. They separated in 1858, Brooke retaining the Royal, Coppin taking as his share of the assets the 'Iron Pot' and Cremorne Gardens, at which latter place he did a roaring business. It was then, I think, that Brooke commenced to lose money. As I have pointed out before he was not a business man and relied upon others to look after his interests. At first Richard Younge managed for him, then Robert Heir. Henry Edwards, from Sydney, was engaged in the stock company, and George Fawcett was running the old Princess'. On the failure of Heir as manager, Edwards and Fawcett were appointed. Their management ended in disaster. Ambrose Kyte was owner of the building, and had been called upon on many occasions for accommodation cheques to keep the ghost walking. The failure of Edwards and Fawcett, as managers, was the means of healing a breach that had occurred between Coppin and Brooke, and the former returned to the Royal as manager. Its position at this time was not satisfactory. After giving Burton's circus a show, Wilton had it for a while, and under his auspices, in 1862, Barry Sullivan appeared. In 1863 Sullivan showed what he could do in management, and in 1865 William Hoskins and Clarence Holt joined hands, holding together until 1867, when the theatre came under the joint management of six very worthy stage men — J. Chambert, Charles Vincent, H. R. Harwood, Richard Stewart, T. S. Bellard, and John Hennings, the scenic artist. The six held together, and did well for some time. Each man had his allotted duty in management, and did it. The first break in the six was the death of Charles Vincent, occasioned by an accident, deemed of small moment at the time. He had purchased a horse, and was about mounting to go for a ride when the animal became restive and threw the rider; in the fall one of his hands was injured, lockjaw set in, and the popular husband of Miss Cleveland went the way of all flesh. Mr. Lambert went England and ended his days in the village in which he first saw the light. Tom Bellair went into hotel management. He kept the Rainbow at Ballarat for some years, and died in the principal hotel at Wagga Wagga. Harwood retired, and went on a tour to to India and China, I think. The partnership then became Coppin, Greville and Hennings, and Harwood again joined later on. The old Royal Theatre was burned in March, 1872. The piece being performed on the fatal night was the 'Streets of New York,' the hero of which was played by a very capable actor of those days, James Carden, Miss Eloise Juno also being in the company. Mr. G. R. Ireland and all the members of the company suffered losses in wardrobes, etc. The historic cafe was then in the occupation of the renowned scenic artist, William Pitt, father of the architect of today. Mr. Pitt had for many years kept the Garrick's Head Hotel, opposite the Eastern Market, where his right-hand Hebe was the now Mrs. Roberts, of the Criterion Theatre Hotel, Sydney, but then well known to us youngsters as Miss Polly Smith. The first to discover the fire was Jack Conway, the well-known cricketer, who was smoking a midnight cigar at the window of Sayers' Prince of Wales Hotel, Bourke-street. Six months previously the Haymarket Theatre was burned down, and but a few weeks before the Prince of Wales Opera House, in Castlereagh-street, went under to the same agency. In the seventeen years life of the old Royal there were memories both pleasant and painful. In the seventeen years there were, it might be said, three periods, the Brooke, the Sullivan, and the Montgomery. Mark the distinction between the two pieces, that at the opening 'The School for Scandal,' and that at the close, 'The Streets of New York!' A decadence truly.

As the actors were homeless through the fire, and out of work, and many out of cash, something had to be done for their relief. Among the most attractive efforts to gather in coin was a cricket match on the principal Melbourne ground, the cricketers in costume, and to some extent supporting the characters they sustained. George Coppin appeared as Paul Pry, J. R. Greville as 'A party by the name of Johnstone,' Mr. Hennings as Claude Melnotte, Mr. Carden as Enoch Arden, Richard Stewart as Lord Dundreary, Ireland as Cassio, John Dunn as 'That Rascal Jack,' Appleton as Ronaldo, Roberts as Asa Trenchard, old Jimmy Milne as Mike Feeney, and minor men in various guises. At the time of the fire the Princess' was empty, and the lessee, William Saurin Lyster, offered it to Mr. Coppin and his friends for a short season. Mr. Coppin made a speech — he was always great on speeches — in which he detailed his sorrows. Six years previously he had started life afresh without a sixpence; he had succeeded, but the fire had swept away most of the provision which he had made for old age and a large family. Yet Mr. Coppin re-built the Royal and opened the new venture on Cup night (Cup winner, John Tait's The Quack), 1872, with an address written by Dr. Neild and spoken by Mrs. Collins, then (later on Mrs. H. R. Harwood) nee Docy Stewart. Then followed 'To Oblige Benson' and 'Milky White,' in both of which Mr. Coppin appeared. The company proper was at Adelaide, but Coppin did not wish to miss a bumper house such as always eventuates on Cup night. Since then the fortunes of the theatre have been varied. Many new theatrical ventures have sprung into existence, the most formidable being the gorgeous Princess'.

