Robert Heir

In the course of these articles I have made occasional reference to— amongst Thespians— "the noblest Roman of them all."
GUSTAVUS VAUGHAN BROOKE.

Quite recently there was a newspaper controversy as to the correct name of the great tragedian, some of the controversialists contending that his name was Gustavas Vasa. I have undoubted testimony (the autograph of the actor in full), which gives the second name as Vaughan, and rightly so, as this was his grandmother's maiden name. Brooke was born in Hardwicke-place, Dublin, the 'place' being a crescent of fine houses right opposite St. George's Church, and in the immediate neighbourhood of the scene of the shooting of Head Constable Talbot by Thomas Kelly in the year 1867. Talbot was a spy in the ranks of the Fenians, who went as far as to attend Roman Catholic services and engage in the most solemn ceremonies to enlist the confidence of members of the Fenian Brotherhood, and then betray them. To Kelly was allotted the 'duty' of wiping out Talbot. One night he posted himself in an archway, past which he knew Talbot would go. After waiting patiently the doomed man sauntered along. Kelly fired, the bullet, hitting Talbot behind the ear. One of the most famous of Dublin surgeons performed an operation to extract the bullet. Talbot died. Kelly was tried for the murder, and was defended by the great Isaac Butt, whose defence was that the surgical operation, badly performed, caused death. Butt raised such a cloud of doubt over Talbot's identity of Kelly, and Dr Stokes' manipulation of the bullet, that the jury acquitted the accused, much to the astonishment of the two judges who tried the case. Kelly, however was convicted of shooting at and wounding a police constable on the pathway right in front of the house in Hardwicke-place where Brooke was born, and sentenced to 14 years' penal servitude. On serving about half the time he was discharged on the ground of ill-health, at 24 hours' notice, and immediately left for the United States, the Government of which allowed him to enter, as his offence in Ireland was political. He did not long enjoy his freedom, as the rigor of penal servitude had completely undermined his health.
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Hardwicke-place, Dublin, was a fashionable neighborhood at the time of Brooke's birth, and is still a good locality, though somewhat decayed. Brooke's father subsequently lived in Hardwicke-street, at No. 4, right opposite the residence of his wife's grandmother, Mrs. Vaughan, who lived at No. 44. Young Brooke was educated at a school conducted by a brother of Maria Edgeworth. He was intended for the legal profession, his father, knowing his natural gifts, being anxious that he should be called to the Bar and "walk the hall of the Four Courts." Brooke, however, at the immature age of 14 years, had been to Hawkins-street Theatre, otherwise known as the Royal, and had seen Macready, in high tragedy, and immediately became stage-struck ! In a day or two he waited upon Mr Calcraft, the lessee of the theatre, which at that time was a 'patent theatre' (that is, it was licensed to perform plays; and had the monopoly of such in Dublin ; other theatres there were, Fishamble-street for one, which evaded the patent law by interspersing the dialogue of the plays with songs and music), and asked for an engagement. Mr Calcraft did not discourage the juvenile, but said that he had no opening for him just then.
About this time another erratic genius, Edmund Keen (born 1787, died 1833), was advertised to appear in Dublin. His real name was Edmund Carey. His parentage was questioned, even by himself, and he frequently, to many persons who were not particularly in his confidence, affirmed his belief to be that Mrs. Carey was not his mother, but that he owed his existence to a lady who through, life passed as his aunt. That lady was for many years "under the protection" of the Duke of Norfolk, and was introduced by the Duke to David Garrick, who gave her an introduction to the managers of Drury Lane Theatre, where she appeared soon after the death of Garrick.
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In view of the controversy as to the receipts at certain Australian theatres by certain stars in the long ago, some figures of Edmund Kean's may be of interest : In the course of the season of 1814 Kean played 68 nights. - The total amount of money received at Drury Lane Theatre on these nights was £32,642 12s 6d. When Kean came to the theatre the nightly receipts averaged £212. During his nights the general average was £509 9s. The largest receipt on the performance of Shylock was £531 2s, of Richard III. £655 13s, of Hamlet £660, of Iago £578, of Othello £673. The number of persons who visited, the theatre during these 68 nights was 166,742. The result of the calculation is that the theatre cleared by his services alone £20,000.
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Of Edmund Kean, Lord Byron wrote : 'Just returned from seeing Kean in Richard. By Jove, he is a soul ! Life, nature, truth, without exaggeration or diminution. Kemble's Hamlet is perfect; but Hamlet is not nature.' Richard is a man, and Kean is Richard." Edmund Kean was announced to appear at the Theatre Royal, Hawkins-street, Dublin, on Easter Monday, 1833. That festival fell on April 9. But a few days before that date Mr. Calcraft received information that Kean was seriously ill, and would not be able to fulfil his engagement. As a matter of history, Kean died on May 15.
