joined, rises on my ears at this moment and dies
off in the distance with the "Merry, merry
time," still lingering. We had some French,
and Brazilian, and Italian, and Spanish of
quality and condition, who lived in a
sumptuous way, among the Epicureans, and who did
what they liked, and I remarked that these
foreign gentlemen would invariably distinguish
themselves on some instrument, which they
played with great ease and grace, and with
infinite modesty. I always envied the graceful
bows with which these elegant aliens received
the applause they worthily earned. Our English
performers took their stand on the cornet or
flute, and I myself had the honour of inviting
mankind to the waltz, on the latter instrument.
Upon these occasions, we "soloists" made it
a point to appear in true professional costume,
white tie and white waistcoat, and full blaze of
evening dress. Then there were madrigals,
overture to Masaniello by our band, selections
from the opera by our choir. The Duke of
Kent's Quick Step, when would that cease to
be popular? A trio for violoncello and piano, a
comic vocal trio about some "crows in a cornfield,"
sure, from its mimetic character, to bring
the house down, and the "Valse d'Amitié,"
ever fair and young.

VII. THEATRE ROYAL, SAXONHURST.

But next night—first of the theatrical season
—was a greater festival. Never was there an
audience so eager to be pleased and delighted
with everything, even with the brilliant
vermilion, front and crimson curtain, all blazing
under the cheerful glare of the footlights.
When all are seated and orderly, we begin
with a prologue, generally local, and touching
on local topics, in a facetious strain; and
then the curtain rose on the piece of the night.
In the "season" were always produced, a good
comedy, a good tragedy, a couple of farces, a
melodrama, and a light comedietta. This was
a fair allowance for a week or eight days. Some
of us had no mean powers. Traditions were
among us of two or three "old fellows," grand
tragedians, reputed (with much wise manner
and shaking of heads) to equal, if not exceed,
the late Messrs. Kean and Kemble. These
gentlemen were before my day. But I can
recal the handsome Charles Gurney, who played
Shylock. We had a series of brothers, too,
who, as they "came up," were conspicuous for
passionate declamation and "jeune premier"
style. It was sapiently agreed again and again
among us that these youths had but to show
themselves on the stage, and they would in a
few weeks realise a handsome independence.
Richard, Duke of Glo'ster, also exhibited the
handsome Gurney with tremendous effect, sneering
sardonic and raging, maintaining a splendid
combat, and dying excessively game. When he
was called before the curtain, the house rose
en masse, and remained yelling and shrieking
for many minutes—the highest dramatic
compliment we could pay. The late Mr. Justice
Talfourd's Ion was perhaps the most splendid
of all our successes. A lavish outlay was
incurred. Entirely new scenery, dresses, and
decorations. The "Interior of the Greek
Temple" a set scene, and prodigiously fine.
Young Rice, by his pathetic rendering of the
hero, it was said, drew tears from aged eyes.
The effect, too, was enhanced by mournful music
and dismal marches of Greeks. But it was
remarkable that no plays had a success like
Shakespeare's, where there was good broad
sterling declamation and fair sentiment—the
longer they were, the better too.

In comedy we had yet greater strength. We
were great in Speed the Plough; we were great
in Guy Mannering, with the gipsies, and the
Dominie, and its charming music—"The winds
whistle cold"—"O slumber, my darling," and
the rest. This was always "got up" in a highly
spectacular way—tableaux and costumes of the
most effective sort. I recal the unbounded
laughter at Dandie Dinmont and the rollicking
fellow that performed him, and the capital dance:
when all the Scotch peasants came stealing
in right and left, with sheepish hang-dog
manner (precisely as on the stage), as if they
were passing by accident, but in reality to take
part in the reel. A hautboy and a clarionet,
the latter sustaining the drone, made an
admirable imitation of the bagpipe, while a
mimetic instrument bearing that appearance
was exhibited in front; for we never
distinguished Highland music from Lowland music.
When the villagers drew off gradually, and left
Dandie dancing in the middle by himself, and
who then, still dancing, proceeded to throw
off waistcoat after waistcoat, now red, now
blue, to the number of some twenty. With
every waistcoat came a roar of delight; the
whole, waistcoats included, was encored
rapturously.

The writer hereof was himself held in very
fair esteem and popularity as a low comedian.
Indeed, during his day, the leading "funny"
parts came to him as a matter of course. Solomon
Gundy, the English barber who had paid a
visit to Dunkirk, was considered a great
creation, perhaps the greatest of all his
successes. The Comedy of Errors, in which the
same comedian played Dromio, and a half foreign
gentleman the companion Dromio, was
considered a great hit. We were capable of
surprising "cramming"—some of us could
learn a part in a day. Shakespearean battles,
"which begin by a flourish of trumpets" outside,
were always immensely enjoyed and fiercely
contested. Between the parts, much exhausted
by carrying our heavy pasteboard armour and
wooden shields, we hurried into the green-
room, where there was a huge jug of restoring
punch and soothing lemonade.

There was one year when the writer had
attained to the dignity of an Epicurean, which
was considered a very famous theatrical and
musical year. Our body included the most
diversified talents, and gentlemen of all
countries. We were all tall and accomplished (or
were fully satisfied on those heads), and paid