At the time of the opening of the Theatre Royal (No. 2), the Princess' was in full swing with a strong company under Stuart O'Brien and Miss Jones, heavy tragedy being the order of the night. During the same Cup week a dramatic benefit was given Mr. John Whiteman, who had filled as many parts in life as did the late George Adams. Mr. Whiteman was a blacksmith by trade, and a poet by instinct, his little volume, 'Sparks from the Anvil,' being readable. He had been a publican, and in that, as in other trades, had his ups and downs. On the benefit night Coppin and Stewart appeared; Marcus Clarke wrote an address, which was spoken by John Edwards the younger. Looking over those old bills, one comes across many names now absolutely forgotten, of the seniors George Coppin being about the only one of a long list now remaining; and about this time— 1872 — there arose a controversy regarding 'deadheads,' in which Mr. George Coppin, Morton Tavares, and others took part. The germ of the controversy was as to whether Vice-Regal patrons should not pay for seats occupied in the theatre even on 'command nights.' The Vice Regal delinquent at whom George Coppin was hitting, and hitting mighty hard, was Viscount Canterbury, who in his earlier days was known as John Henry Thomas Manners-Sutton. The correspondence was carried on with some vigor, the theatrical critics, strange to say, siding with the deadheads, from a fellow-feeling perhaps. There was a dramatic association in existence in Melbourne at the time, and the matter was thoroughly threshed out at its meetings. Viscount Canterbury, who appears, from the correspondence, to have been a persistent deadhead, asked Mr. Coppin to send in an account of the 'items,' but this Mr. Coppin declined to do, on the ground that his profession never gave credit. Of this interesting dispute more anon.

(To be continued.)

Some controversy has been carried on in the Sydney papers respecting the tercentenary celebration at Melbourne of Shakespeare's birth, and, strange to say, the 'authorities' differ. As a matter of fact, some years before the date of the centenary, April 23, 1864, the Melbourne Garrick Club had made arrangements to celebrate the occasion with a performance of "The Merchant of Venice," introduced by the Introduction to the 'Taming of the Shrew,' and, sandwiched, a tableau of Shakespearian characters. The Garrick Club was founded in 1855 by some enthusiastic amateur actors, who were anxious to fret their little hour upon the stage for charitable purposes.

Amongst the founders of the club were James Smith (of the 'Argus'), James E. Neild, M.D., and W. J. Wilson, a scenic artist of much dramatic ability, all three, l am gratified to say, still living. Then, as president, there was R. H. Horne, better, perhaps, known as 'Orion' Horne, from the fact that he wrote a poem under that title, which was published in London at the extraordinary price of a farthing. There was Tom Pavey, the solicitor, who acted for all thespians when they had any legal matters on hand, John Edwards, the younger, who was articled to John Barter Bennett, the solicitor, Alfred Bliss, of Bliss and Joy (what a combination!), auctioneers. - There was J. B. Castieau, who had been in the service of the Government as ruler at the Melbourne Gaol, and a score of others, more or less Bohemian. The first performance was given at the Theatre Royal, under the patronage of Governor Sir Charles Hotham, who had with him in his private box the Colonial Auditor-General, Mr. Grimes, a pompous individual, who was given the appointment through his aristocratic connections, notwithstanding his plebeian name. The piece chosen was "The Heir at Law,” John Edwards performing Dr. Pangloss. It will be remembered that Pangloss has a catch phrase, naming the author whom he quotes. At that time the Victorian finances were in somewhat of a muddle, and when Edwards, as Pangloss, should have said, "Two and two are four, 'Cocker,'" Edwards said "Take 3 from 6 and 5 remains, Grimes," which so offended the Auditor-General that he left the theatre, though asked by Sir Charles Hotham to remain.

Poor Jack Edwards was a thorough Bohemian, a native of Tasmania, to which I believe his father, also a solicitor, was sent for something connected with Chartism. Articled to John Barter Bennett, the latter always patronised the Garrick Club performances, but a time came when he was called upon to put the question very straight to young Edwards, as to which profession he would adopt, that of law or the stage, “For you know, Edwards that you cannot follow both.” Jack chose the law, though he did not abandon the amateur stage.

This erratic individual was born in 1836, at Launceston, and educated by two clergymen, one of whom, Mr. Trollope, had been head master of Christ's Hospital, and started the first collegiate school in Victoria. Edwards was brought to Port Philip when a child and, after schooling, was articled first to Mr. Trenchard, whose son was a suitor for the hand of enchanting Julia Mathews at the same time that R. O'Hara Burke, the explorer was urging his suit. Julia however wedded neither, though I have her own word for it that she would have married Burke had he returned. O'Hara Burke was dead then, and his name was a good advertisement for the gentle, guileless Julia. She wore his picture in miniature and contrived to lose it one Sunday afternoon in the Botanical Gardens.

Edwards was transferred to Mr. Bennett, and had charge of the Common Law department; but, as mentioned, he was more frequently to be found, behind the scenes of the Theatre Royal than at the County Court; which was supposed to be his happy hunting ground. He was admitted a solicitor in 1858 and entered Parliament in 1859, being known as the 'Collingwood Chicken' and the 'Native Companion.' He had as colleagues the late Charles Jardine Don, a stonemason, and the first Labor member ever returned to Parliament, and George Milner Stephen; brother of Sir Alfred Stephen, and the gentleman who afterwards posed as a faith healer. Mr. Edwards was high up in Masonry, very, open-handed and good-hearted, too much so for his own good.