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In his dilemma Mr. Calcraft bethought himself of his youthful applicant, and sent a special messenger to No. 4 Hardwick-street and summoned to his presence the thespian aspirant. His first application for employment was so earnest that Calcraft asked him to recite, and was much struck by the ability and fervor which he displayed, but he naturally declined to receive so mere a tyro into his company. The defection of Kean, however, altered his determination, and Calcraft on his second interview with the lad Brooke engaged him to fill the place of the great star. Easter Monday, April 9, 1833, was the date fixed for his "first appearance on any stage." The piece chosen being "William Tell." Amongst the stock company at the Hawkins-street Theatre, there was Mr. J. C. Lambert who afterwards supported Brooke in Melbourne. At a benefit performance and presentation to Brooke, on the stage of the old Melbourne Royal, J. C. Lambert, who officiated as spokesman, told the story of Brooke's first appearance. He described the handsome lad, who, with an entirely new, fresh and piquent rendering of Tell, took the Dublin audience by storm, and the Dublin audience, be it remembered, is about the most critical any actor can pass before. Permanent employment at Hawkins-street followed. The Emma of the drama was Miss Huddart, afterwards Mrs. Warner. Brooke's success was so great that, at the age of 18 years, he was recognised as a star, and played starring engagements. In one of these engagements, at Sheffield, in 1838, Mr. George Coppin, then a slim young gentleman of 18 summers, played Osric to Brooke's Hamlet.
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There is a somewhat hazy idea that Mr. Brooke played Virginius at the Victoria Theatre, London, in the late thirties. In 1841, William Charles Macready engaged Brooke to share "second business" with James Anderson, at Drury Lane, but on entering the green room Brooke found himself cast for the minor part of Salarino in the "Merchant of Venice." Tearing down the 'cast' notice, Brooke left the theatre vowing that he would never appear there during Macready's management. Years after—in 1848— Macready visited Brooke in his dressing room at the Olympic (London), and candidly told him that he was now "the only English actor capable of upholding the grand tragic line, and that with proper care he need fear no competitor." At Manchester, in 1845, Brooke played Iago to Forrest's Othello, and was forewarned by his comrades that Forrest's voice would drown his own. The American put forward all his lung power in the third act, but the Iago of the night was equal to the occasion, and honors were divided. It was not until January 3, 1848, that Brooke made his real debut in London. It was at the Olympic, and the piece chosen for the ordeal was "Othello." The late Mr. William Barton of the John Bull Tavern, Little Collins-street, Melbourne, to whom I am indebted for much information concerning the London stage and the London prize ring, told me that he and a number of his friends were present on the occasion. They were there by invitation as old playgoers and first-nighters, and good judges of acting. Mr. Barton tells me that Brooke's Othello was a success, but not equal to Kean's. I may say that Mr. Barton's opinion of Kean was that he overshadowed every other actor of his time. In the same way he considered Jem Ward the don of the prize ring. Later on, in 1849, Brooke was managing the Theatre Royal, Rochdale, when J. B. Howe, the veteran English actor, made his first appearance as a professional. Like most actors, Mr. Howe first trod the boards as an amateur. He was an ironmonger's assistant when, in 1847, he paid £4 10s for the privilege of playing the leading part in "The Rover's Bride,"or "The Murder in the Bittern Swamp," produced at the Old Bower Saloon. The first lady with whom Mr. Howe ever walked on the stage was the mother of the present Mrs. Labouchere. Howe's right initials are 'T.B.,' for he was christened Thomas Burdett, after Sir Francis Burdett. He came to be known as J. B. Howe by an accident, being so billed by Mr. Biddles, the father of Mrs. Charles Calvert. This Mr. J. B. Howe must not be confounded with Mr. John Howe, who, in 1871, appeared at the old Victoria Theatre, Pitt-street, under the management of Mr. John Bennett.
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In December, 1851, Brooke appeared at the Broadway Theatre, New York, as Othello. His success in the United States led him to undertake the lesseeship of the Astor Place Opera House, in New York, which he opened in May, 1852. The venture was a most disastrous failure, and after another tour in the United States he returned to London and secured an engagement at 'Old Drury,' then under the management of Mr. E. T. Smith, father of Dr. L. L. Smith, the well-known sporting medico of Melbourne. Mr. E. Smith was at one time also lessee of Cremorne Gardens and Her Majesty's Theatre, London. The little doctor escaped the stage through the care of his mother, who sent him to Paris for his education, she not wishing her son to "fret his little hour upon the stage."
