countenance, came up to our lodgings at some distance from the theatre, to inform my father that in the night there had been affixed on the box-entrance door a paper with doggrel rhymes, to the effect that I had "shamefully misused and even kicked "(!) a Miss Sulivan, a very pretty girl, an actress in the theatre, who was that night to perform Cleopatra. Although it was not an unfrequent practice of country actresses to endeavour to advance their interests by representing themselves as ill-used by the manager and creating a party feeling against him, I think she was perfectly innocent of any participation in this attempt to damage me in public opinion. My attentions at that time were addressed more pointedly to another frequenter of the greenroom, than to her, and this could have been the only ground of dissatisfaction, if any existed; for the "manager's son" was of no little consideration in the limits of a green-room circle. The paper had attracted crowds before it had been removed, and the excitement was as great in the town as if the theatre had been blown up; but the general feeling was one of indignation at the calumny and the dastardly means adopted to circulate it. When informed of it, I determined not to hold conversation of any kind, nor to exchange one word with Miss Sulivan until I appeared with her on the stage at night. Friends, and persons not known before, thronged to the box-office in the morning to express their abhorrence of this infamous libel, and many stopped me in the street to testify the friendly sentiment toward me that pervaded the town on the subject. So monstrous an accusation, and its base intention, naturally agitated me; but in the consciousness of freedom from all violation of gentlemanlike deportment towards the actresses my mind was clear, and resolved on the course to pursue. The night came; every "hole and corner," to use the common phrase, was filled long before the curtain rose. Upon my entrance with Cleopatra, Miss Sulivan, in my hand, the applause and shouting were deafening. When silence was obtained, I went forward, and addressing the audience, observed that, indebted to them as I was for many proofs of their favour, I was more obliged to them for the confidence in me they showed that night, than for all their previous indulgence; and, alluding to" the paper," stated that I had designedly not spoken to Miss Sulivan since I had heard of it, but that I would now request her to answer

1811-12.

ANSWER TO A LIBEL.

69

before them to some questions. "Have I ever been guilty of any injustice of any kind to you since you have been in the theatre ?" Her answer, "No, sir," was received with shouts. "Have I ever behaved to you in an ungentlemanlike manner ?" "No, sir." Loud shouts repeated. "It is unnecessary to ask, but to satisfy the writer of the anonymous libel, have I ever kicked you?" Her answer of "Oh, no, sir !" was given amid the hearty exclamations and laughter of the excited crowds of box, pit, and gallery, and the play proceeded, but with little effect; for Antony, the voluptuary and doting spoiled child of fortune, was not within the compass of a tyro as I then was. This was the first attempt I had to encounter of this sort of stabbing in the dark. I lament to add, I became more familiarised to it as my experience extended; the object of my assailant was nothing less than my ruin; in one instance my life was aimed at, but that was not in England.

CHAPTER IV.

1813-1814.-First appearance as Hamlet in Glasgow-Further new partsPower of rapid study-Sinclair-Mrs. Bishop-Dumfries-Acting with Betty-Newcastle-Criticism on Betty's acting-Separation from fatherBrother enters the army as a volunteer private-Reconciliation with father -Comes of age-Risks of a player's life-Charles Kemble and his wifeAdaptation of Marmion-Barnard Castle, Raby, Rokeby-Adaptation of Scott's Rokeby-Father builds new theatre at Carlisle-Holiday at Holy Island-Escape from a quicksand-Performance to an audience of three persons at Berwick, on night of general illumination-Young and EmeryA wonderful effort of memory-Miss O'Neill's appearance at Covent Garden-Remarkable accident at Newcastle-Engagement at Bath.

THE Glasgow and Dumfries theatres were now to be let, and my father decided on trying his fortune with them. From Newcastle therefore he transferred his company to Glasgow. The opening night presented a very fair attendance, but on my father's remark to one of the old servants of the theatre, that the house was very good, "Aye, but," he replied, "it will be better when "-after a pause--"his honour there, I believe, comes out;" and his prediction was fulfilled in an improved appearance of pit, box, and gallery, to the tragedy of 'Hamlet,' in which I made my first bow before a Glasgow audience. That audience I remember with peculiar satisfaction-the knots of regular play-goers, that used to club together in the two corners of the pit, and with their murmurs of approval every now and then encouraged the young actor with the belief that they gave their thoughts to what was going on before them, were calculated to give confidence to his attempts, and made him feel that what he did was examined and scrutinised by a deliberate judgment.