The writer was associated him once in a dramatic performance in aid of the fund being raised for a memorial to G. V. Brooke. The play was the “Poor Gentleman,” Edwards being the Dr. Ollapod, and this scribe Sir Robert Bramble. On the morning of the performance Mr. Edwards sent for me. He had been to Sandhurst a couple of days before, performing for the same object, and had caught a cold, and a bad one. He was in bed, with old Dr. Serrell alongside, and a blister as big as a blanket on his chest. To play that night was out of the question. I was commissioned to interview Mr. William Hoskins, erstwhile of Sadler’s Wells Theatre, and who was the lessee of the old Princess', in Spring-street, where we were to play. Hoskins had the Royal at the same time; it was at the latter house that I saw him, in the 'treasury,' as the ramshackle office was called. I have seen men out of temper in my time, but I have not as yet come across one who equalled William Hoskins on that morning. You see, we 'shared the house' after a certain sum— £60, I think— was deducted for rent. Mr. Hoskins was afraid that the public would get wind of Mr. Edwards' illness, and the receipts would suffer. Hoskins was the best player of such characters as Ollapod and Dr. Pangloss that I have ever seen. Of course he had to fill the gap, and right well he did it. Dr. J. E. Neild was entrusted with the apology for Edwards. The little doctor was never subject to stage fright, but in making the apology he led the audience to believe that John was suffering a recovery, or something of the sort. 

But when Dr. Neild announced that Mr. Hoskins was to be the Ollapod of the night the cheers nearly raised the roof. Like Marcus Clarke, Mick Maloney, and a few of that kidney, John Edwards' Bohemianism shortened his days.

The Shakespeare memorial, which has been the subject of some controversy recently, was started by Barry Sullivan, with the object, of purchasing a statue which the sculptor Summers was preparing. Sullivan was the moving spirit in the statue enterprise, while G. W. Rusden, the Clerk of the Parliaments, favoured a scholarship at the University. The statue was cast in plaster, and was to cost £1000. The plaster cast was unveiled by Barry Sullivan on the steps of the Public Library, where now stands the statue of Sir Redmond Barry. The statue was never cast, the funds not coming in fast enough, the subscriptions being returned by the treasurer, Frederick Wilkinson, Master in Equity.

The scholarship fared better. Mr. Rusden got up a dramatic performance of the “Merchant of Venice,” the parts being taken by members of Parliament, Mr. George Coppin, M.L.C., the father now of the Australian stage, being the Launcelot Gobbo. Another old actor, though long retired, Mark Last King - on the stage Moreton King—was the Shylock. Few Sydney people today remember Moreton King, though he played in the old Victoria Theatre, in Pitt Street and was considered a great star. A prologue was written by Mr. G. W. Rusden and spoken by Mr. J. D. Wood, the barrister, who has recently returned to his native land (Tasmania) to end his days. Vincent Pyke, at one time Minister for Customs under Sir James M'Culloch, wrote and spoke a very smart epilogue. Mr. Pyke afterwards, betook himself to Maoriland, where he loomed big in politics and Bohemianism. The Garrick Club played “The Merchant of Venice” on the evening before the date, April 23, of the tercentenary, Samuel Hawker Banks, a Sydney native and well-known literary man, being the Shylock. On that night, for the first time in Australia, and I think the only time, the introduction to the “Taming of the Shrew” was performed. Herbert Palmer, afterwards on the literary staff of the 'Age,' being the Christopher Sly. The tableau of Shakespearian characters was centred by the late William Pitt, the well-known scenic artist, who was always pressed into the service when a bust of Shakespeare was needed. In addition to his scenic art, Mr. Pitt kept the Garrick's Head Hotel, in Bourke-street, opposite the Eastern Markets, and where, by the way, I first made the acquaintance of the now Mrs. H. L. Roberts, of the Criterion, but then the favourite of Melbourne, and known as Miss Polly Smith. In Mr. Pitt's cellar, not the one where he kept the casks, but another, quite distinct, were nursed some of the finest sporting dogs I have ever seen, dogs that would charm my valued correspondent, the Hon. Thomas Reibey of Entally. The well-known theatre architect and M.L.C. (Victoria) is the son of this Mr. William Pitt, of the Garrick's Head. 

The Shakespearian performance which has given rise to the commentary was that given by Mr. Harry Edwards (whom some old Sydneyites will yet remember; he was with us not long before his death, when he bought 'Little Lord Fauntleroy') at Ballarat, which was then the home of the drama, though I am afraid it is not now. But all the dramatic efforts to make a Shakespearian jubilee failed, with the single exception of the Rusden Scholarship, and it is very questionable now if the memorial to the 'divine William' is remembered.

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.)