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Before leaving the United States, Brooke took a farewell benefit at the National Theatre, May 27, 1853, on which occasion he was presented with a magnificent service of solid silverplate. There was a splendid salver, a hot water kettle, and five other pieces. On the salver was inscribed : —
Presented to
G. V. BROOKE, ESQ.,
by a few of his many friends
in Boston, U.S.
May, 1853.
Brooke also had presented to him a silver centre-piece, by Australian friends. I wonder where all those valuable presents are now? In the melting pot, probably, long ago. The still active George Coppin visited England in 1854, with the object of engaging stars to earn some of the gold which was then in profuse quantities in Australia, waiting for someone to earn it. Brooke and Coppin were not strangers, as will be seen above, Coppin having met Brooke, and played with him in the English provinces. Coppin met his old chum, I think, at Birmingham, and immediately secured him "for the goldfields." Having netted his big fish, Mr. Coppin looked about him for someone to consistently support the star. Richard Younge, a very conscientious and all round good actor, was chosen as the chief male support, while a pretty, smiling, good-tempered young lady, belonging to an old theatrical family Fanny Cathcart — was selected as the leading lady. In the days of her youth Miss Cathcart was a charming actress, though she did not support Brooke in all his characters. For instance, she was not the Lady Macbeth, that part being filled by Mrs. Vickery. Fanny Cathcart was a daughter of James F. Cathcart, a well-known actor of his day, and sister of J. F. Cathcart, who came first to Australia in 1863, in the Kean season, he being leading man in the series of Kean performances in the colonies. He was for nine years with the Keans before coming to Australia, and had the honor of appearing 19 times before Queen Victoria. Cathcart was practically cradled in a theatre, as was his sister Fanny. After a season of nine months in Australia, in 1863 Coppin, the Keans, Cathcart and others left Sydney for San Francisco, having previously given three Shakespearian performances in the Old Masonic Hall, York-street. After a tour in the United States, J. F. Cathcart joined Barry Sullivan, and played, with him for seven years. In 1879 he returned to Australia and remained until his death in December, 1902, at the age of 75 years. Fanny Cathcart, soon after her arrival in Melbourne, married Robert Heir, out of which some legal complications arose, Mrs. Heir having broken the letter of her engagement with George Coppin. The latter, by the way, was a widower, at the time, and rumor had it that he wished to make Fanny Cathcart his wife, but thst she 'would have none of it.' The little dispute was, however, got over, and Mrs. Heir rejoined the Coppin combination. Miss Cathcart, Brooke, Young, and others came to Melbourne by the Argo ; Robert Heir, Fred Younge, and others whom Mr. Coppin had engaged in England, coming out later on. The Australian manager was not content with engaging an expensive company to support G. V. Brooke, but he brought an Iron theatre, made in sections in Birmingham, in which to house them. The imported playhouse was not ready, however, for the first appearance of Brooke and his confreres in Australia, so on arrival the great tragedian opened at
THE QUEEN'S THEATRE,
Queen-street, Melbourne, the property of John Thomas Smith, seven times Mayor of Melbourne, who owned and occupied the St. John's Tavern adjoining. The Queen's had been the home of drama in Port Phillip for over ten- years, and when its day was over it became a coach factory, the proprietor of which was Mr. Wm. Williams, an aristocratic coach builder, who was Mayor of Melbourne in 1866-7. The old Queen's on Brooke's advent was the only theatre in existence in Melbourne where Shakespearian pieces or the legitimate drama could he properly presented. It was Hobson's choice, therefore, at Hobson's Bay, and Brooke presented his Othello to an Australian audience on the limited stage of the stuffy little Queen's.