In the course of this summer season I repeated the various

1813-14.

POWER OF RAPID STUDY.

71

characters of my list, adding to them Captain Plume in Farquhar's Recruiting Officer,' a part I entered into with peculiar zest; Tangent in Morton's 'Way to get Married;' Lovemore in The Way to keep Him;' Dovicourt in Mrs. Cowley's 'Belle's Stratagem;' Puff in Sheridan's 'Critic;' Young Marlow in She Stoops to Conquer;' and Mark Antony in Julius Cæsar.' In this splendid theatre, which was the largest out of the metropolis, I derived benefit from the necessity I was under of more careful study and practice, and the improvement I made was perceptible to me.

On one occasion I had to task my powers of memory. The new play by Morton, called 'Education,' had been commenced with the usual parade of a novelty; and the part of Count Villars, a French refugee, acted by Charles Young in London, had been cast to one of the best of my father's company, an actor of some talent of the name of Grant. He had read his part at every rehearsal, and held it in his hand on the morning of the play; but before the rehearsal ended, he disappeared, and sent word to the theatre that he was too ill to act that night. The dismay was great, and there was much perplexity as to the measures to be adopted. I was sent for by my father to decide on the change to be made; but as this in theatres is regarded as the last resource and always prejudicial, I asked for the book and determined, if I could not perfect myself in the words of the part, to read it, rather than allow the play to be changed. It was two o'clock in the day. I ran through the scenes in rehearsal, and, going home, shut myself up to work at my task. An explanation was given to the audience of the reason of the change, and I had the satisfaction of getting through my undertaking without missing one single word in the acting of the part. At a very short notice, not to stop the production of the romance of Aladdin,' I undertook in it the part of the magician, previously cast to Grant, and, making something of a character of it, added to the effect of the piece.

In the course of the season an engagement was made with Sinclair, and Mrs. Bishop, who was accompanied by her husband, the eminent composer, afterwards Sir Henry Bishop. Sinclair had made a successful début in London, and gained some popularity in the song of "Pray, Goody, please to mode

rate the rancour of your tongue," in the burletta of 'Midas,' which he was obliged nightly to sing three times at the call of the audience. He was rather a rough Scotchman, and it is related of him, that when John Kemble recommended him, in order to further his success, to place himself under D'Egville to acquire more ease and grace in his action and deportment, as he himself in his youth had taken lessons from La Pique, Sinclair with his strong Scotch accent replied, "I thank ye, sir; I'se vera weel where I be." During the Newcastle race week, my characters in comedy being novelties were successful and attractive, which induced me to give much attention to that department of my art.

A short season was made in the pretty town of Dumfries, where we had great difficulty in procuring lodgings, and were at last glad to find refuge in very humble ones. Players had left but an indifferent name there, and we suffered for the faults or misfortunes of our predecessors. After repeating most of my characters, and leaving a better opinion of our troop than we had found there, we returned for the short remainder of the year to Glasgow. I had laid out a plan, which would have greatly improved my father's fortunes, of keeping open at the same time the two theatres at Glasgow and Newcastle, but unhappily it was abandoned and too late regretted. At Glasgow King Richard II.' was produced with great care, but succeeded only in obtaining the applause of scanty audiences.

Betty, who continued his tour through the country, was engaged for a limited number of nights. He dined with us on the day of his arrival, and in the evening I was to act Frederic in Lovers' Vows.' The servant had been sent upstairs to get a pocket-handkerchief for me to put with my dress, which was to be sent to the theatre, and brought me down a white one. I asked the man, how could he suppose a common soldier, as Frederic is, would have a white pockethandkerchief, ordering him to bring me a coloured one, on which Betty exclaimed, "Oh, my boy! you think of such things as these, do you?"

A misunderstanding with the proprietors of the theatre compelled my father to abridge his season; and, to supply him with funds, which were very much needed, I proposed to