G. V. Brooke presented his Othello for the first time in Australia at the old Queen's Theatre in Queen-street, Melbourne, to, as a matter of course, an overflowing house. The prices were high, the lowest, if I remember rightly, being half-a-crown. There were Othellos before and after Brooke. I have seen most of them, and must still pin my faith to the ill-starred actor who went down in the London on that fateful day in January, 1866. Of course, I did not see Arabin, who opened the old—then new — Victoria Theatre in Pitt-street in 1838 in the character of the Moor; nor yet did I see Nesbitt M'Cron, whom the late Samuel Hawkes Banks considered equal to, if not excelling, Brooke. I saw the spluttering M'Kean Buchanan, the testy Bandmann, the old-school actor Creswick, and that other old-school actor James Anderson, Dampier, Carden, Clarence Holt, George Rignold, and an old Drury Lane actor who came out before Brooke went to England, but whose name has slipped my memory. I have seen minor actors play the part in stock companies, but neither major nor minor linger, so lovingly in the memory of old playgoers as Brooke. I remember one performance of 'Othello' at the old Royal, Melbourne, on a Saturday night, when the piece was so well played and staged in every detail that the hour of midnight struck as the curtain descended, and the afterpiece had to be abandoned. At one of Brooke's performances of Othello in the Melbourne Royal the Receipts reached £531 15s. I first saw Brooke in Australia as Evelyn in Bulwer Lytton's 'Money.' He had been fulfilling an engagement in Sydney, and had hurried to Melbourne on business, when advantage was taken to have one night's performance. That was in 1858. The house was crowded, and the actor apologised for having to play in his every-day costume, as his wardrobe was in Sydney. His first appearance was on the 10th of May, 1855, the play 'Othello' (in which he always opened). The Iago was Richard Younge ; the Cassio, Robert Heir ; Fanay Cathcart, Desdemona; Emilia, Mrs Guerin; the Brabantes, 'old Lambert.' But , Othello was not Brooke's only character, though it was the best of his Shakespearian. As Sir Giles Overreach, in 'A New Way to Pay Old Debts,' he was simply superb, his final scene being simply appalling. Mr. Barton told me that it equalled Edmund Kean's best effort, and Sir Giles was Kean's masterpiece outside Shakespearian drama. As Martin Walter in 'The Hunchback,' Matlow Elmore, ('Love's Sacrifice'), Virginius, and, characters of that stamp, no man has yet appeared in Australia to equal Brooke. He was the first to bring out here 'Louis XI.,' a part played by him in strong contrast to Charles Kean's rendering of the same character. It will be remembered that when Louis is plotting murder, the Angelus bell sounds, and the hoary old sinner takes off his cap ,to pray to the relics affixed to the headgear. Kean's rendering of that part caused the audience to laugh. Brooke was so solemn that the audience was hushed at the hypocrisy of the wretched monarch. But it was not alone in the heavy drama that Brooke flourished. His Irish comedy has never been excelled. The memory of his Felix O'Callaghan in 'On His Last Legs' can never fade. As Captain Murphy Maguire he kept the audience in a simmer of merriment from start to finish. The same with Pierce O'Hara in 'The Irish Attorney.' In low Irish comedy, of the John Drew and William O'Neill type, Brooke was a failure. He could act the gentleman, but not the bog-trotter.
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A good authority, Frank Brewer, in a little work published some years ago, entitled 'The Drama and Music in Australia,' says 'Brooke's reputation preceded him to Australia. His mental talents for the profession were of the highest order and his physical organisation was admirable. To a classical face of the Roman type and a well-formed majestic figure, was united a voice of exceptional volume and roundness, which he inflected with consummate skill. He was well educated, and had the manners of a polished gentleman. These natural and acquired elements to Brooke, to which a fine conceptive faculty was allied, eminently fitted him for the highest position in the realms of dramatic art. From 1848 to the time of his departure from England, he was probably one of the most popular actors in the United Kingdom yet; strange to say, the London critics and venerable playgoers were lukewarm towards him. Brooke certainly extracted from them unalloyed praise, his Master Walter was beyond the reach of cavil; but the admirers of Phelps and Charles Kean were so far prejudicial (no other word will express the exact state of feeling towards Brooke), that he was denied in London that full measure of approbation which was undoubtedly his due, without in any way detracting from the genius of Phelps, or the abilities, improved so much by study, of Kean. True; at times, Brooke was unequal to his performances. So was Edmund Kean, but in has great characters, when he rose to the top of his genius in Othello, Sir Giles, Master Walter, Matthew Elmore, Virginius, and others of his fine impersonations, he had in his best days no superior. High as was the opinion formed of Brooke in Sydney, he surpassed their expectations. The verdict was that he was the finest actor that had up to that time visited Australia. Had he devoted himself to comedy, particularly Irish comedy, he might have equalled Collins. In two characters he has not been surpassed in the colonies— Captain Murphy Maguire In “The Lerwin Family,” and O'Callaghan in “On His Last Legs.” The latter he made especially his own, and convulsed the audience with his amusing presentation of the volatile Irish gentleman reduced to the condition of living on his wits.
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In 1861, William Bede Dalley went to England as Immigration Lecturer, and in the same ship — the Great Britain— went G. V. Brooke. Dalley could appreciate talent in any man, and when the news of Brooke's death reached the colony, Dalley gave his opinion of the great actor to the world :— 'With one exception, that of Mr. Phelps, Mr. Brooke was unquestionably the first interpreter of Shakespeare upon the British stage. His physical advantages, voice, face, dignity of presence, instinctive gracefulness, were much greater than even those of Macready's great successor. But in subtle renderings, profound study and thought, Mr. Phelps was as no one more heartily acknowledged, than Mr. Brooke himself, the grander actor. I institute no comparison between him and a gentleman who recently visited this country, the bearer of a great dramatic name —Mr. Kean— and whose reputation is identified with spectacular representation in England, and my reason is simply this: that it would be a reflection upon the memory of Mr. Brooke to do so. Those who have never left this country, and whose acquaintance with the drama is exclusively derived from Mr. Brooke's acting, may be assured that in many respects nothing grander could be seen anywhere. The most fastidious critic was conquered into loving admiration by the mingled tenderness and terror of his Othello; while none could resist the melting softness of his accents in the last awful scene of fantastic sadness in which the noble Lear mingles 'matter and impertinency, reason and madness.' And then the life-like pictures of our own dear Irish humour and pathos, bringing, back to us by the magic of tone and gesture, scenes and times, and pleasures and sufferings. Where shall we ever see these again? In the Irish impersonations of Mr. Brooke one thing was very noticeable — no matter how low the character, there was always some hint of the gentleman in the performance. We have had many stage Irishmen in the colonies, notably Hudson, William O'Neill, John Drew, and John Collins, besides our local William Andrews, but none of them were ever on the same level as Brooke in portraying the Irish gentleman.
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When its good work could be of no service to the actor, then full fathom five in the Bay of Biscay, the -'London Times' pronounced a eulogy:— 'In January, 1848, Brooke appeared at the old Olympic Theatre, then under the management of Mr. Davidson. Virtually this was his first appearance in London, and not often has the approaching debut of an actor produced so large an amount of curiosity as in the case of G. V. Brooke. He had many offers from the metropolitan managers, but had refused them all, and these frequent negotiations, accompanied with news of brilliant successes in the provinces, kept his name before the Londoners, who 18 years ago were much more excitable on the subject of tragedy than they are at present. His performance of Othello, the part chosen for his first appearance, at once secured him a wide popularity. He repeated the part to creditable audiences for 30 successive nights, and for some weeks in 1848 he stood high amongst the theatrical lions of London, lively discussions as to his merits taking place in every assemblage where plays and players formed a topic of conversation. His physical advantages were very great. He had handsome and expressive features ; his figure was tall and commanding; and, above all, his voice not only rich and sonorous, but singularly capable of extremes of light and shade. It was in giving expression to violent emotions that be turned these natural gifts to the best account, and the storms of passion which distinguished his Othello and his Sir Giles Overreach were certain, in his best days, of commanding the tumultuous applause of thousands. He owed his proficiency not to crabbed art, but to fresh, healthy nature, and the 'inspired genius' is always a popular figure. A similar belief was entertained earlier in the century with respect to Edmund Kean, and among the theatrical gossips of 1848 those were not wanting who saw in G. V. Brooke the tragedian upon whom the mantle of Kean had fallen. In 1854 he took leave of the London public, and proceeded to Australia, where, as in America, his success was prodigious. He returned to London, after seven years' absence, in 1862, and again appeared as Othello at Drury Lane. When he perished in the s.s. London he was on his way to Melbourne to fulfil an engagement.'
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Just here I may be permitted to mention that Mr. and Mrs. J. B. Steele (Miss Adelaide Bowering) were engaged in London to support Brooke in his second tour in Australia. Mr. and Mrs. Steele came out in the sailing ship Western Ocean. I do not know whether the London passenger list was full, or Mr. George Coppin had on him a fit of economy, but it was fortunate for Mr. and Mrs. Steele that they came in the sailing ship. Mr. Steele informed me that the first they heard of the dreadful disaster to the London was from the pilot at Port Phillip Heads. I had the melancholy pleasure of spending an afternoon with Mr. Steele during the week. At 72 years of age he is still in good bodily health, but, alas! a cancer has attacked his tongue, and the once sweet voice of the well-graced actor is now merely a gutteral sound. Yet he bears his great misfortune with calm dignity, and is resignedly awaiting, as he says, 'the roll call.' Mrs. Steele died a few years ago in London.
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It was in the old theatre at Cork that Brooke made some of his earlier successes. In Dublin he was simply idolised. The houses he drew were packed. In Australia his countrymen rallied round him, and but for his weakness in the matter of strong drink his seven years' residence in Australia would have been a huge money success. I think, soon after the completion of his first engagement with Mr. Coppin, Mr . Brooke entered into partnership with that gentleman. They had a magnificent property to work upon. The Theatre Royal, the Olympic Theatre, and last, but not least, the splendid Cremorne Gardens, which had within its boundaries a bijou theatre, known as the Pantheon. Brooke appeared at the two first named, the Pantheon being given over to domestic drama of the drawing-room order. Cremorne Gardens were started by Mr. Coppin in 1856, little steamers plying on the Yarra conveying the patrons. They were grand times those old Cremorne days. A time came when Brooke and Coppin separated, the tragedian selecting the Theatre Royal as his share of the property, Mr. Coppin retaining the Gardens and the Olympic — the best end of the stick I have always thought. He (Brooke) engaged Robert Heir as his stage and general manager, Mrs. Heir being leading lady. Brooke was not content to sit at home at his ease, as the old song has it, but accepted engagements in all the cities and towns of the now Commonwealth. Bob Heir was not a success as a manager. I am afraid he was given to the production of plays which were calculated to 'show off' himself and his wife. Mrs. Heir was getting somewhat stale; in fact, the 'Argus' rudely told her that it was time she dropped Desdemona and took up Emelia; but what leading actress was ever known to adopt the advice of the press ? Mrs. Heir did not, though I think on one occasion she did play Emelia 'just to oblige' someone — Barry Sullivan, I think. To Bob Heir succeeded, as manager, a sterling old Sydney actor, Henry Edwards, who had joined with him in the management George Fawcett Rowe, but known only to us as George Fawcett. There were three brothers — George, Sandford, and Tom. Sandford generally looked after the front of the house, though on one occasion he played the part of Lord George Gordon in Fawcett Rowe's adaptation of Dickens' "Barnaby Rudge." The rule of Edwards and Fawcett continued some time, Brooke occasionally appearing in his best character, but unfortunately for himself, taking no interest in the working of the theatre. It was under the Edwards-Fawcett management that Brooke appeared in two original characters—in a one-act play, by Marston, I think, entitled 'Dreams of Delusion,' in which he performed the character of a mad doctor to perfection. The other original character was in a drama by R. H. Horne. 'The Death of Marlowe.' I am, however, not quite clear upon the point whether Brooke or Edwards played the leading part. The two little pieces held the stage for a week or so and then dropped out.
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While managing the Theatre Royal for G. V. Brooke, Edwards and Fawcett were also running the old Princess' in Spring-street, one of the very few theatres which escaped the ususal fate of theatres— fire— and where Marie Duret, Le Roy, Joseph Jefferson, and some other good men and women first appeared. Why and how Edwards, Fawcett, and Brooke "fell out," and George Coppin again fell in— don't misunderstand the phrase— with Gustavus Vaughan Brooke will be told another time.

While Mr. G. V. Brooke was earning golden opinions from all sorts of people, away from his business headquarters, Melbourne, his affairs were in anything but apple-pie order. I have no doubt his managers, Robert Heir (first) and Henry Edwards and George Fawcett, did their best. But theatrical managers are born, not made, and however brilliant an actor may be, he may, as a businessman, be the veriest duffer that ever donned a stage wig. Other matters may have helped in a degree to bring Mr. Brooke's finances down. While he and Mr. Coppin were in partnership the opposition in city theatres was the old weather-beaten matchbox known as The Princess', which had a very different company, and the ancient Hippodrome in Lonsdale-street, which had a precarious existence in several names, The Lyceum, The Prince of Wales, etc. While the Royal was being run by Coppin and Brooke, the old Olympic— the 'Ironpot'—was kept carefully closed as a theatre, though it was a rent-producing establishment, with the Olympic Hotel on the corner, run by William Pitt, the scenic artist. The Olympic pit was boarded over, and each night (and morning) the light fantastic toe was tripped on the most 'Continental lines.' Cremorne, of course, was only open in the summer months, when the free end easy of Melbourne could enjoy George Coppin's gondola trips with quiet chats in cozy corners, with the girl of your heart, or with the girl who cared little for your heart if you had a soft head and a long purse.

I mentioned previously that when George Coppin separated from Brooke he took with him most members of the old company. With that company and additions, George Coppin rehabilitated the old 'Ironpot,' and commenced a dramatic season. I was there on the opening night, the first I had ever been in the 'Pot.' The play was Falconer's comedy of "Extremes," or "Men of the Day." The cast, a strong one. It is an every-day costume comedy, rich, plebeian
and poverty-stricken aristocrats, the latter with a design upon the vast wealth of the former. A wealthy coal mine owner left his fortune of over a million to two persons, on condition that they married within six months. At the reading of the will the Lancashire cousins were looked down upon by their aristocratic-beggared friends, but the aspect of affairs changed when it was found that the old Lancashire woman, Mrs. Wildbriar, was worth half a million in her own right, while her daughter Jenny had a few thousands of her own, and the clodhopping son, in the red vest, owned to a big pile irrespective of what he expected from his mother. The poverty stricken swell, Sir Lionel Norman, believing that Lucy Vavasour would inherit the dead man's wealth, paid assiduous attention to her, but he discovered the condition of the will, that she should marry Frank Hawthorne, and if each refused the other, the wealth would be devoted to building homes for the orphan children of miners. There was also a condition that if one said 'yes,' and the other said 'no,' the money was to go to the one saying 'yes.' Believing that Frank must accept Lucy Vavasour, Sir Lionel Norman devotes his attention to Miss Jenny Wildbriar, who however, has a beau in the person of Everard Digby, a barrister, to whom she had been introduced under the title of the Marquis of Banterdown, a little device she had seen through. One of the crowd of penniless swells 'makes up' to Mrs. Wildbriar, and a penniless lady with a long pedigree fastens on to Robin Wildbriar. When the six months expire, and the executors of the will assemble the interested parties, after some cogitation, Lucy accepts the condition, while Frank Hawthorne rejects it. A very fine scene follows. Lucy explains that she guessed that Frank meant to refuse, and had she refused the money would be lost. Frank, being a bit of a poet, had composed some verses which, by chance, had fallen into Lucy's hands, and she declares that she will wear the willow all her life if he a second time refused her. In the cast were Richard Younge, Fred. Younge, T. S. Bellair, G. H. Rogers, Russell, Wilson (the scenic artist, who played Robin Wildbriar), Rose Dunn, Fanny Young (sister of Charles), the sisters Allen, a Miss St. Clair, and last, but not by any meant least, Mrs. Bellair, The opening night was that of the day on which Flying Buck won the first Champion Race at Flemington, January 1, 1859. It is fixed in my memory by reason of a doggerel epilogue spoken by Fred. Younge, wherein, he spoke of—
" . . . . . the ruck.
Viewing the heels of Flying Buck."
Soon after, Mr. Coppin produced "World and Stage," in which he appeared himself. Then the usual season followed, with always good results to George Coppin.
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It would be somewhat difficult for one not within the ring to get at the actual facts of Brooke's quarrel with Edwards and Fawcett. Ambrose Kyte was up to his neck in it. E. and F. had been borrowing money from, the then supposed millionaire, and Ambrose lent them so much money that they gave him the lease of the theatre as his security. All the soiled linen was publicly washed. The 'Age' newspaper, which accepted the correspondence, fairly revelled in the disclosures. To add to the trouble, the lady we knew as Mrs. Brooke became Mrs. Edwards, and Brooke, much to the scandal of the public, had his name linked with a leading actress whom he afterwards married at Liverpool. Friends interested themselves in Brooke's affairs, mediated with Mr. Coppin, and the pair became friends. Some people said that they were never separated, that it was only one of 'Coppin's dodges ;' but I don't think there was any 'dodge.' George Coppin was too careful a man to create a 'dodge' which should lose him money. The reconciliation was made, however. Mr. Coppin undertook the management of Mr. Brooke's theatre and affairs, and promised to make them straight.
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The opening piece under the resumed management of Mr. Coppin was Tobin's comedy of "The Honeymoon," followed by "The Serious Family," a big bill which crowded the house in every part, though the night was stormy and the rain pouring down in torrents. No rain could extinguish the interest felt in the reappearance in the same pieces of the old favorites, Coppin and Brooke, I made a unit in that great audience, and I shall never forget the reception Brooke met with on his entry as Duke Aranga. The demonstration was only equalled when George Coppin appeared as the Mock Duke. Avonia Jones played the parts of Juliana in "The Honeymoon," and Mrs. Ormsby Dalmaine in "The Serious Family." There appeared also, that night, after a long absence, Mrs. Vickery, a sterling actress in such parts as Mrs. Candour and Lady Sowerby Creamly, likewise was she great in the "Roman Mother," and no matter who else was in the company, Mrs Vickery was the Lady Macbeth. The feeling of the audience throughout the evening was displayed more than once when Brooke and Coppin were alone upon the stage.
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After "The Honeymoon," Brooke appeared in front of the curtain, and addressing the audience, said that he most heartily thanked them for the recognition manifested by them of the old as sociations of the house, and of his services in their behalf. The old friend who had performed with him that night was, he believed, the only friend he had in the colony; but while congratulating Mr. Coppin and himself on what had taken place, he would allow that gentleman to speak for himself. Brooke broke down more than once during the speech, and was picked up again by the vigorous applause of the audience. Mr. Coppin then came forward, and it was some moments before he could proceed. As soon as the applause subsided he said that it was most deeply gratifying to his feelings to find himself welcomed back as he had been to the boards of that theatre. It really looked like a vote of confidence, a sentiment which was cheered to the echo. When Mr. Brooke took the theatre he had promised to do all in his power to maintain the legitimate drama, and Mr. Brooke had done so. He (Mr. Coppin) Had now, at Mr. Brooke's request, assumed the management of the theatre for six months, during which he hoped, by assiduity and industry, and with the kind assistance of the public, to retrieve his broken fortune (Brooke had made £40,000 in his six years' Australian residence; a tidy sum to make up in six months, George) and to give him a substantial recognition of his talents on his departure for Europe. He could only say that nothing should be wanting on his part to bring about so desirable a result. Before retiring, Mr. Coppin begged to congratulate the public on having a second gas company (strange to say Ambrose Kyte was the promoter of the second gas company, which had the effect of bringing down the price of gas to a reasonable figure). The public would scarcely believe that after the thousands of pounds which the Gas Company had received from the theatre, the company had that night threatened to cut off the supply, unless the amount due — a paltry £43 — were paid instanter. Mr. Coppin humorously said that as he did not usually carry that amount about with him, the gas collector had kindly accepted his personal cheque, and if that had not been forthcoming the theatre would have been in utter darkness. Mr. Coppin then announced that on Saturday night a complimentary benefit would be given to that very promising young actress, Miss Rosa Dunn. On Boxing Night a panto mime would be produced which he hoped would give them every satisfaction: and, finally, he might state that an engagement had been made with Sir William and Lady Don, who would appear in due course. He hoped that, with such elements of novelty and talent, a succession of entertainments would be provided which might justly claim the support of the public, and lead to the successful results he had ventured to anticipate.
**********
In the course of his speech that night Mr. Coppin further said that the reception he had met with that night seemed a vote of confidence on his former management of the Theatre Royal. He had a character for 'dodging,' but he could honestly say and unhesitatingly declare that he had never abused that confidence in his promises as a manager. He had kept faith with the public. He regretted deeply that the satisfaction he felt on these grounds should be counterbalanced by the unfortunate circumstances in which he found the theatre placed at that moment. When he brought Mr. Brooke out from England he volunteered to him a promise that he would not leave him until he had secured for him an independency for the rest of his life, and he had kept his word. Last year (said Mr. Coppin) Mr. Brooke had made choice as his share of their joint business of the Theatre Royal, which was then in a thriving condition, and bringing a rental of £400 a year, or, instead, made him an offer of £20,000, clear of the liability to the amount of £8000 which then existed upon it. Now, by misrepresentation and deceit, to use no harsher terms, for none but such could be used, he thought, if the theatre were being disposed of for a sum so radically below its real value, for, terms which a usurer would blush to look upon, the theatre was passing out of Mr. Brooke's hands, not only so, but he found that Mr Brooke's testimonial, with which he had been presented by the public, his plate, and a portion of his wardrobe were deposited in the pawnshop, and a most usurious rate of interest charged for them, which, not having been paid, the property was forfeited. Mr. Brooke was moreover, indebted to the amount of £4000. Some people, said Mr. Coppin, might ask what was all this to them; but of one thing he felt convinced, and that was that the very large portion of the public would feel deep sympathy for the position in which Mr. Brooke was placed.
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In this connection the following, copied into the Sydney 'Empire' of 50 years ago, will be read with interest :— 'An Extensive Theatrical Engagement : Mr. G. V. Brooke and Mr. Coppin.— The American Manager . — Mr. G. V. Brooke has made an engagement with Mr. Coppin, through Mr. J. H. Wilton, to proceed to the colonies and act 200 nights, Mr. Coppin securing to him £10,000, in addition to the expenses of himself and four. Miss Fanny Cathcart accompanies the tragedian. The 200 nights are to be performed in nine months. A contract has also been entered into with Messrs. Fox and Henderson for the construction of an iron theatre, 120ft by 45ft, which will go with Mr. Brooke, costing complete about £5000. Mr. Brooke will sail in the new steamer Pacific.'
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Mr. J. B. Steele, who was engaged to support Mr. Brooke on his second visit to Australia, died on Friday, in the Cancer Hospital at Liverpool (N.S.W.). He was buried with Masonic honors on Saturday. Mr. Steele was 72 years of age. In next issue will appear a sketch of the career of the deceased gentlemen.

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.)

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.)